Tag Archives: women

Another Ghost

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Another ghost.
Another mocking toast,
How the hands of the clock do turn,
Never to return
To the point before
That particular door
Was unhinged by me.
I see
A procession of sweet ghouls
That call on fools
To follow
Them to the place where the hollow
Slink
Along
And The song of love is told
By the chink
Of gold.

Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Woman’.

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Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Woman’.

This poem appears in my collection of poetry ‘Refractions’: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Refractions-K-MORRIS-ebook/dp/B01L5UC2H2, under the title ‘Women’. In retrospect, I believe that ‘Woman’ better fits the poem, hence I have changed its title on YouTube.

 

Does He Care?

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Stillettos encase neat
Little feet.
Bare
Perfectly toned legs invite
And excite.
Mutual delight
They may find,
To temporarily bind
Them together, but does he care
To probe what is in there?

No, not that obvious place,
The space
Where many a man will
Thrill,
Spill
Then go.
No, I mean her brain
That does contain
The whole girl.
The Whirl
Of loves, thoughts and emotion,
The vast ocean
Of her soul.

Venus and Baccus

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Venus wants new shoes
And knowing not which pair to choose
Turns to Baccus who, lost in wine
Thinks her divine
And, taking out his credit card,
(For he has no hard cash)
Does, in a moment rash
Buy the lot
For he has got
More money than sense.
No expense
Will he spare
To keep Venus fair
At his side,
Though in rare
Moments of sobriety, he feels a lack of pride in self
And turning to the shelf
Pours another drink
Until he does into forgetfulness once more sink.

Sobriety does hurt,
For it makes Baccus alert
And causes him to think on the variety
Of nymphs he has known
And ponder on why he has always felt alone.
Picking up the telephone,
Venus arranges to get her hair
Done, for a girl must have fun
And take care of herself.
She has her man’s wealth
And a good lawyer lined up for when it all goes awry,
For Venus knows that his passion will die
And she will catch the eye
Of another rich guy
Who, like Baccus, lacking sense
Will spare no expense
In buying everything
Save for happiness, for that money can not bring,
Though the cynics say, it does soften lonleness’s sting …

Behind

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Being blind
Sometimes I find
Myself wondering, as heels pass
“Who is that lass?
Is she young or old?
Bold
Or shy
And what colour are her eyes?”

On occasions perfume, as of a flower
Does overpower
My senses, and I construct castles in the air
Wherein I while away many an hour
Thinking on the tender flower
Where other bees than me
Make free.

How the senses can deceive.
The girl I perceive
As being in the flush of youth
Is, in truth
(I blush) To admit it, sometimes a lady of mature years
Who has, perchance shed many tears
Over lovers past
And, by heavens no young lass!

Behind
Blind
Eyes
Lies
A mind
As frail
And lustful, as any sighted male

Woman

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What is a woman that she holds such power
Over men?
She is a delicate flower
Who when
Scorned
Reveals thorns
That prick
The hapless man to the quick.
Woman is a pussycat with soft furr
Giving off a throaty purr.
But those who dare
To stir
Her
Wrath she will, with polished claws tear
Apart.

Beware for the heart
In love given
May with stillettos be ridden
Over.
“You drove her
To it by your behaviour”.
“I am your saviour”
She will say.
And, as sure as night follows day
You will be begging the girl to stay
For her claws are now sheaved
And who would believe
That one with a face so fair
Could rend and tear?