Tag Archives: k morris poet

Working Towards A Collection Of Poetry

9 Replies

Emma Lee has written a helpful post on producing a collection of poetry. Emma discusses the advantages and disadvantages of publishing a collection dealing with one theme VS producing a book containing a variety of themes.

Emma’s post caused me to ponder on my own writing and, in particular my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”. The title of the book brings to mind both clocks and time more generally and there are, indeed a number of poems which deal with this subject matter. There are, however also poems which touch upon a variety of other issues, for example “Crack” which deals with addiction to hard drugs and “Count Dracula Went Out To Dine” (a poem of a more humorous nature). I deliberately chose to include poems on a multiplicity of themes on the basis that “variety is the spice of life”. I enjoy reading collections which cover various subjects and wishing to offer my readers the kind of collection that appeals to me, I took the decision to include a mixture of poems thereby (I hope) enhancing the enjoyment of my readers and avoiding the risk of being pigeonholed as the poet who only writes about time.

You can find Emma Lee’s post here, https://emmalee1.wordpress.com/2018/05/23/working-towards-a-collection-of-poems/.
“My Old Clock I Wind” is available from Moyhill Publishing and can be found here, http://moyhill.com/clock/. It is also available in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0735JBVBG

The Hands Are Almost At Half-Past

15 Replies

The hands are almost at half-past.
Will the clock last
The hour?

A sudden shock
Can stop
The clock
At …

And what of that?
For clocks
Are like flies,
One dies
But the great tick tock
Continues on,
Though one is gone.

Sunlight And Shade

2 Replies

Sunlight and shade
A girl made
With tresses brown
As Autumn’s gown.

I lay me down
Upon the forest’s ground
And lost myself there.
But oh despair
For when I awoke
And her name spoke
She was no longer there.

I am a fool
To think my mistress cruel.
Her beauty is beyond art
But lose not your heart
To her
For there is no heart to lose
In return
And as surely as the earth does turn
There is no love to return.

Everyone Has Their Thing

Leave a reply

Alert: Risque humour below:

Everyone has their thing
Or most people do,
Whether it be a high-heel shoe
Or string,
Most people have their thing.

Alert!
The prim secretary, in her conservative skirt
And the sober executive, in his crisp white shirt,
All have their kink,
The chains that clink,
The Fluffy handcuff
And other such stuff.

Yes I think
That everyone has their kink.
But it simply won’t do
To dwell on the stiletto shoe
For I am a bore
And my thoughts are pure.

The World’s Oldest Profession Just Won’t Go Away

Leave a reply

The All Party Parliamentary Group on Prostitution has recommended that paying for sex be criminalised (they argue that it is paying customers, mainly men, who are driving human trafficking and express concern regarding so-called “pop-up brothels”, where a property is rented for a short period then abandoned by the traffickers allowing them to stay one step ahead of the law.

This piece, by the Press association, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2018/may/21/sexual-exploitation-uk-women-pop-up-brothels-report) reminds me of my poem “Circles” in which I ponder upon this highly contentious subject, https://newauthoronline.com/2016/07/15/circles/.

There Was A Young Lady Called Louise

Leave a reply

There was a young lady called Louise
Who stole a set of keys.
On unlocking the bedroom door
Of a man named Moor
She found that he could tease …

—

An elderly poet called Jim
Married a young lady named Kim.
His verse was terse
And grew steadily worse
But the critics all loved Kim!

Greenbelt

Leave a reply

I go out
Before the multitude is about
And walk in the wood
Where the air is good
And there are no words
Save for the birds
Who’s song, though not for man
Can set him free
Of desire. So is it for me
As I simply be
Amongst bird and tree.

Then the din
Sets in.
Not of human shout,
Although there are houses here about
That skirt the wood. I here the cry
Of the young in search of homes to call their own.
It is contended that we must sacrifice some green spaces
To accommodate the young’s need for places
To live. But if the Green Belt is no longer sacrosanct
What scant
Greenery will stay
When the planners have had their way?

I doubt this wood will go
Though other spots of green
Now seen
Will turn black
Under tarmac
And some will notice the lack
When the rats race
Where there was once a green place.

Perhaps I am being unfair
For Darren and Claire
And there 2.5 kids need somewhere
To live.
But will their children give
Thanks to mum and dad when there
Is less green
To be seen
Than was previously the case
And nature’s face
Is converted into neat little garden rows.
Who knows?
Not I
But for now I have tree and sky.

When Old Acquaintances Come Back

2 Replies

When old acquaintances come back
Often we lack
The will to refuse.
Many a man has, in booze
Rekindled a former desire.
The fire
Burns, and he is lost
In the pleasure of pain.

He will splash
His cash
In a manner most rash
And go down the primrose path
With a bittersweet laugh.

He deletes her number
But she
Retains his.

Tis
Always the same
Though man may curse
He will continue to traverse
The well worn road of pleasure and pain.