You neither sleep nor weep,
While I sleep, the sleep of the just or unjust?
Awaking, lust
Is replaced
By a kind of guilt
Mixed with tenderness?
I can not see your face
And the Quilt
Covers
That
Which
Perhaps
Should
Have
Remained
Undiscovered.
There was a young lady called Nell
Who worked in a hotel.
The guests where crude,
But she was no prude
And Nell would never tell …
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.
As inconsequencial as a child who did say
As she walked past the aquarium yesterday,
“I have fish like that”.
Me, on my way from my flat
To the pub, thought of France
And innocent children who can no longer dance.
—
There is a shop selling tropical fish, reptiles etc some 10 minutes walk from my home. While strolling along to the pub yesterday evening (Sunday 17 July),I overheard the above snatch of conversation.
There was a young lady called Fiona
Who took a boat to Iona.
She fell in the sea,
Shouted “Now I am free.
I have always been a bit of a loner”!
When the sun sinks
Man Drinks
From the Lillie lined pool
Where many a fool
Has drunk before.
As in days of yore
So it is now.
I think on how
Everything has changed
Yet remains the same.
The fool
Still drinks
As the sun sinks
Over the stagnant pool
Where lillies have long since gone to seed,
Vultures feed
And luxuriant weeds
Supply all needs.
I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.
One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.
Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.
The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
From his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?
Heels approaching
Conscience’s reproaching
Din Shrieks, “This is sin”!
But oh, how sweet it is to give in …
Sound ever nearer,
Clearer and clearer.
The man fears her
Yet desires.
unquenchable fires.
The body tires
Yet still he aspires
To take
And her passion awake.
If mirrors could speak
We would seek
To have them covered, Lest our whole
Soul
Be laid bare
For the world to stare.
If mirrors could tell
What in man’s heart does dwell
We would do well
To turn them to the wall
Lest our reputation be lost beyond recall.
“I have lost
My sock” she cried.
“And I can’t recover it, much though I have tried”.
“It is little cost
To replace a sock, for they are cheap,
Dry your eyes my dear, there is no need to weep”
He said, and rolled over on his side to sleep.
K Morris - Poet 