I am told
Your love is gold.
This You confirm,
Which makes me squirm
And sigh,
Yet ask not why
For I
Have grit in mine own eye.
Grit
Leave a reply
Tag Archives: poems
Board
Stiff as a board.
But more reluctant,
With only the invisible cord
To loosely tie
You to I.
A sigh.
The night dies
Away.
Into indifferent day
And no compassion have you for I.
When Money and Sex Meet
When money and sex meet,
They play a weary game.
There is neither victory nor defeat,
Only face-burning shame
Poet and Author, Kevin Morris Interviewed by Annette Rochelle Aben on Blogtalk Radio
I was honoured to be interviewed by Annette, on Blogtalkradio, regarding my poetry and other meanderings.
The show also includes me reading several of my poems.
For the podcast please visit HERE
A big thank you to Annette for interviewing me!
Kevin
Veil
The thing he can not express
The dress
That never was
Because …
Words he can not speak
Leave him weak.
Should he seek
For answers from the Mother Superior
Or her inferior?
The inferior speaks the truth.
Does the roof
Then fall in
Exposing Mother Superior’s sin?
Oh how frail
Is the veil
Separating heaven from hell, and how easy to expose
The fact that the emperor has no clothes …
There Was A Young Man Called Judd
There was a young man called Judd
Who married a girl called Rudd.
They where happy together
In all kinds of weather
And particularly relished the mudd!
Crack
Wrap
music. Crack,
Discordant sound.
Young men who think they have something profound
To express
Impress
Girls near cracking point.
Lyrics disjoint.
I don’t see the point
But then I am from the right side of the street
And do not meet
Those who make up for what they lack
With Crack.
Hard men
Go down when
Those with faster toys
Mow down boys.
A crack
And all goes black
For one who once did wrap.
I am of a certain background
And have nothing profound
To say
As I overhear a girl who does wrap
Along
To the song
Of Crack.
Black Ice
2 Cars in search of a crash
Jump red lights
On nights,
When black ice
Holds the heart in a vice-like grip.
Girls trip
By
On heels to high
For walking.
Tongues are talking,
“They are prisoners of their own making”.
Much head shaking.
Vehicles collide and slide
Down the embankment towards the river of unmindfulness
Where those who drink
Into forgetfulness sink
And remember not
That it is their lot
To constantly pay
the ferryman Who carries their soul away.
It Catchs Up With You
It catches up with you, in the end,
Although its easy to pretend
That the late nights
And fights
With an unknown friend
Under the sheet
Will not defeat
Roistering youth.
The truth
Oft creeps
Up on a man as he sleeps.
Or when, on seeing nature’s beauty he weeps
Over something irredeemably lost,
And counts the cost for a while,
Then with a weary smile
Returns to the merry-go-round
Which will spin him round, and round and round
Cheshire Cat
My finger lingers
Over the delete button.
One little caress, a mere press
And the process
Will be complete.
The call button.
Am I a glutton
For the fire
With a desire
To burn on a pyre
Of my own making?
Heads shaking
I see
Telling me
I need to be free
Of thee.
One final spree
For you and me?
I imagine the glee
In your eyes
Where no pitty lies.
The smile
Of the Cheshire cat vanishes while
Only a thin lipped grin
Of distaine remains.
