A girl’s innocence is divine.
Her purity attracts. Distracts.
And oft, after wine,
To sin, is truly divine.
A Girl’s Innocence
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Tag Archives: poetry blogs
Dalliance; a Collection of Poetry and Prose
A wooded path:
Beauty in bleakness;
Fallen leaves stirred by a chill winter’s breeze.
Cold cuts like a knife.
Exhilarating to be alive.
(“Beauty in Bleakness” can be found in “Dalliance; a Collection of Poetry and Prose”, https://www.amazon.com/Dalliance-collection-poetry-prose-Morris-ebook/dp/B00QQVJC7E/
There is Comfort in this Tree
There is comfort in this tree,
For it was here before me.
And will stay
When I am clay.
To comfort those who pass
Along this self-same path
A few, perhaps
Gazing at this tree
May remember me.
I laugh,
For a tree
Has no vanity.
The Wicked Gnome
Last night on my way home
I met with a wicked gnome,
Who imprisoned me for hours,
Amidst the most beautiful flowers.
I believe her name is Joan!
Girlfriend
His girlfriend
Brought him delight
For the night.
But did not comprehend
The meaning of euphemism.
They took a decision
To pretend …
A Poem from “Croydon Poetry Hour Anthology 2019/2020”
The below poem, “Fine Rain”, is 1 of 12 poems by me which appears in “Croydon Poetry Hour Anthology 2019/2020”:
I get wet
By this fine
Rain.
Yet,
I do not regret
For the divine
Is in the rain.
I shall get wet
Again
For when
Death does steal
Me away.
I regret
That I shall no longer feel,
The joy of a rainy day.
(“Croydon Poetry Hour Anthology 2019/2020” can be found here, https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/croydon-poets/croydon-poetry-hour-anthology-201920/paperback/product-rjpqzd.html
A Naughty Young Lady Named Miss Moore
A naughty young lady named Miss Moore
(Who all the dissolute old rakes adore),
Works in a club
Called the Good Rub .
Where they threw me out the door!
Away From My Technology
Away from my technology
I see the reality
In these
Bare trees
And fallen leaves.
The autumn rain
Will fall again.
I Walked Alone
I walked alone
Through the graveyard.
Then, on reaching home
I pondered on lovers
And the dead.
The graveyard plot
Is cold,
Whilst love is hot.
Yet the dead
And lovers
Both have their bed,
Do they not?
Past Time
A rhyme
Captures a moment in time
Of joy or pain,
Which will never come again.
The poet may change
His original rhyme
But past time
He can not change.
K Morris - Poet 