Tottering on stilettos
Girls from ghettos
(And a few middle-class
Girls too) pass
Through lonely doors, and sing a song
That will be around so long
As mankind
Requires? desires?
More than food for his mind.
Did cavemen win
Young women to sin
With fine polished stone?
I own
I do not know
Though I suspect it was so.
And still girls go
Through lonely doors
And are labelled, hoars
A Transhumanist heard a clock tick
And said “time I shall lick”.
And the clock said, “progress,
Regress, progress, regress”,
As the hands did trace
The clock’s round face
From beginning to beginning,
Forever spinning:
“Progress, regress, progress, regress . . .”.
And the Transhumanist said,
Nought, for he was long since dead.
Last night my friend Miss White
Said “’tis such sweet delight
To be with you,
Believe me its true,
But my boyfriend he likes to fight!”.
When a Socialist named Lee
Said “I believe in equality!”,
A Conservative called Dave
Said, “only in the grave
Will you find equality!”.
I was delighted to receive the below review of the audio edition of “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems”:
“A Delightful 25-Minute Poetry Listen
When I downloaded the Audible version, I was surprised to discover that Alex Lee, the narrator, is a woman. She does an excellent job. Her reading of one poem about a clock and a refrigerator includes sound effects. Some poems remind me of Robert Frost and other such poets. I recommend this book as a delightful twenty-five minutes of poetry listening”.
To read the above review, or to purchase “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems” please visit, https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Writers-Pen-and-Other-Poems-Audiobook/B07KPN5FCH.
My thanks to author Abbie Johnson Taylor for reading and reviewing “The Writer’s Pen”.
Reading Frost as night falls.
The poet calls
To me, from the previous century.
“Relevant?” Yes, but how I hate that word
For is not the song of bird
Or getting lost midst the dark tree
Simply beauty in poetry,
Part of Frost’s heart
Which lives on in me
As I sit in this darkening
Room, hearkening to Robert’s poetry?
When a young lady named Claire
Said, “look, how the people stare!”,
Her good friend miss Rose
Said, “we should put on some clothes.
As there is a policeman over there!”.
I know a young lady named Claire
Whose feet are always bare.
When the weather turns freezing
You may hear her sneezing,
But Claire, she just doesn’t care!
He begged.
She resisted.
He persisted
Until, worn down by him
She gave in
To his sin.
They bedded.
He regretted.
But the din
Of conscience within
Can not undo sin
I am skin,
Sin,
Lust
And dust.
And one day I shall be thrust
Into a place
Where no trace
Of who I am now will be found
For underground
There is no sin or lust,
Only dust
Which once was thee or me
K Morris - Poet 