You kept your top on.
I knew you wouldn’t stay.
When you where gone
I found a piece of pizza
You had left behind.
There are many kinds of takeaway.
And I often find
Such dishes are stone cold
Cold
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Tag Archives: literature
Reluctance
He tries for a kiss.
Her lips are dry
And her mouth remains closed.
She gave consent
To loss of clothes.
For his extra expense
She will kiss.
But he knows
She feels no bliss
And yearns to turn
From ageing lips.
Yet still they kiss
After Wine
After wine.
Her leg on mine.
Her hands.
And youthful bust
All command my lust.
She leaves her scent behind.
I drink it in.
There are no ties to bind.
So some would call it sin.
I see my shadow with me
On an autumn day.
In the charms of girl’s arms
I forget my shadow
But he does not forget me .
All this talk
Of gaudy baubles bought
Ends in nought.
Loss
You, just 21
With your perfect skin
And short dress.
Me. Half my life gone
And need to confess,
My imperfect skin.
And your loss of dress.
Sugar Babes
When young women with pretty eyes
And loose thighs flirt
With older guys,
And the onlookers tut in disgust,
Sometimes I think, why the fuss,
For girls with pretty eyes,
The wealthy guys,
And those who now criticise,
All will be dust.
Plans for a National Writing Centre
New Writing North is leading a coalition, which includes Hachette UK, Faber and Simon & Schuster UK, to create a state-of-the-art Centre for Writing in Newcastle worth £14m through government funding and so “reposition the southern and London bias of the writing industries”.
Kevin Morris reading his poetry on TikTok
Kevin Morris reading a number of poems on TikTok. You don’t need to have an account to view the videos.
Backstreet
After the beauties of Kew
I went with you
To a cheap hotel.
I remember I almost fell
As we mounted the stairs
To their unfriendly glares.
I can remember your name.
Did I feel shame?
I really can not recall
But I recollect a fall
And those dangerous stairs
In a backstreet hotel.
Another’s Death
In another’s death we see
Our own mortality.
We sympathise with the bereaved,
And may even grieve.
But in another’s death we see
Our own Mortality.
Roses
“Roses are fading”, you said.
I lent and smelt
But there was little scent.
In childhood I would
Collect from nature’s plentiful store
Acorns and conkers
But no Oaktree grew.
Now we two see fading flowers.
I think of lost hours
But speak not of them to you.
K Morris - Poet 