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.
In the sunlit wood
I heard
The sound of love.
No word
Did I hear.
Simply the bliss
Of young lover’s lips
Came softly to me
As a bird
In a tree
Mimicked kisses for me.
I am pleased to announce that a complete recording of ‘More Poetic Meanderings’ is now available, read by me. The recording is split into four parts. To listen to my most recent uploads, please visit here for Part 3 and here for Part 4.
Part 1 can be found here whilst Part 2 can be found here.
More Poetic Meanderings is also available in Paperback and Kindle on Amazon.
I could stop
This clock
Once and for all.
Lonely and bored
I called
On Dowson’s rhyme
Of women and wine.
The cork popped
You poured.
And Time’s scythe chopped
Another day away
In play.
A warm bed for the night
Gives some respite
From the indifferent street, where feet
Sound on lonely stone.
She sleeps in sheets.
Her brief respite
After his delight.
She didn’t kiss goodbye, and I
Thought of those who meet
Under a rented sheet.
Some pass all time in rhyme,
While others take lovers
Who do not kiss goodbye.
K Morris - Poet 