Month: Oct 2013

Ode to Jack the Russell [prose poem]

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In times of crisis someone always rises from the heap to lead the way.
In this case, Jack the Russell was the one to join the fray.
Often it’s the ones who look least likely to be heroes who defy all odds;
While those who brag beforehand fall to pieces when the action
on the ground or on the stage in life’s grand theatre gets too hot.
Somehow, the state of modesty bestows a later case of bravery
when even dogs can step up to the plate, regardless of their fate.

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The Creative Process

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What a fruitful mystery is the creative process! I cannot say that I write a poem or song but that it writes me. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s not like automatic writing for I have to apply myself and instigate the momentum. But at the same time as I instigate, some other force then arrogates my mind; then words come like confetti on the wind from some uncharted place, often making me laugh with sheer joy at the flow! For this reason, no one can take the credit for anything. We are conduits, canals and watercourses, messengers and mediators from another universe. Saboteurs of mediocrity. Avatars of authenticity. Provocateurs for change.

More than a Rosebud [sonnet]

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There was one part of her which made its mark;
though others did their work to sculpt the whole.
The way her lips were shaped in me did spark
a joyful sigh. (I give you my parole).
With mouths like rosebuds some can show their charm;
while others pout and pose to cause a stir.
Her mouth of cavelike mystery would disarm
the staunchest facial structure connoisseur!
Yet, some would find my observations coarse;
might even say such words could sound perverse.
To them, with vigour, I, with counterforce,
say lips have found their zenith in this verse!
Her mouth: The part which deeply spoke to me.
If you could see it too, you would agree.
© Alan Morrison, 2013


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I couldn’t resist photographing this very photogenic locust. I know they get a bad press for their eating habits but they are sooo beautiful! 🙂 You can’t see it in the photo but the inside of its thighs are bright red

Alike [poem]

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like a leaf
half-driven by the wind
half by my own propulsion
I am blown
by strategies unknown
toward the goal

like a dream
from which I woke to find
I’d been some other person
in a haze
an uncompleted phrase
without a verb

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My Creamly Friend [lunar sonnet]

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A Hunter’s Moon of power shines today;
and we are but her ebb and flowful tides.
Some sensing souls are thrown in disarray
while round our greenblue ball she creamly glides.
Reflecting only light from mother’s smile
intensified by monthish phasely flow;
she grasps my sleepless heartbeat for a while
and only later see she’s helped me grow.
From where, I wonder, did your craters come?
Did meteorites invade your virgin space?
When in your tidal waters I have swum
did you infuse me with your limpid grace?
A moonless earth I cannot comprehend.
Without her gravity I’d have no friend.
© Alan Morrison, 2013

Just Another Culture Clash [sonnet]

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Orang and Utan were two chimpanzees;
animalistic actors on the fence –
jungle-living creatures with no conscience
wrapped up in the branches of some trees.
Then Orang nearly jumped out of his skin;
a human rattled something in the leaves.
So Utan got the hump – rolled up his sleeves:
“Upstarts we will not tolerate within”.
But when those words reverbed in Thunder’s ears
a lightning bolt from darkened skies unfurled.
“Your style of life and thought disturbs my world
It’s time you heard some music from the spheres”.
What’s happening here? said monkey (voice was brash).
I answered: Just another culture clash.
© Alan Morrison, 2013

Iceberg in your Heart [sonnet]

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You’re not the woman who I once had known.
For then, our universes parallel,
the iceberg in your heart had still not grown
and then you laughed and loved so well.
Abuse you suffered at your father’s hands
has hung itself upon your perfect breasts
while by your prison bed another stands;
and now an anger all your words infests.
But how can daddy’s failure take its toll
in such a way that overtures of love
are crushed and burned up by your frozen soul
(your body just an empty pairless glove)?
“I’m lost,” you told me. “Nothing you can do”.
I will not rest until once more you’re you.
© Alan Morrison, 2013

Unfinished [sonnet]

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“Don’t leave me”, were the pleading words you said.
Yet how can I leave someone who’s not there?
“Don’t leave me all alone” — your words (with dread)
as if we’re in some torrid love affair.

“I need you in my life”, you said with tears.
Yet I’ve no function in that life today.
For when I send my arrows or my spears
of love or any thing, you look away.

So far we’ve not fulfilled our mission call;
we never really finished what began.
Parentheses have been our curtain call.
(Sometimes you made me feel like I’m a man).

There is no you for me left here to leave.
In the meantime I’ll just quietly grieve.
© Alan Morrison, 2013