When I hear men
Building a wall
I recall Robert Frost.
But the cost
Of this perimeter wall
Falls to me
And I must say
That all my poetry
Will not pay
For walls.
Therefore I am glad
That I have
Some time
For more than rhyme!
When I met the devil in a pub
I said, “have you come in for grub?”
He said, “the barmaid is pretty
And you sir are most witty!
But alas! This pub it has no grub!
On opening my mum’s back door
I hear the rain pour.
I shall not romanticise
Rain or death.
Man dies
And some are left bereft
Listening to the rain.
I once went on a sugar date
With a young lady named Miss Kate.
When it came to paying time
I recited a very fine rhyme
Which delighted the old waiter and Kate!
The weather grows colder
And I older.
The clock ticks on.
Each second gone
Forever lost to me.
I sit alone.
Mere flesh and bone.
Is there a possibility of immortality?
That may be.
But for now the clock mocks
All my philosophy.
I wonder, could ther
My first real girlfriend
Tore tart cards
In London phone boxes.
In the end
Those colourful art cards
Vanished, leaving steel and glass.
Now, when I pass
Those boxes in London streets
I imagine discreet meets
Organised online.
And after the laughter
And wine
Only steel and glass remain.
The flowers are finished in the hanging baskets
That beautified in summertime.
Now the autumn has come
And I hear knocks
From dead things in the rain and wind.
The clock on the wall
Makes a steady tick
As flowers continue to fall.
There once was an author named Dickens
Who wrote a novel all about chickens.
It lay undiscovered for years
Among some old bottled beers
And a spinster who kept drunken chickens!
There once was a young man named Mole
Who said, “I believe you have no soul!”
An old person called Neville
Said “I’m not the devil!”
And his eyes they blazed like hot coal …!
I like to write
But sometimes the rhymes won’t come.
In the morning sun
I have written of pretty flowers
Who know not hours
And clocks that tick the day away.
At times I write
Of midnight doors where young women knock
And pause for a while
(but never stop).
My verse makes readers smile
While others curse.
But I can not deny
That sometimes the rhymes
Just won’t come.
K Morris - Poet 