Tag Archives: kevin morris poet

Inner Peace

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Sitting here
My mind is almost clear
Of old junk.
For now the detritus has slunk
Away to hide
Inside
The maze of my calculating brain.

The stain
Of a thing overthought
Frequently leaves me overrought.
This room is still and full of peace
So why can not my mind for long cease
In it’s whirring motion?
Must I forever be tossed upon this restless ocean?

I long for a lack of motion.
Yet there is no magic potion
To achieve a quiet soul,
A goal
Pursued by men of every nation
And station.
Though ‘tis a fact both sad and true
That inner peace is gained by so few.

Making Hay

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The young man makes hay
And little heed does pay
To the odd grey
Hair.
With desire he does stare
At maidens fair
While the hay turns bad
And the lustful lad,
With expression sad
Sees that the grey
Has chased the brown away.

The man strays still
But the rill
Of joy is almost dry.
Try
As he might
To lose himself in sensual delight
Man does hear
With fear
Night’s footsteps, creeping near.

Fast Cars and Film Stars

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When you get your thousand pound
Handbag will it make a profound
Difference to who you are?
Throw in a fast car
And you on the arm of a film star.
I wonder, as I stand
Pint in hand
On the other side of the bar
Whether such things
Can happiness bring.

Would you throw over your boyfriend
For a man who would spend
All his money
On a sweet, brainless honey?
In any event why should I care
For it is not my affair
And we all have our interests such as they are,
Mine being poetry, and yours a fast car.

Venus and Baccus

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Venus wants new shoes
And knowing not which pair to choose
Turns to Baccus who, lost in wine
Thinks her divine
And, taking out his credit card,
(For he has no hard cash)
Does, in a moment rash
Buy the lot
For he has got
More money than sense.
No expense
Will he spare
To keep Venus fair
At his side,
Though in rare
Moments of sobriety, he feels a lack of pride in self
And turning to the shelf
Pours another drink
Until he does into forgetfulness once more sink.

Sobriety does hurt,
For it makes Baccus alert
And causes him to think on the variety
Of nymphs he has known
And ponder on why he has always felt alone.
Picking up the telephone,
Venus arranges to get her hair
Done, for a girl must have fun
And take care of herself.
She has her man’s wealth
And a good lawyer lined up for when it all goes awry,
For Venus knows that his passion will die
And she will catch the eye
Of another rich guy
Who, like Baccus, lacking sense
Will spare no expense
In buying everything
Save for happiness, for that money can not bring,
Though the cynics say, it does soften lonleness’s sting …

Despair

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Have a care
For oft times despair
Comes upon a man unaware
And does him hold
In it’s cold
And empty stare.

(This poem was composed on 10 November 2016. I did consider whether it should be longer. However where it to be of greater duration, I would, perforce have had more to say. I did not, for the feeling of despair has no expression other than a sense of cold and blank emptiness. Consequently to say more would have been to employ words for the sake of employing them.
This poem came to me in the wee small hours. I did not (and do not) feel despair’s great weight pressing down on me. Many of us have, however felt the deadness that constitutes despair at some point in our lives).

Alley Cat Meets Wild Dog

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An alley cat prowls.
A wild dog growls,
In answer and howls,
Longing for tasty meat
To eat.

Feline
And canine.
Meet
And greet.
Her pointy feet,
Their mutual deceit.

I see a line
Of feline
And Canine,
Never ending,
Wending
It’s weary way
To the place where all must pay.

Why Do I Care?

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Why do I care
When you call me “sir”?
I say “call me by my name”
But, again and again
You draw that distinction between you and I.
“Tell me my friend, why?”

I am no Communist red
With idealism pervading my head.
But as one human to another
I tell you my friend, “you are my brother”.
So I guess that is why I care
When you call me “sir”.