There was a young lady named Kate
Who was invariably extremely late.
We sat in sorrow around her deathbed.
When the poor girl said
“You will have to wait and wait”.
There was a young lady named Kate
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Tag Archives: poets
Evensong
You were going to evensong.
I wanted to go along
But felt shy
To ask (I don’t know why).
An agnostic sitting in a pew
Next to you,
That wouldn’t do!
Though I know
That I wouldn’t be the first sceptic to attend
And pretend
Belief.
Our life here is brief
And religion softens grief
For the believer knows
That he goes
To a place
Where God’s grace
As sweet water does fall
On all.
In the singing of hymns
We forget our sins
And cough due to the dust
From ancient books,
While God looks
Down
With a frown
For he knows our lust …
Perhaps I will
Next time go along
To evensong
And perchance find a still
Place where God’s grace
Does fall
On all.
Though it may not be so
Nonetheless I shall go
Along
To evensong.
My Owl
I have lived in Upper Norwood since 1997. Upper Norwood is one of the greenest parts of Greater London and I am fortunate that my home overlooks an historic park. The prevalence of greenery leads to a diversity of wildlife, including foxes and owls.
From time to time an owl’s mournful cry reaches my ears. I like to think that he (or she) is the same owl. However given that I have resided in the same spot for some 20 years this is impossible.
Below is my poem “Owl
“Owl” can be found in my collection of poetry “Refractions” https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2
Power Failure
Last night, while visiting a neighbour, the lights failed. Indeed it soon became apparent that the electricity supply had gone down in the 2 blocks of flats which constitute the development in which I live. My immediate neighbour, and the lady who lives opposite to her, panicked a little and lamented the fact that none of us possessed torches. Fortunately the lights came back on in a matter of minutes and the power supply has remained steady since yesterday evening’s temporary blip.
The above incident reminded me of my poem “The Dark”:
“Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits”.
One day the dark will take us all.
Time and tide wait for no man
As far back as I can remember, I have had a fascination with time. The hypnotic swing of the pendulum on an old-fashioned clock and the steady tick tock of the mechanism, entrances me.
My interest in time can be seen in several of my poems, including this one which is simply entitled “Time”
“Time” can be found in “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind” http://moyhill.com/lost/.
There was a young man named Ed
There was a young man named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
It was a terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
So I did his pretty widow wed!
—
There was a young chef named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
‘Twas a most terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
And just how will I get fed!
Eyes I Can Not See
Eyes I can not see
Look back at me.
A man can be
Without sight
Yet penetrate the darkest night
If he chooses.
But oft times he loses
Courage and says “let it be
For I do not wish to see
What has become of me”.
At other times he sighs
For his inner eyes
Perceive
That within himself, which causes him to grieve.
I do not need to see your eyes
To know the lies
That hide behind
For I find
That mine
Are as thine.
Why You Should Read and Write Poetry
A good article on The Imaginative Conservative, entitled “Why You Should Read and Write Poetry”, http://www.theimaginativeconservative.org/2018/01/read-write-poetry-dwight-longenecker.html
Shoe Size
You
Take a size 4 to five shoe.
I take a 10 to 11.
Heaven
Is an imagined place,
Although when my face
Does flush
(I blush
To say)
Heaven does not seem that far away
For me, but my shoe
Will not fit you
And we both agree
That yours are too small for me.
Keats had his Nightingale
Keats had his Nightingale, which made him think of death.
I have my owl, which brings to mind Macbeth.
Tis a different name
For the same
Thing.
The morning birds sing
Replacing the owl’s cry
And I
Ponder on Keats, who is remembered still
And wonder will
My owl survive
Long after I am alive.
K Morris - Poet 