How easy to judgement pass
As we sit in our house of glass
Watching the foolish trip by
On heels high.
How simple it is to sneer
At those who in joy and fear
Lose
Themselves in shoes
Passing near.
With our clear view
We watch the stupid stew
And smile
In denial
For ‘Tis not me and you …
He speaks in metaphors
Of doors
That with reluctance open
And flowers, their stems broken
By the passionate gale
That leaves pale
Ghosts behind.
In his mind
He sees
The bees
Sup from the flower’s heart.
The rain start
To fall
And summer joys, turn to gall.
Said store owner Fleecem, to his assistant Proper
This metal here, it is but copper
But to the unwary shopper
‘Twill pass for gold
Let us be bold
And fleece ‘Em proper”!
But old Bill
The local copper
Nabbed those two, Fleecem and Proper!
As with the bee to the summer flower
Man dallies many an hour
Savouring the blossom’s power.
Petals delicate he feels
And reels
At the scent of the inviting rose.
In delirium he goes
and takes it to his nose.
His thirst to slake
And desire satiate.
The bee tires.
Desires
Cool, as summer draws to it’s close.
The red rose
Withers
And quivers
In the growing chill.
The rill
Dries up
And summer’s door is shut.
I am delighted to be the first guest writer on Ink and Quill,the blog of Jennifer Calvert. For my guest article please visit the following link, http://jennifercalvertwriter.com/2016/02/27/first-guest-writer-on-ink-and-quill-k-morris/. Please also check out Jennifer’s writings which can be found here, http://jennifercalvertwriter.com/.
The brook
Has dried up
And the barren shore
Calls to the desolate moor.
Once the water ran pure
While children frolicked on the shore.
But the sun has gone
And time moved on.
A golden age of delight?
The night
Is always there
For those who care
To stare
At the distant horizon.
The dark
Is forever rising
“Nymph, I wonder where you are going
Your hair
In the midnight air
Blowing.
Your face is a mask
Dare I ask
What be your task?
The gate’s hinges squeak
And the owl speaks,
“She may do as she will
For good or ill.
The light is on in yonder place.
Oh her face
Such passing grace”.
—
“Man why so pale of face?
Why pace
You so
To and fro?
Your eyes fixed on the clock
Straining to hear the gentle knock.
Your sweat
Carries the scent of regret.
The owl winks,
“Methinks
Some things are better left unsaid
As mere conjectures in the head.
Do they ill or well.
Be it heaven or hell
I will not tell”.
When I pass away
My books will stay.
Who can say
Whether readers will delve
Through dusty shelves
And discovering my book
Take a look
Into my soul.
The whole
Me
Now free.
No longer able to care
About those who stare
At what I wrote
In earnest or joke.
What is this desire
That my words light a fire
In hearts I will not know?
I am lust
Dust
And scribbles on a page.
‘ No great matter, when I am mouldering in the grave.
I am not brave
And grope
For hope
In the here and now.
For the plough
Will not disturb my sleep
Nor will I weep
In the solitary grave.
When the wine flows
Sense goes
Walking.
People begin talking.
Trouble you will be courting.
And a reputation you will be sporting!
A big thank you to everyone who voted and commented in response to my request for help in choosing a book cover in respect of my collection of poems, “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”. As of today (19 February) cover number 11 has attracted the most votes (a total of 8). In addition number 11 has gleaned the most favourable comments. I have therefore decided to use that cover for the forthcoming print edition of “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”.
Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who participated in choosing the book cover, either through voting, commenting, liking my post or sharing via social media.
Kevin
K Morris - Poet 