When a young lady wearing 1 spectacle
Said, “Kevin, tell me, are you respectable?”,
I said to her, “Ria,
I have been called insincere.
But I have never been called respectable!”
When a Young Lady Wearing 1 Spectacle
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Tag Archives: Rhyme
Summer Rain
A summer rain falls.
And birds sing.
The earth smells fresh.
But I recall
I have bills to pay.
Yet returning home
To my working day
I carry birdsong
And the rich earth
In my heart.
Nature’s art
Feeds my poetry.
Yet she
Outshines all poetry.
Gossip
Heels at night
And creaking bedsprings.
A morning blackbird sings.
It’s song heard
By neighbours who delight
In what they overheard
The other night …
Tea Anyone?
When a young man using Chat GPT
Asked it to make him some tea,
It wrote about Ceylon
And hallucinated about Ron.
But he still hasn’t got his tea!
The Illusion of Time
I am often told
That time
Is merely an illusion.
Yet rhyme
Has beginning and end.
And time
My ever present friend
Will stop
This ageing clock
In the end.
When I Met the Poet Milton
When I met the poet Milton
In the supermarket shopping for Stilton,
And I spoke of “Paradise Lost”,
He said, “have you seen the cost
Of all these cheeses, especially this Stilton!”
The Night’s Companion (a poem written with the aid of AI)
She walks through the city’s gaudy glow,
Her unquiet grace in torpid midnight air,
Heels write stories only the lonely know
Of longing, forced laughter, and mutual despair.
Her sadness hides behind a smile.
She offers warmth for those who pay the fee,
Yet look behind her carefully constructed style
And you will see another she.
She’s practiced in the art of polite chat,
Of weaving silken moments, bright and brief,
Her eyes—two lanterns—never showing that
They sometimes flicker shadows dark with grief.
And in her step the wise will see
Others who have long left the player’s empty stage.
Sometimes, in her honest times she may truly see
That she has made her own mind-constructed cage.
(The above poem was composed using Microsoft’s Copilot, then modified by me. I meant to retain the poem as originally produced by Copilot. However, due to an oversight by me, only the present poem remains. This is unfortunate as it was my intention to publish both poems on my blog in order that my readers could take a critical look at the poem as originally composed by AI, and that modified by me).
Disjointed
Your perfume lingered in my living room
After you where gone.
The memory of skin against skin
Lives on.
Some would call it sin.
Perhaps, when all is said and done
One man’s fun
Is another’s sin.
The sky did not fall in
On me or you.
I am generally comfortable alone.
But I have the phone
Should I need you.
Your perfume will linger again
And I will recall
What some call the fall.
Perhaps pleasure and pain
Are somewhat the same.
But, if I am only dust
Why does Paradise Lost matter
Caught Up in Our Nightmares
Caught up in our nightmares
Of what may, or may not occur,
We forget the beautiful sunset
And that the earth in the wood
Smells good when wet.
Living in fear
We fail to hear
When birds sing.
Our spring
Is so brief.
Nightmare’s teeth
Pierce our hearts.
Yet we have art
And nature’s beauty
Ere we depart
Into that sleep
Where we are unaware
Of beauty or nightmare.
Pink Socks
When a young lady wearing pink socks
Walked into a shop full of clocks,
The shop owner named Lyme
Said, “it is high time
That you wore something with those socks!”.
K Morris - Poet 