https://www.forbes.com/sites/entertainment/article/best-poets/
An interesting list. However, whilst I think such articles can spark interest in poetry and perhaps encourage those who have not yet come to love the art form to do so, any such list is just the opinion of the author. I, personally am surprised that Keats does not get a mention. His fine poems on autumn and his ode to a nightingale surely make him worthy of inclusion in such a list.
My thoughts turn
To carpet burns.
A girl and I
By my gas fire.
I remember the flame
Of my desire.
But her name …?
I was pleased to receive this 5 star review of my recently published collection, “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems”:
“… The poems in this short but sweet collection cover myriad topics in a variety of styles. Some are about churchyards while others are about humans and animals. My favorite is “Going to Hell in a Hand Cart,” a perfect way to end the book. If you like straightforward, entertaining poetry, this book is for you.”
(To read the review in full please visit Amazon.co.uk:Customer reviews: The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems).
Sometimes when loneliness or aching lust
Becomes too much
I crave a woman’s touch,
For in her arms I forget
All my regret,
And that I am dust.
At other times
I take refuge in rhymes
From poets long gone.
Books have charms
But a girl’s soft arms
And her scent often tempts
Me – sometimes into poetry …
On the ground
Logs lie
While all around
Joyous dogs
Spend their day
In play
Unaware of the decay
Of logs
And of how I
Envy dogs
In their play.
Men may choose Chinese
Or whatever they please
For in the great marketplace
A girl’s legs and face
Can command a price
(Which some call vice).
The girl studying for her degree
And the single mum provide fun
But the fun
Commands a fee.
In what some call work
A pimp may lurk
Somewhere in the dark shadow.
Perhaps it isn’t so
But how do men know?
Do you remember how we
Sat on that fallen tree?
I love the wood
In which that tree stood.
All must decay.
Though we had no love
To fade away.
Just my middle-aged lust
And fear of dust
And your need
To somehow feed.
Now that fallen tree
Reminds me of thee.
In the moment
There’s the mad thrust
Of unthinking lust.
But after pleasure
Come thoughts of dust.
I could call
On 2 young graces.
Silks and laces
So easily fall away.
I find charms
In a girl’s arms.
But they go with day
And my love of solitude
May love exclude.
I am glad
For I have
A kind of friend.
But all our graces
Must end
In the hard churchyard
For below
There is no pretend.
On this dull day
No girls pass
Before my bedroom glass.
On other days
It has reflected back
The black
And white
Who have relieved
My lonely night.
Sometimes when they leave
I grieve
For the cost
Of lost
Souls. and love
That is not love.
Butterflies fly away.
But no, they stay
Caught in rhymes
Though they know it not.
K Morris - Poet 