Skin soft as silk.
Giver of milk
But not yet
For you must get
What you need
In order to succeed
Or feed your greed.
Seed contained in a glove.
But one day a tree may shoot
From another route.
I would
That it’s fruit be good
And bathed in love.
Is it just sour grapes
When the lover of England exception takes
To the portrayal of his land
As a place where shoppers stand
In fractious line,
Oops, sorry I mean having a rare old time,
Getting and spending
In the never ending
Consumerist dance?
If by chance
One ponders on Elgar
Or Churchill with his cigar,
The lover of his country surely does think
How this ad would turn them both to drink.
Forget ancient oaks that russle,
In the fresh English air.
No one seems to care
And it is consumer muscle
I fear
That is celebrated here.
I was feeling overwrought
And somewhat out of sorts,
When my heart was caught
By a little girl who sang.
Joy into my soul sprang
And her father gave me a strawberry juicy and red.
Few words where said,
Yet my heart was fed
By fruit and a child
Who did beguile
Me to smile
On a crowded train,
Soothing my racing brain.
—
Thank you to the man, his wife and their little girl who touched my heart on the way home from the office last week.
Thank you to Jayne King for her poem, “The invigilator”. The below poem is copyright Jayne King and may not be reproduced without the explicit written permission of Jayne King.
—
Being an invigilator,
Is there anything more boring?
Scanning the hall.
Toing and froing.
Trying to be alert,
So I can respond quickly to a raised hand.
Wishing I could sit like the others.
But instead, having to stand.
How slowly the time passes,
Seemingly standing still.
There’s movement all around me,
But somehow the time stays still.
Seconds turn to minutes,
A minute lasts an hour.
Some students offer small, tired smiles,
Others just sit and glower.
‘Tis true
The sun
Will still run
Through heaven, when all is said and done
And the birds Will
Continue to trill
As morning doth break
On a brave act, or a profound mistake …
“A man’s home is his castle, where freedom does reign.
I maintain
he may do as he will,
Provided of course
That he does no ill …
A gentleman may entertain
Whom he pleases
Though the Gorgon seizes
Every chance
To kill romance
And the stain
Of disipation
Shocks the nation
Who read of vicars capers
In papers.
Sometimes I swear
There is no real news out there …”.
Many thanks to Zainab Sheik for taking the time to read and review my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”. You can find her review here, https://abibliophilesobsession.wordpress.com/2016/06/12/review-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-by-k-morris/.
Kevin
I heard a sigh
And saw two ghosts who did lie
In a bed
Where the living dead
Meet.
“Your feet
Are cold”
She said.
He answered not for thoughts of misspent gold
Filled his sorrowing head.
“I dread being alone”
He did remark.
“The choice is not so stark
For there is always the telephone
And all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds
With Pangloss and party girls …”.
If I could touch the spirit behind the rain
And understand the bird’s call,
My brain
Could not contain
The pain
And joy that does underlie
It all.
Where I to comprehend why
I would surely die
And be forever lost in the endless sky.
Rain and birds
Together heard.
Their sound
Profound
Mingles, in joy beyond words.
K Morris - Poet 