My thoughts lost on the damp air
Going who knows where.
The sodden grass
I pass
Where children play
but not today.
No ball
or bird call.
Only the rain’s incessant fall.
Lost
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Tag Archives: writing
Passing Through
Walking through the leaves
I perceive
the familiar churchyard.
It is writ large
on these weathered stones
“man is skin and bones.
All we are turns to dust.
Here men are beyond lust.
They sleep fast
And do not ask
Who does pass
By
With a doleful sigh”.
No more are men buried here.
The place is near
to my home.
I am but skin and bone.
I feel the carpet warm as I write.
The morning light
Will soon dispel the remains of night
For a time at least
then eternal peace.
(All Saints Church is close to my home. The graveyard is long since disused although the existing graves are maintained. http://www.allsaintsuppernorwood.co.uk/).
Opening The Wine
She stands,
corkscrew in hand.
The wine beckons.
Seconds,
Crawl past,
Until, at last,
With a twist
Of her wrist,
the cork slowly rises.
There are no surprises.
Fate knocks
as the cork pops.
Wear High Heels
Were high heels for they make you tall
But be careful lest you fall.
Situations are slippery as eels.
The ground feels
firm
but the worm
may turn
and swallow
the hollow
you.
Were high heels for you are pretty
And the citty
Is full of witty
Men
Who employ their pen
To record every slip
And trip.
Watch the pavement as you walk
For people talk
And reputations are brittle as bones
That break on stones …
Raining
I awoke to the rain
drumming on my window pane.
Opening my lattice I let it in
the purifying water that washes away sin.
The hypnotic sound
of rain falling all around.
All my life I have listened to the rain.
The same drumming
of water coming
from the sky
falling on you and I.
The rain has no end
But you and I my friend
May listen for a while
Smile
then pass on by.
This Above All, To Thine Own Self Be True
I must confess to being a little disappointed on receiving the below reply, in response to my submission of several poems to a magazine.
“I read the poems with interest but nothing takes my fancy”.
It would have given me pleasure to see my work featured on a platform other than my own. There is within the heart of man, deny it though he will, a desire for the approbation of his fellows. I am no exception to this rule. I receive a warm glow every time one of my readers likes or comments on my work. Likewise I derive tremendous pleasure on reading reviews left by my readers.
The approbation of others is not, however what drives me to write. Despite the swearing at my computer and the shaking of my fist in frustration when the words fail to come (at the machine I hasten to add), I can not stop writing for I have an itch which needs to be scratched, scratched and scratched again. Thoughts run through my head and must find expression on the page. I can not help myself. I must put pen to paper and leave it to the gods to determine whether or not my words find a place in people’s hearts.
I would like to close by thanking all my readers for following me at newauthoronline.com and reading my work.
Kevin
The Mermaid
“Jump in
and swim.
The water is cold
but the bold
will find gold
in the dank cave
which the brave
mermaid
may explore”.
Mermen adore
the rocky sea floor
and will implore
you to play
as the day
darkens.
The wise mermaid harkens
to the gull
who cries above,
“it is not love.
‘Tis better to stay on the sand warm
than have your heart torn
asunder
by mermen who plunder”.
The waves thunder
And the mermaid does wonder
About gold dust
Lust
And sin.
The Fairy Ring
The ring is no longer magic
but the tragic
fairies continue to dance.
There is no romance
yet as a magnet to the metal
man can not settle
and is drawn
to this sight forlorn.
The flesh tires.
Desires
cool
but the fool
plays with the burning coal.
Man’s goal
is the salvation of his soul.
The fairies cease their play
as day
breaks.
Man as from a dream awakes
and forsakes
for a time
the circle, once thought so divine.
Supermarket Shopping
As empty as a harlot’s kiss.
There is no bliss
In these aisles
Where smiles
Are lost
And the cost
Is known
By those who shop alone.
No Tower Fell
No tower fell
And the hangman’s bell
Failed to knell.
The passage of time
Obfuscates crime.
Was a line crossed
And morality tossed
asunder?
Did plunder
Take place?
Disgrace
Waits in the wings.
Things
Are not forgotten
And often
The deeds we sow
Flower in woe.
K Morris - Poet 