Tag Archives: love

The Introspective Rake

So many
Have I known.
Penny after penny
In the lone
Of cloying scent.

Toying with love of a kind,
I find
Myself destroying
What little I had
In a sad
Fake dance
Of romance.

Some names I remember
(Their May to my December).
But can winter cold
The summer sun?

May will, for a while
Through fixed teeth,
Then, ere winter’s fun
Is done
Ushering in his brief

May is gone
And December flirts with June,
But she is soon
To play
With another one,
Though Cupid’s bow
Is never shot.

Is a hotbed of sweet sigh
And lie.
Stop there
For August fair

Turn to years
And Winter nears
His end.
Why pretend
It was not a life misspent
In scent,
And scent.

Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Woman’.

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.


What Is A Bed?

What is a double bed?
A place where the dread
Of what comes after this brief life
Is momentarily lost
In the arms of mistress or wife.

What is a double bed?
A place where the lone head
And sometimes weeps.

What is a bed?
A place of joy and pain,
Where we return again and again
Until we are slain
By the final sleep.

An Elderly Man Of The World Looks Back

When young
Caution he flung
For he knew from the start,
In the secret recesses of his heart
They would not stay,
(The girls out for fun,
After whom he did run).

There is no disgrace
In the chase
He thought
But why court
When a sort
Of love is so easily bought?

They came and went.
His heart was rent
As money he spent
On an attachment
To a kind of detachment
Which led …

Now in old age
He does uselessly rage
At the phantoms who dance
In a parrady of romance
Upon the stage
Of his own creation.
His anticipation Has turned to dust
Aleviated only by occasional flowerings of lust.