Waiting for the lightning to rend
These troubled skies and send
A bolt to tear apart
This artificial heart.
Lightning
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Tag Archives: poetry blogs
Turn the Pillow Over
Turn the pillow over
And wish upon a four leaf clover.
Cover the scent,
The pent
Up desire and loss,
Then count the cost
My friend
For all things come to an end.
—
The four-leaf clover is considered to be lucky and is rarely found in nature, unlike it’s relation, the thrhee-leaf clover, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four-leaf_clover).
Lethe
Truth hides
Away
In the day
And slides
Out in dreams
When all seems
Real.
Dreams reveal
Our fears, often in a jumble,
A veritable Tumble
Of confused
Images and thought.
The truth may momentarily be caught
For the dreamer to see,
But frequently wriggles free
As he awakes
And his desire for forgetfulness slakes
In Lethe.
—
Lether means oblivion In ancient greek and was one of the 5 rivers in Hades (the Greek underworld). When the dead drank from the waters of Lethe they would forget their former lives. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lethe.
Mare
Horses feet
Beat
In time with his heart.
An interlude (not for a prude),
Then hooves depart.
Beware
The coquettish mare
With lustrous maine,
For two riders bestride her,
Joy and pain.
There Was A Young Man Called Shakespeare
There was a young man called Shakespeare
Who said, “I have no fear
That I can write a play”,
So he scribbled away,
Which kept him in shoes and beer!
There Was A Young Lady Called Nell
There was a young lady called Nell
Who, feeling unwell
Went to see a doctor named Locke.
He said, “Knock, Knock,
I have a terrible joke to tell”!
Runaway Car
A bizarre
Dream of a runaway car,
As real
As this desk I feel.
A mad man driving,
Me striving
To get out.
No point to shout.
Me on the phone.
The driver alone
In his crazed head.
We stop, I am not dead.
A few incoherent words are said
By one
Who is in his mind far gone.
I stay.
He moves away.
—
A day breaks much like any other.
Soon I may discover
What man drove that phantom car
And who we really are.
Perhaps he is me
And I am he …
Stripping Bare
How easy to perceive the bear
In his lair,
Waiting for the girl who, having tentatively climbed the stair
Enters there.
He doesn’t care
And will have his way
The wagging fingers say.
Wine is opened
And trite
Words at night
Are spoken,
But there is no force.
The evening runs it’s course.
More trite words are said
Then, bed.
Morning breaks.
Her leave she takes
With a kiss on the cheek, not lips
That strips
The situation bare
Yet there
Is in that peck, perhaps a kind of care.
No Need for Roses
No need for roses to impress
The girl in the short summer dress,
Though there is wine a plenty
To fill the empty
Cup.
A man may sup
And not be filled
Though wine be spilled
Upon the sheet
Where nectar sweet
Runs
And the great tide comes
In once more
To sigh
And die
On barren shore.
Gall
When the sweating
And the getting
Is almost done
And our sun
Is setting,
Will we count a race well run?
Let us be wary lest the tears fall
And what seemed sweet, turn to gall.
K Morris - Poet 