There was a rich young man named More
Who was extremely fond of the poor.
When they asked him for money
He said “the weather is sunny
And I do adore the poor!”.
There was a rich young man named More
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A Lover’s Hand
A hand
Can command
The ocean’s tide
To sweep aside
All convention
In waves that carry us away.
But it is my contention
(Despite what young lovers say)
That many a ship ends in grief
On a reef
That he and she
Are too blind to see
Judge Not
The maiden’s shapely bust
Engenders her lover’s lust
And the moralist’s disgust.
Lovers and moralists are soon dust
So let it be
For tis no concern of thee
Or me
And the wise agree
That there is no glee
In our final bed.
Evensong
You were going to evensong.
I wanted to go along
But felt shy
To ask (I don’t know why).
An agnostic sitting in a pew
Next to you,
That wouldn’t do!
Though I know
That I wouldn’t be the first sceptic to attend
And pretend
Belief.
Our life here is brief
And religion softens grief
For the believer knows
That he goes
To a place
Where God’s grace
As sweet water does fall
On all.
In the singing of hymns
We forget our sins
And cough due to the dust
From ancient books,
While God looks
Down
With a frown
For he knows our lust …
Perhaps I will
Next time go along
To evensong
And perchance find a still
Place where God’s grace
Does fall
On all.
Though it may not be so
Nonetheless I shall go
Along
To evensong.
My Owl
I have lived in Upper Norwood since 1997. Upper Norwood is one of the greenest parts of Greater London and I am fortunate that my home overlooks an historic park. The prevalence of greenery leads to a diversity of wildlife, including foxes and owls.
From time to time an owl’s mournful cry reaches my ears. I like to think that he (or she) is the same owl. However given that I have resided in the same spot for some 20 years this is impossible.
Below is my poem “Owl
“Owl” can be found in my collection of poetry “Refractions” https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2
They refused him entrance
“They refused him entrance because he was a Jew.
Imagine that today”.
He didn’t say
What his view
Of the matter was
And because
It was
Not my affair
I left them there
To talk
And took a walk
In God’s fresh air
There Was A Young Squire
There was a young squire
Who had a burning desire
For his family’s pretty maid,
But the girl being staid
Refused to light his fire!
Power Failure
Last night, while visiting a neighbour, the lights failed. Indeed it soon became apparent that the electricity supply had gone down in the 2 blocks of flats which constitute the development in which I live. My immediate neighbour, and the lady who lives opposite to her, panicked a little and lamented the fact that none of us possessed torches. Fortunately the lights came back on in a matter of minutes and the power supply has remained steady since yesterday evening’s temporary blip.
The above incident reminded me of my poem “The Dark”:
“Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits”.
One day the dark will take us all.
Time and tide wait for no man
As far back as I can remember, I have had a fascination with time. The hypnotic swing of the pendulum on an old-fashioned clock and the steady tick tock of the mechanism, entrances me.
My interest in time can be seen in several of my poems, including this one which is simply entitled “Time”
“Time” can be found in “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind” http://moyhill.com/lost/.
There was a young man named Ed
There was a young man named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
It was a terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
So I did his pretty widow wed!
—
There was a young chef named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
‘Twas a most terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
And just how will I get fed!
K Morris - Poet 