I remember abandoned stilettos,
Left, bereft under my bed.
The ghettos
Are cruel it is said,
But you
Knew nothing of them,
(Though much of men
And their desire
To play with fire).
What drew
We 2
Diverse birds of a feather
Together?
Dare I say
That you where
A professional and I an amateur,
Or was it the other way?
I can not say.
Friends discuss politics in a pub garden.
Opinions harden.
The sun sets
Over the UK
As the day
Ends, and friends
Depart, Some with regrets
In their heart,
For a day
That may
Soon be done.
Civilisations rise and fall.
History’s story
Is a yearning for glory,
And the sand covers all.
The green through my window
Pane I see,
Should I go
Down, like the rain,
And be free
Amidst the greenery below?
‘Tis a passing show
I see:
This rain,
This tree
In the garden below,
And me
She stamps
Her feet
Under street
Lamps at night.
Whilst elsewhere
Party girl Claire
Sits, discreet
With well shod feet
In a hotel bar
Not far
From the street.
A useful list of approachable poetry magazines for unpublished poets on Vita Brevis, most of which have an acceptance rate of 20-30 percent, https://vitabrevisliterature.com/rescources/approachable-poetry-magazines-2/
Tomorrow, a friend’s son will visit me and we will discuss W. B. Yeat’s poem “An Irish Airman Forsees His Death”, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57311/an-irish-airman-foresees-his-death
A’s son is preparing for his GCSE in english. Part of the exam will entail him analysing a poem he has not previously seen, on the theme of power and conflict. He will need to analyse the techniques used and make an evaluative judgement on the poem.
I am, of course delighted to help, and hope that our time together will be productive in terms of A’s son being able to develop the skills enabling him to analyse poetry. I will ask my friend’s son to say what he thinks of the poem in general terms, and then go on to ascertain his views on the techniques being utilised.
Although I write poetry, my degree is in history and politics and I hold no formal qualification in either creative writing or English Literature (other than an A-Level in the latter subject). Tomorrow will therefore be something of a learning curve for both my friend’s teenage son and myself.
(Note: I have no idea as to what poem will be set when A’s son sits his GCSE English. It could, so far as I am aware, be any poem concerning power and conflict).
When a young lady named Lou
Spanked me with her high-heel shoe,
And I said, “give me more!”,
She replied, “I hear the front door.
Its the bishop, he’s due at 2!”.
The erotic is a girl’s voice pleasing,
Although many a man seizing
On a word
Has oft times misheard.
The erotic is a girl standing closer than she need
Which does a man’s desire feed,
And seem
Rhymes with dream.
The erotic is a peach
Seemingly out of reach.
A ripe fruit dangling,
His feelings entangling
The erotic is a state of mind
And you may find
That the seeming hot
Is not.
Stilettos bring delight
At night,
Or they can
Cut a man
Right through, too
K Morris - Poet 