A cold fire burns.
She turns
And looks.
She struts
Her stuff.
Her desire for cash
His decision rash.
Two souls zooming out of control
Down the primrose path
To hell.
All appears well
Then, smash!
The Primrose Path
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Tag Archives: reading
Speke Hall
I do recall
many a trip to Speke Hall.
The trees have seen it all
kingdoms rise and fall.
The old house stands
guardian of the land.
Now the airport has come.
and planes run
where once the squire walked
and talked
or perhaps shot
game for the pot.
Old books
one can not touch.
A family’s past preserved
behind rope.
Would the squire choke
at the sight
of the National Trust shop
where jam can be bought by the pot?
Do the dead
shake their head
as I gaze on their four poster bed?
The past conserved
In stones and words
As featherless birds
fly
Through troubled skies.
—
The construction of Speke Hall was started in 1530 and ended in 1598. It is one of my favourite haunts and is situated a few miles from my mother’s home in Liverpool. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speke_Hall).
Kiss
“The world is a bleak place” I said.
You took me into your bed
kissing away
The words I did say
and strange to tell
All did seem well.
Horribly Early
It is horribly early.
I can not sleep.
A bird tweets.
No feet
upon the street.
Cars pass
lost in distance vast.
I could return to bed
but I am awake
and doubt that sleep will take
me back
to be stretched upon the rack
of nightmare
and despair.
Sleep is a fickle friend.
Oft she doth pretend
to soothe the troubled mind
but man doth frequently find
in her arms that bind
a maelstrom of emotion
an ocean
where many are tossed
and forever lost
Why Do I Write?
Why do I write
oft long into the night?
Is it for pure delight
at the craft
or am I daft?
I hear my clock’s chime.
Time
crouches near.
The year
is drawing to it’s close.
The writer knows
that words live on
long after he is gone,
so strives to leave a mark
on this world stark.
A light that glimmers
in the dark
Illumining the human heart.
(Upper Norwood, 27 November 2015).
Tree
Do you think of me
As you stare at a tree?
Beauty makes us free
If we can see
Beyond the tree.
Early Morning Walk
My dog snuffles
and scuffles
amongst the leaves.
He is just there
With no care
For what I think
As I drink
In the fresh morning air.
Summer Days
Summer dresses
And sweet caresses.
Perfect days
Lost in a lovers haze.
Her porcelain shoulder
His arms enfold her.
Getting older.
The porcelain cracks
She lacks
His attention.
There is contention
over that pretty blonde
Its all going wrong.
‘Tis the same old song
Lust is strong
And mice play
When the cats away.
A Review Of My Book “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”
Many thanks to Rebeca for reading and reviewing my book, “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”. For Rebeca’s unboxing video please visit https://booksandmessybuns.wordpress.com/2015/11/16/out-of-the-box-1/. For Rebeca’s review of “Dalliance” please see https://booksandmessybuns.wordpress.com/2015/11/23/review-dalliance-by-k-morris/.
Frozen
The sighing breeze
can not freeze
the frozen heart.
There are no tears to start
welling up
From the dry brook.
A child’s innocent voice
Perchance makes the heart rejoice.
A little ice melts
And the soul struggles to be free.
K Morris - Poet 