Year: 2011
I Never Loved Like this Before [poem]
I never loved like this before.
Never been
first
a shooting star
and then
a globule on the floor.
Feelings all mixed up
and blackened and
wrapped around
barbed wire and
flattened and trampled
and strung out and
stretched into break point
with bounteous ardour
(but yet I confess that
I can’t live without her)
When you Said [poem]
When you said “I’m yours” I
never knew that, crouching on
all fours, I’d have to beg to know
the truth behind that clause
When you said you’re mine I
never saw, as one more in
your line, I’d soon receive
the lie which broke my spine
I am a Shadow [sonnet]
I am a shadow of my former self
dark
dangling
silhouetted
by a light
which screams
I love you
(I only sought to help)
but in the end
you faded
out
of
sight
My Poems
my poems chart my waters blue and green
blue for bruised and beaten – green for naive
in verse i point the way to where i’ve been
i wear my skipbeat heart upon my sleeve
© 2011, Alan Morrison
When Ladyes Lie [sonnet]
Those twisted words they fit not in your mouth
(those lips which I have kissed a thousand times).
It matters not if winds blow from the south —
when ladyes lie then nothing truly rhymes.
I held your hand and led you through the dark
and showed you vista visions wildly real.
We touched a vast divine and piercing spark
though something else that beauty did conceal.
For truth was trampled tritely in the dirt
as silver cords between us snapped in two.
I see its traces on my bloodstained shirt
and wonder what I’ll do with me and you.
I sit here in this strange grey morning light.
Could that, too, be, in truth, the dead of night?
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Broken Nails [poem]
and so I visit basements
once again
wherein were crushed
my childlike wanton joys
where mirrors make reflections
[rude (arcane)]
and strangely stunted weapons
fate deploys
The Mirror of the Mire [poem]
the poet is the pedlar of possibility
the architect of other worlds
reminder of responsibility
deflator of all hubris hurled
iconoclastic painter
dark defibrillator
narrator of all love unfurled
a rendezvous arranger
a nervous bold and
hungry bird
I used to Believe
I used to believe I’m a writer of poems
Now I know that my poems write me© 2011, Alan Morrison
Our Learning Curve [sonnet]
You told me that you learn your lessons well;
on that hangs every hoped-for dream I crave.
For loving you with every pining cell
ensures those lessons will our trothness save.
I never wish to be a source of pain
or torture you with love’s untender rack.
At most I seek to drench you in the rain
which, falling hard, may melt old cul-de-sacs.
But you are not the only student heart
for by this marriage my stiff stones are turned;
as piece by piece my folly falls apart:
To fall for you means lessons must be learned.
Such all-consuming earthquake love as ours
despite the falling rocks) is strewn with flowers.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
My Greatest Enemy [sonnet]
My loving heart seeks only peaceful means
to make its way through every troubled world;
while bombs and guns blow souls to smithereens
and bullets at small children’s heads are hurled.
I make my trenches deep in flow’ry fields —
those graveyard dreams where only poppies grow;
while all my opiated suff’ring yields
a lifelong minus conflict afterglow.
Yet though from foes my heart is always free
(for even when I’m hated I’ll not spite)
I have to — if I’m honest — disagree
as there is one opponent whom I blight.
Despite the fact that from all war I flee
the greatest enemy I have is me.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 