I remember your name
And how the thunder came.
“The lightning is exciting”,
You said. On my bed
There was no lightning.
I have taken some pleasure
When the humid weather
Is cooled by the rain.
But the inner storm warns
“Everything remains the same”.
When I attended a singles swingers party
With the great and the somewhat arty,
A young lady named Claire
Tied me up with Flair.
Those knots they were really quite arty!
Women offer delight for the night
Or an hour or so
And when they go
There is no love left behind
To comfort the unquiet mind.
Just a bank transfer
From him to her.
True, some girls pretend to care,
But if the money isn’t there …
In late August, the wind blows dust
And a plastic bag flaps.
Perhaps this little rhyme of ending summertime
May engage on yellowing page
When I am below
And can not know
For the hearse
Takes all verse,
Though poems may stay.
A young lady known as Miss Ice
Has a reputation for not being nice.
Her real name is Coral
And she’s so very immoral!
But to me she’s always been nice …!
This storm in late August
Has stripped many leaves from trees.
Twigs snap and crack underfoot.
All Augusts must fade to September.
And I remember
Autumn must come.
Behind all lust
Lurks fear of dust.
For in war
Children and hate proliferate.
I met a group of young women
Who spoke of the joys of sinning.
But I, being shy
Hid in a pie
With the beautiful and talented Miss Winning!
I passed by men mowing the churchyard grass.
When I came that way again
The men had passed, to go and mow
Some other grass perhaps.
I have walked the churchyard path
So oft , and passing by graves have coughed
Due to the hay.
One day the mower will pass,
And I will lie under the churchyard grass.
I have heard the tick tock
Of my old clock
And listened to young women’s feet
Beating out a rhyme
Of passing time
On the indifferent street
Where loneliness meets,
For a little while,
With a smile
Cold as gold.
K Morris - Poet 