Sun cream.
A perfect dream
Of skin
And sin
Sun Cream
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Tag Archives: the weather
Man’s Distain
I remember when the rain
Did maintain
A more or less steady beat.
Now my feet
Can not a puddle
Find, for nature is in a muddle.
And man’s distain
Will not conjure the rain.
Wind
I can hear the wind laughing outside
At our human pride.
The tide
Of time moves on
And we are gone,
With the wind
That will rescind
All
These scribbles on the wall.
“A Storm Is Coming” They Said
“A storm is coming” they said
Yet I hear no thunder
Overhead.
I wonder
Why this dread
Of the mighty Thor?
We close window and door
And watch the lightning’s flame
Put our civilisation to shame.
Thor he came
Long before
I was a twinkle in my parents eye
And the gods will remain
(but not so you and I).
The Clocks Have Gone Back
The clocks have gone back and the weather is cold.
The bold
Venture outdoors.
The temperature underscores
That winter is here
And the year
Is nearing it’s close.
Fingers and toes
Freeze.
There is no breeze,
Only the chill air to please
Senses the all encompassing heat
Would defeat
Excess Heat
This excess heat
Will defeat
My erratic thought.
Me caught
Between the desire
For fire
And water.
Yet Poseidon’s daughter
Does cavort
Killing all thought.
Desire
Fire
Water
Daughter.
Forgetfulness in arms
‘Ere the alarms
Of morn
Warn
Of another sultry day
Where man must work, not play.
Thor
The rain pours
And Thor’s
Hammer knocks
Against crumbling locks
As he our civilisation mocks.
A few, hearing the thunder
Lift their eyes in wonder
From the TV,
While fewer still, know what it is to be free.
December?
It is to warm for December.
I remember
other years
When tears
Would freeze
And an icey breze
froze
the stinging nose.
No need for winter clothes.
The weather grows
Strange.
Something is deranged.
All, all is changed.
London Rain
The platitudinous things people say,
The rain will wash them all away.
The rat race of a London day,
The rain will cleanse this all away.
Rain, nature’s balm to a troubled mind,
Within us inner peace we find.
A quiet place in which to dwell,
Aloof from this London hell.
Storm
Virgin white sheets.
His icey feet.
Two bodies meet.
“Why are you never warm?
I feel a storm coming.
I see dark clouds.
Do you hear the thunder’s voice angry and loud?
But no. though the sky is forlorn,
There will be no storm.
The weather needs to break.
This humidity I can not take.
I long for the cooling rain.
It will cleanse my fevered brain.
No, please,
your rough paws I do not need!”
K Morris - Poet 