The weather is good
(According to some).
In the summer wood
Leaves long dead
Brush my greying head.
Autumn will come
And the heat cease.
Yet leaves fall
And I recall
Autumn is yet to come.
In my childhood
I collected conkers and acorns
From leaf-strewn lawns
Today there is little breeze
And the leaves
Fall from trees
Thirsting for drink
And I hope for rain.
It will come,
But what has been done
Can not be undone
I have sat on bar stools
As fools
Pontificate in love and hate.
From on high, I
Have judged women and men
Thinking myself superior to them
Yet in the quiet
Of morning time
I rhyme
Of imperfect man
And I who am
As them.
When I found a young man named Dave
Lying in a freshly dug grave,
And I said, “are you dead?”,
He said, “No! I am ted!”
I said, “No, you are most definitely Dave!”
I must have liked you
As I paid for us at Kew.
We spent some hours
Among exotic flowers,
And strolled in glass houses
Where respectable spouses
Walked too.
I bought
A room in a cheap hotel
Off Victoria Street
Where assorted lovers meet
Then depart
And no hearts are left
Bereft.
We dropped off the key
At reception
Saying we would be back …
I wonder, did they have any perception
Of us two …
It was just an hour
Or so
In a cheap hotel
Long ago.
But I must have liked you
For I paid for you at Kew.
Harken
As gardeners their scythes
Sharpen
And see, how the skies
Darken.
There was a young man called Nile
Who kept a pet crocodile.
The creature dreamed
Until, it seemed
He was back in the river Nile.
There was a young lady called Leigh
Who climbed a very tall tree.
She yelled, with a frown
“Help me get down!”,
But I was lost at sea!
Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Woman’.
This poem appears in my collection of poetry ‘Refractions’: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Refractions-K-MORRIS-ebook/dp/B01L5UC2H2, under the title ‘Women’. In retrospect, I believe that ‘Woman’ better fits the poem, hence I have changed its title on YouTube.
Not all metal is brass.
Figurines
Perform sceenes,
Reflected back in glass,
Then out of the play pass.
Some will return again
To cause the director pain,
But not all metal is brass.
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.
K Morris - Poet 