Alexa plays
As my clock chimes
Reminding me of slower days.
When Father Time
Kept a steady pace.
Many have vanished without trace.
This rhyme
Will not save
Me from the grave
And if people should find
My poetry
It will not profit me.
Yet I must write
For the night
Will end all my poetry
In the middle of this wood
I should
Be able to forget my care.
Fresh air
Is there
And the sun is high
In the cloudless sky
Yet I …
A plane flies by,
Then another one.
Perfect silence has gone.
For modernity we yearn
Then turn
Away.
When each day
Is full
Of dull
“Opportunities” to try …
I cry
Out for the old.
One can not hold
On to the past
But when the future is vast
Supermarket aisles
(where there are no denials
And one is free
To be
Anything or anyone),
I wonder where meaning has gone.
I linger here
As thoughts drear
Contend with birdsong.
I shall go ere long
Back to the street
Where a myriad feet
Have been,
But have they seen?
The pig does merely eat and drink.
Sometimes I think
That he
Has the advantage over me.
It is a truism that we can not live in the past
But when the present seems barren as plastic
It is tempting to believe that we can stretch the elastic
Of this fact
And act
In denial
Of the vast supermarket aisle,
Where meaning’s lack
Is concretized in musak.
Many thanks to author Linzé Brandon for hosting a guest post by me, on time management, (http://linzebrandon.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/managing-online-distractions-guest-post.html). Please do check out Linzé’s other posts and, of course her books which can be accessed here, (http://linzebrandon.blogspot.co.uk/).
Are you bored? Turn on the TV, kill the tedium, watch it with me. Have a problem? Does it hurt to think? The perfect solution, lets have a drink. Don’t like the truth, the nagging thoughts in your head? Turn up the volume, fill it with noise instead, and, if all else fails take refuge in bed.
K Morris - Poet 