My head full
Of dull
Thought.
Then the ball you caught
And waving your tail
Did derail
My introspection.
How can I suffer dejection
When I recollect your playful snort
And the ball you caught?
Dog and Ball
7 Replies
Tag Archives: k morris author
Cage
He said, “I have wrought
What I ought
Not to have wrought
And bought
What I ought
Not to have bought.
I have caught
the wild bird
Who’s song I heard
In the lonely night.
Once delight
Of a kind, semed sweet to you and me
And we believed ourselves to be free”.
She said, “There can be no mistaking
That I flew into a cage
Of my own making
And now I rage
Against my own stupidity
And cupidity.
Expensive bras
Make for sturdy bars.
The truth is, you a bird caught
But together we rought
This cage
In which we now both uselessly rage
When Morning Breaks
‘Tis true
The sun
Will still run
Through heaven, when all is said and done
And the birds Will
Continue to trill
As morning doth break
On a brave act, or a profound mistake …
A Review of my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”
Many thanks to Zainab Sheik for taking the time to read and review my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”. You can find her review here, https://abibliophilesobsession.wordpress.com/2016/06/12/review-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-by-k-morris/.
Kevin
Pangloss
I heard a sigh
And saw two ghosts who did lie
In a bed
Where the living dead
Meet.
“Your feet
Are cold”
She said.
He answered not for thoughts of misspent gold
Filled his sorrowing head.
“I dread being alone”
He did remark.
“The choice is not so stark
For there is always the telephone
And all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds
With Pangloss and party girls …”.
Understanding
If I could touch the spirit behind the rain
And understand the bird’s call,
My brain
Could not contain
The pain
And joy that does underlie
It all.
Where I to comprehend why
I would surely die
And be forever lost in the endless sky.
No Alarm
Reaching for the alarm that wakes
He takes
A step into the unknown.
Breakfast will, he thinks, Be followed by leaving home
For work.
No sudden jerk
Of fear,
Just the passing thought, death is always near
And one day all will
Be still
Poetry Isnt Real
“Poetry isn’t real” you said.
I shook my head
For what the poet feels
Is real.
The words in the poet’s brain,
His whole train
Of thought
Is caught
And given life upon the page.
His poems may forever dance
And bring romance
To the paper stage.
A poem can make one laugh or cry.
So why
Can you not try
To lift your eyes from the ground,
And gaze upon something profound?
Unrequited
Looking back, I remember the owl did hoot.
What is the route
To a girl’s heart?
Where to start?
The park
Was dark.
You and I talked as we walked
Back to the hall.
I recall
You remarked on the romance of the owl’s cry
But try
As I might
The night
Ended in tea
And me
Alone
At home.
Puppets
The puppets on a string
Swing
This way and that
In accordance with the command of the fat
Puppateer.
Far and near
They dance.
Circumstance
Dictates he has control
Of the whole
Play.
The ringmaster may pay
To have his way
Tomorrow and today,
But, heres the thing
should the string
Break, will the puppets stay?
K Morris - Poet 