Tag Archives: poems

Have I Heard Of You?

“Have I heard of you?” she said.
I shook my head
And made reply
With an audible sigh,
“No for I am not yet dead.
But perhaps a paragraph or two
When I am through,
You will peruse
Before passing on to other news
About some celebrity or other, who has fallen from grace
And after whom our moral guardians chase.

Heaven forbid that I should make page three
For better models than me
Have appeared there,
And I would hate to upstage busty Claire
For we are both art
Of a kind.
Beauty resides in the mind of the beholder,
Take your pick, a girl’s bare shoulder
Or a writer’s heart.

—

1. “Page 3 is a colloquial term for a feature formerly included in the British tabloid newspaper The Sun.

The phrase originates with the publication of a large photograph of a topless, bare-breasted female glamour model who was usually shown on the print edition’s third page.

The feature first appeared in the newspaper on 17 November 1970 and on the official Page 3 website since June 1999, where it still continues.

The terms “Page 3” and “Page Three” are registered trademarks of News UK, parent company of The Sun, although the feature has been imitated in Britain’s other ‘red top’ tabloids”

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Page_3).

2. The “Claire” in the above poem, is purely ficticious and any resemblance to anyone either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Hatters and Hares

As day follows day
Inexarably the century ebbs away.
It has already reached seventeen.
Things not yet seen
Glimmer in a dream
Or a nightmare
Where
The mad Hatter and March Hare
Offer to answer Alice’s every prayer.

On the edge of wonderland
We stand.
But beware
The Hatter and the Hare
Who sit at a table
Offering tea which they are unable
To supply,
For this thing called progress is a wapping lie.

Why the Budds Are Sticky In Springtime

As a small boy, I remember my grandfather telling me the below story, as to how the buds come to be sticky in springtime. I always assumed that he took the story from a collection of fairytales. However I have searched high and low and it would appear that he invented the tale to entertain me. However, if anyone does know the origin of the tale please do leave a comment. (I don’t remember the tale word for word so have used poetic license when retelling it).

—

In spring, a group of naughty gnomes (all unseen)
Did toadstools paint with glue
In order to catch the fairy queen.
‘Tis true
For my grandfather told me how the queen stuck fast
And, at last,
On her escape, she did say
To the gnomes “go your way
For I pardon your crime.
But, come springtime
You
Must paint the budds with your pots of glue.
Every year mind,
Or you shall find
That I am not so kind!”
So every year
Out of fear
Of what the fairy queen would do
Where they to forget,
The gnomes paint the budds with glue
(they are busy yet)!

Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘To my dog Trigger, who lay on my book’.

While drinking in my favourite local pub, The Railway Bell (http://www.rampubcompany.co.uk/visit-pubs/railway-bell), I left my rucksack, which contained a copy of my book ‘Lost in the Labyrinth of my mind’ (https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lost-labyrinth-my-mind-Morris-ebook/dp/B01AF5EPVY) on the floor. My guide dog Trigger made himself comfortable on both book and rucksack, creasing ‘Lost’s pages, which led to the composition of this poem.

The poem can be found in Refractions: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Refractions-K-MORRIS-ebook/dp/B01L5UC2H2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1488112246&sr=1-1&keywords=refractions+k+morris

The Old Squire

The old squire knew he would die.
Heaving a sigh
He beckoned to his wife.
“Come near,
My dear.
The strife
Of life
Will soon be done.
I hear yonder church clock,
Chime.
O how time does run
Away.
Soon death will on this great door knock
And take my soul away.
Pray
One thing I would know
Before I go.
Was it you,
My wife most true
Or my mistress with her ribbons so gay,
Who put poison in my cup today?!”