The girl objectified
Died.
Then
When he had had enough
They discussed
Politics or some such guff.
Objectification
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Tag Archives: poetry
The Extraordinary Has Become Ordinary
The extraordinary
Has become ordinary
And joy
For girl and boy
Is a mere matter
Of pounds, shillings and pence.
Dreams shatter
And his expense
Is a ticket to stations:
Anticipation,
Vanishing Expectation,
And their final destination … Despair
Summer Is
Summer is stinging bees
And flies on the cheese
That mother put out,
(Oh hear her shout)!
Summer is a gentle breeze
That ruffles the skirts
Of girls who tease
And flirt.
Summer is too much wine
And crossing a line
Though (at the time)
This seemed perfectly fine …
Dust
I drink
My wine and think
On bed,
Fertile wombs,
And tombs,
Where sleep the dead
Profession
Her profession
Was discretion.
His obsession
Was her profession.
Hearing their confession
Was the priest’s profession …
Why Do You Seek The Perfect Rose?
Why do you seek the perfect rose?
For heaven knows
That it’s scent
Is all too soon spent.
Results of the competition to win a print copy of “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems” by Kevin Morris
On 8 June, I launched a competition offering my readers a chance to win a free, signed copy of my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”, https://newauthoronline.com/2017/06/08/your-chance-to-win-a-signed-print-copy-of-poet-kevin-morriss-forthcoming-collection-of-poetry-my-old-clock-i-wind-and-other-poems/.
I am pleased to announce that the winner is Annette Rochelle Aben, https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/
Congratulations to Annette who wins a signed copy of my book.
The answer to the question I set on 8 June, is “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes.
To read this wonderful English balad please go to https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43187
Venerable Old Clock
I saw 2 men who did contend
Over who could a clocks hand’s bend.
I feared it would break
As one did a forward motion make,
While the other pushed back.
The mechanism shivered
But did not crack.
Those men are at it still
And will
Not be content
Until that venerable old clock is rent
Asunder,
For like a dog with a bone
They can not leave it alone.
Forgive them, for they know not what they plunder
There Was A Young Lady Called Bess
There was a young lady called Bess
Who wore a very short dress.
The vicar’s daughter walked by
And said, with a sigh
“Would that I could that way dress!”
Knowledge
Knowledge I possess (and a degree),
But the wind free
Laughs at me
As he
Shakes yonder bending tree
K Morris - Poet 