Tag Archives: kevin morris poetry

There Was A Young Lady of Bath

There was a young lady of Bath
Who made a most terrible gaffe,
When she mistook a silk rope
For a bar of soap,
And was found tied up in her bath!



I saw
A goddess in a store.
I chaffed.
She laughed.
There was no more.

Eternal Youth

‘Tis a truth
That eternal youth
Can not be found
By middle-aged men who pursue
Girls of 20,
(But there are plenty
Who do).

The run
May be fun
And rings
And other such things
May a man buy
More than a look
From a young girl’s eye,
Which is sometimes mistook
By the old
For love.

Nothing comes after
Her brittle laughter
Save for more
Of the same, but the fool will not be told
The truth,
That with all his gold
He can not purchase eternal youth,
Though some already this fact
But act
As though
It where not so
And continue to buy
Forced laughter
After each joke
On which they both, secretly, choke.

An Easter Gift To My Readers

As an Easter gift to my readers, I am offering 2 (free) audio downloads of my collection of poems, “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems“, to listeners on audible.com. Additionally, I am offering a further 2 (free) audio downloads of my book to audible.co.uk subscribers.

In order to be in with a chance of winning a copy of “The Writer’s Pen” (audio edition), please answer the following question,

Who is the main narrator (and housekeeper) in the novel “Wuthering Heights“?

The first 4 people to provide me with the correct answer win a free audio download of my book. To enter please send an email to kmorris poet (at) gmail dot com. Please put “Competition to win an audio download of “The Writer’s Pen” in the subject line of your email.

Please do not leave the answer in the comments below this post, as others will be able to see your answer.

The competition closes at 12 am (UK time), Tuesday 30 April.

You can find “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems” here, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KPN8LT3/.


Why must
I dwell on dust
On this sunny day?
‘Tis the thought that all this will fade away,
Yet there is still time to play
Ere the sun
Does run
Into the arms
Of night.

Sometimes I think
Her charms
Are sweet,
For who has not forgot
Regret in the arms
Of sleep?

The river of lethe
May take us unawares.
Vacant stares
We bestow
On family and friends
For we know
Them not.

I think ’tis better to die
Than to lose the plot
And linger on
Though one’s essence has gone.

But the weather is hot
And there is yet time to play
Ere my day runs away
Into lethe
Or with luck, I shall avoid
The void
Of memories loss
And pass, direct, instead
To the land of the dead
For it is the knowing
That one’s faculties are going
That fills me with dread.

As the weather grows hot

As the weather grows
Hot, pretty women in short clothes
Will cause
Men to pause
And their eyes to almost pop
Out of their heads, and wish
That they could catch
That particular fish,
For they have an itch
To scratch.
And perhaps a match
May spark
Ingendering love or lust
In the human heart,
Ere the dust
Takes away
Our sunny day.