I was pleased to read this interview with Gabriela M, a writer whose work I greatly admire, https://spillwords.com/spotlight-on-writers-gabriela-m/.
Please do read Gabriela’s interview and visit her blog which can be found here, https://shortprose.blog/author/shortprose12/.
Kevin
2 Goddesses I know
And will go
And worship at their feet
But they may my ardour defeat
And bid me cease,
‘Else they will call the police!
Should I therefore hold my peace,
Or whisper words of love
To a goddess above?
And if I express my passion
To a young lady of fashion,
To which one should
I speak?
I am weak
With desire,
‘Tis best to kill this fire
For ’tis only a delusion
That a goddess could
Give me her love,
And confusion
Would, I maintain
Reign, where I to voice
My love
To 2 goddesses above.
No, I shall stay
Away from goddesses
As there is too much choice . . .
A short black dress
You wore.
Making it easy for
My hands to explore
Your unstockinged legs.
Yes I confess
That I remember the dress
So black and tight,
And the hot
Night, though not
To my shame,
Your name
When a young lady whose name is Bland
Said, “your wish is my command”,
And I said, “please, spend the night”,
She replied, “that would be such sweet delight,
But my bouncer boyfriend, he just wouldn’t understand!”.
A young lady whose name is Bland
Said, “your wish is my command”,
But when I said, “iron my clothes”,
She hit me on the nose.
Young ladies I will never understand!
When you saw her with me
And I asked, “did she
Look Happy?”
You answered “yes”
Which, I must confess
Made me
Smile, for she
Did not smile
Away her time
With me
For the love of my rhyme,
And a smile may beguile,
Reveal or conceal
Simultaneously, while
All you see
Is a smile
That does grace
A girl’s pretty face . . .
We start our play
At break of day
In joy or sorrow,
And when sleep does us take
We pray
That we shall wake
To play
Another day.
When a young lady whose name is Bess
Said, “my sins I must confess”,
I made prompt reply,
“No priest am I,
And your hair is a terrible mess!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is Bess
Said, “my sins I must confess”,
I said, with a sigh,
“No priest am I,
Now please put on your dress!”.
I flick through
Contacts on my mobile phone.
True they
Make it easy to
Keep in touch by phone
Or text,
Although it does vex
Me that technology
Renders memory
Unnecessary, for why keep
In your head
Numbers stored on the cold phone?
And you sleep
Forever in a house of stone,
Your number, dead,
On my useless phone.
I shall sit under this graveyard tree
And think on Gray’s Elegy.
The ploughman is as a sod
As are the great.
Oft of an evening late
I ponder on Gray
Who, one day
Wrote an Elegy
Which resonates now with me.
His verse will live on
Long after I am gone
And I doubt not
That this tree
Which overlooks this graveyard plot
Will outlast me.
K Morris - Poet 