The audience watches askance
As they dance
On the edge
Of a ledge.
Feet moving faster.
The music and laughter.
What follows after
Cool reflection or disaster?
She stoops but who conquers?
The situation bonkers.
A man old enough to be her father.
They would rather
Not think
On those who wink
And titter.
A bitter taste
Is a man’s disgrace
Yet still men dally
With silk and lace.
Many skirt
The issue.
The time is short
And dearly bought.
A tissue
Of lies
And midnight sighs.
A girl growing up forsook
The straight path and took
A step down a perilous track.
One may turn back
But many lack
The will.
In the still
Of night
Delight
For one.
A soul is gone
And time rolls on.
Greying hairs.
She swears
All is not lost
And counts the cost
Of fixed smiles
And denials
No longer believed
By those she deceives.
Nightmare.
Terrors buried deep
Creep
Out and stare
Me full in the face.
There is no hiding place
When the black mare
Stirs
From the stable.
Her coat sable
As night.
Banishes delight.
Awaking.
Shaking
Off fear
Yet nightmare crouches near.
In the shadows she hides
And bides
Her time waiting for sleep
Then out she doth creep.
I turn and run
But my dark mistress must have her fun.
When day is done
She will come.
Yesterday evening I met a friend who works for Transport for London. After a few pints he confided in me that London Underground will be introducing fines for those found to be reading books on the tube. According to my friend who, for obvious reasons wishes to remain anonymous, there have been many accidents caused by commuters so absorbed in their reading matter they have failed to notice the person closest to them and poked them in the eye with a book, newspaper or magazine. There is also, he says an issue with people missing their stop due to being engrossed in a good (or bad) book (good and bad are, after all subjective terms).
Consequently as from today (April 1st)anyone caught reading on the tube will be subject to an on the spot fine of £5 (if paid by cash rather than card this will be reduced to £4.50). My friend believes that this will enhance the customer experience of those traveling on London Underground. Rather than taking refuge in a book or paper commuters may, actually talk to their fellow passengers! The idea does, he says have the added advantage of creating employment as a significant number of “Book Banners” will be required to enforce the policy.
What do you, my readers think of the idea? Will it work? Is it a good one? How would you feel where you to be subjected to a fine of £5 for reading on the tube?
Kevin
You visit in the early morn.
Your note chill
Sends a thrill
Through man and mouse.
The house
Is quiet.
Only your cry forlorn
Does warn.
Disquiet
Carrying from the Lawns.
A mere bird
Yet your voice heard
Down the long years
Inspires fears
And seers
Grey
Fortell a dismal day.
—
The Lawns is an historic park situated close to my home in Upper Norwood, (http://www.londongardensonline.org.uk/gardens-online-record.asp?ID=CRO040).-
A perfect pare.
So ripe and fair.
To have you there
A perfect pair.
No one to stare
Where
The perfect pare hangs
Within easy reach of hands
That desire
To quench a fire.
The love of fruit
Is At the root
Of the fall from grace.
A place
Called Paradise, where Eve ate the apple.
The sunlight no longer dapples
Eden’s Lawns
where innocent fawns
Where wont to Play.
Or so the moralists say.
All this will pass away
But I have fruit today …
A moralist gazed upon a flower soft
And with delicacy coughed.
“’Tis most unseemly” said he
“To see
The bee
Make free
With thee.
Thou has forsook
The holy book.
Think on hell
And mark it well
Lest in torment you dwell”.
The flower spake
“Oh moralist forsake
This obsession
With the repression
Of girl and lad.
Wouldst thou have the whole world sad?
Can not you be glad
At the joy
Of maid and boy?
The moralist shook his grey head
And said
“Thou should dread hell’s fire
For desire
Is sin.
Satan enters in
And God destroys
Those who wallow in lustful joys.
The flower said, “breathe in my scent
And relent
Of strictures severe.
Come you near
And touch my throbbing heart.
Let me teach you love’s art.
Give me your hands,
And we will travel to undiscovered lands”.
The moralist did relent
And partook of the flower’s scent.
The heavens where not rent
And the sky’s great tent
Failed to fall.
Only the nightingale’s call
Filled the spring air
Where the lovers dallied without a care.
As many of you will know, I gave my first reading at Poetry Unplugged (hosted by the Poetry Café), on Tuesday 22 March. All of the audience where respectful of their fellow attendees, with the exception of one who caused a disturbance. The below poem is about that reprehensible individual!
—
It is late.
I stand up to read
And hear the rattle of a plate!
Who could be so rude
As to intrude
In to my first reading?!
‘Tis one of the audience who are feeding!
You my four legged friend
Can not pretend
It wasn’t you
Who
Your appetite
Did sate
When you ate
A cake!
Surely Trigger
Your stomach grows bigger.
You must have no soul
For you gobbled a cake, whole!
I would like to wish all my readers and followers a very happy Easter. The sun is shining here in Upper Norwood, with something of a nip in the air, which is the kind of weather I love.
Kevin
Feet that dance
Awhile,
Perchance
Provide surcease
A kind of peace.
But romance Is not my style.
The painted smile
May for a time beguile.
A fleeting kiss.
A kind of bliss
But romance is not my style.
Lovers may dally
In verdant valley
While
I love’s cost tally.
But romance is not my style.
Would that I could resile
The made up face
The silk
And lace.
But romance is not my style.
K Morris - Poet 