I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.
One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.
Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.
The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
From his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?
Heels approaching
Conscience’s reproaching
Din Shrieks, “This is sin”!
But oh, how sweet it is to give in …
Sound ever nearer,
Clearer and clearer.
The man fears her
Yet desires.
unquenchable fires.
The body tires
Yet still he aspires
To take
And her passion awake.
If mirrors could speak
We would seek
To have them covered, Lest our whole
Soul
Be laid bare
For the world to stare.
If mirrors could tell
What in man’s heart does dwell
We would do well
To turn them to the wall
Lest our reputation be lost beyond recall.
With legs bare
And wet hair,
A nymph bold
Doesn’t care
About the old
Men who, trying not to stare
Think on wives with grey hair
And sagging skin,
As they contemplate the power
Of the cold shower
As an antidote to sin …
This short piece speaks for itself and is worth a read, (http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/gunner/bad-poets.html).
Kevin
Lying there
You appear not to care.
A motion,
A building ocean.
A reaction,
Leading to a kind of satisfaction
On someone’s part
While the heart
Sighs
And inwardly dies
Waking to the alarm
He thinks on the charm
Of woman (not here).
Yet the imagined ideal
Does, I fear
So often obscure the real.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Girls ponder on jewels
While fools Misconstrue
What is true.
Hamlet will gather Rue
Ere the day is through.
—
In Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” it is, of course Ophelia (not Hamlet) who gathers rue.
I am offering the chance to win a signed copy of my latest collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, ( http://moyhill.com/lost/ ).
To enter the competition please answer the following question.
What is the name of the author, born in 1859 in Edinburgh, who penned the following lines:
“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerves and he has knowledge …”.
To enter please send an email to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com putting “Competition” in the subject line.
The first person to correctly answer the question will receive a free signed (print) copy of “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”.
Good luck!
Kevin
I recall The library’s high shelves
Where I would delve
For books.
Often I forsook
My peers
To read
And on solitude feed.
All those years
Gone by.
I sigh
And wonder why
The past holds such sway.
And we humans lose ourselves in yesterday.
Oh how easy it is to perspective lack
As we gaze back
Down childhood’s track.
I remember the schoolyard’s din
And the wanting to join in.
Sometimes I ran with the crowd
Yet my nature proud
Held me apart
And I solace found in art.
I see the library now
And wonder how
The school goes on
Now that I am gone
An whether books still stand
Waiting to command
The future poet’s hand.
He said, “I have wrought
What I ought
Not to have wrought
And bought
What I ought
Not to have bought.
I have caught
the wild bird
Who’s song I heard
In the lonely night.
Once delight
Of a kind, semed sweet to you and me
And we believed ourselves to be free”.
She said, “There can be no mistaking
That I flew into a cage
Of my own making
And now I rage
Against my own stupidity
And cupidity.
Expensive bras
Make for sturdy bars.
The truth is, you a bird caught
But together we rought
This cage
In which we now both uselessly rage
K Morris - Poet 