Love and death are the poet’s great obsession.
Wile the former session
May be long or brief,
‘Tis certain, the performance, once over, ends in grief.
The Poet’s Obsession
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Tag Archives: mortality
If I Died
If I died yet dreamed on
How would I know that I had gone?
Milk
“He’s dead”
She said.
What to say?
Meaningless words
Of sympathy, by her probably only half heard
While thinking “I must get away,
The shop will soon close
And heaven knows
I am out of milk. Well nearly so.
Poor lady how will she go
On without him?”
A short walk and I am in
The shop where once they together went
And spent notes that crumble into dust.
Willow
Scent on a pillow fades.
In woodland glades
The willow
Weeps
As dusk creeps
Over the land.
The sand
Where lover’s feet Trod
Is printless now.
Oh see how
The grassy sod
Forms a bed
Where the dead
Sleep
And those that loved once, no longer weep.
Reaper
Sitting in a field
I watch the grain yield
To the fickle
Sickle
That momentarily spares a stalk
As onward the reaper doth walk.
When he does approach
Will I reproach
Him and say,
“‘Tis not my day
To die
For the birds fly
In a cloudless sky.
I would gather wild flowers to my breast.
Surely ‘tis not time to rest?
Reaper go your way
For I feign would play
Another hour under the sun”.
Will he reply,
“All things must die.
You have had your fun.
Did you not see time, as the river run
Away?
Cease your play.
Face it like a man, for you have debts to pay”.
“I Plucked All The Cherries” By Felix Dennis
A moving poem by the late Felix Dennis, who died of cancer, http://www.felixdennis.com/Poet/I-plucked-all-the-cherries.aspx
Peace
All this will cease.
Then eternal peace
Will forever flow
Washing away woe.
To an Indoor Rose Bush Purchased In My Local Supermarket
On the supermarket shelf you shonne.
But now are gone.
A stick in a pot
That liveth not.
O why did I buy
A thing sure to die?
An Afternoon In Early January
The sky slowly darkens.
He harkens
To birds.
No words.
Only the sun sinking
And him thinking
On time
And the divine.
The Girl And The Oak
A girl passing through the wood
For a moment stood
Under an ancient oak.
The tree spoke.
“I have seen kingdoms rise and fall
And my branches have decked many a bridal hall.
But kings and lovers are all now dead”.
She heard not the words said
For earplugs fed
Pop music into her head.
Taking a knife she carved, “Lucy loves Tom”
Then, without a backward glance, she was gone.
K Morris - Poet 