Today is my birthday. I am 47, although I must confess to not feeling any different to how I felt yesterday! I will spend today relaxing before meeting friends for drinks in my favourite pub, the Railway Bell this evening, then going on for a curry. Like Prufrock I shall grow old, wear my trousers rolled, walk along the beach and eat a peach. On second thoughts, I shall stick to a few convivial pints with friends followed by a good curry!
Kevin
A girl passing through the wood
For a moment stood
Under an ancient oak.
The tree spoke.
“I have seen kingdoms rise and fall
And my branches have decked many a bridal hall.
But kings and lovers are all now dead”.
She heard not the words said
For earplugs fed
Pop music into her head.
Taking a knife she carved, “Lucy loves Tom”
Then, without a backward glance, she was gone.
It is a quiet new year’s day
A weak sun shows his face
Then hides away.
I awoke to pigeons cooing
Thoughts of a bygone age
And country folk a-wooing.
The pigeons are silent now
No more do sheep or cow
Pass.
No country lass
Gazing in the glass
Will say
“’Tis new year’s day.
I must away
To milk.
No dress of silk
For such as I.
Only the vaulted sky
And my love
For one who is nigh”.
(http://www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-london/vol26/pp167-173).
Cold hands.
Man stands
Gazing into the abyss
Of bliss.
The rain drums.
2016 comes
Ever near.
The new year.
Think?
Lost in drink.
The link
Is broken
The door no longer open
To admit the old.
The young and bold
Hold
The future, or so they say
And the old year ebbs away.
Girl’s long scented hair
For a moment there.
Then she is gone
And I continue on.
—
As a visually impaired guide dog owner, I frequently accept (and sometimes request) assistance from the public when crossing busy roads. The above was sparked by the young woman who assisted me in crossing the road earlier today.
On seeing the stormy sky
The poet thinks “man must die”.
He sees the young girl bloom
And says “she is destined for the tomb”.
Oh let us gather wild flowers
And not waste our powers
Trapped in ivory towers.
Beware the scholar’s domed head
For we are soon dead.
May our spirit fly
Ere we die
And are lost in endless sky.
Leaves blown at night.
Delight
Sorrow.
This moment we borrow
And think of a tomorrow
That may never come.
We run
Perchance have fun
Then, ‘Tis done.
—
Walking my dog at around 4:30 on a blustery December evening, I was conscious of the fallen leaves blowing around me. This gave rise to the above poem.
Kevin
There was a young lady called Sadie
With a past more than a little shady.
I said “Let us marry
And no longer tarry”.
She made reply
With a scornful sigh
“I would rather die
Than to your arms fly.
Besides, I long ago did marry
A man named Barry
And I am married still
To your best friend Bill”!
Oh my nameless one.
Graceful as a swan.
You are here then gone
And the river runs on.
Consequences hang heavy as scent.
To repent
Is bliss.
But oh, her kiss.
Those heels.
The way she kneels.
Venus has caught
All my thought
And brought
Me low
Where angels fear to go.
It will end in woe
For cupid’s arrows sharp
Penetrate the most unsuitable of hearts.
K Morris - Poet 