When I am gone
My poetry may live on.
And when I go
Others will know
Whether it is so.
While in the cold ground
There is nothing profound
For worms have no time
For fleeting rhyme.
But love to dine …
Worms
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Tag Archives: upper norwood poets
Into the Dark
The wind blew chill
In the darkening woods.
I heard an owl’s cry
And for a moment stood
As the daylight
Continued into night.
Sometimes, in Dreams
Sometimes, in dreams, it seems
To me
That what I feel and see
Is reality.
But, when I awake
I realise my mistake,
And partake in what we designate as reality.
Yet I may dream
And the solid things I feel and see
May merely seem to be
As Poe saw long ago
You Won’t Get to Heaven
When a moral old lady named Nevin
Said, “Kevin, you won’t get to heaven!”
A gorgeous young sinner called Bell
Said, “Its more fun in hell.
And Kevin, I’ll take you to heaven …!”
A Fine Chest
When a young lady wearing a vest
Said, “do you like my chest?”
I said, “its so good to touch.
Do tell me, are you Dutch?”
And I stroked that fine wooden chest!
Unresolved
As I sat reading poetry
A figure passed me.
I wonder, in future years
Will another, without fear
See pass by
A moving phantom, as did I?
Or did I see
Some future me
As I sat alone at home
Pondering on poetry?
The Autumn Rain is Falling
The autumn rain is falling,
I hear it on my window
It’s voice calling
To me of temporary
And permanent things.
I should go below
Leaving rhyme behind.
For I am not the wind
Nor the eternal rain.
And one day I must go
Cold
The cold bites hard
In the churchyard.
The temperature is zero.
I know
These fallen leaves
Do not deceive.
My autumn has come.
And alone
I go home
Heading for the churchyard
Building a Wall
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
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!
K Morris - Poet 