Sonnet
Still [sonnet]
Reluctantly and sweetly deep within
a stark confession [w]rings me like a bell.
Defences that I’ve built are wearing thin.
I’m still in love with you with every cell.
I thought the surge would soon grow dim with time
alongside faded swells of passion shared;
like ripples on a lake which lost their prime
the further from the centre splash they erred.
The drug you are (on which I loverdosed)
had been out of my system for a while.
But now you float and haunt me like a ghost:
an ectoplasmic centripetal smile.
We never had the chance before to bloom.
Within this finite cosmos is there room?
© Alan Morrison, 2013
If I was Married to a Linden Tree [sonnet]
If I was married to a linden tree
I wouldn’t need a ring for full of those
her widening trunk would every yearly be!
I’d shelter in the leafy roof which grows.
Her branches round my waist would tightly fit;
while every type of bird would flit and sing
for me with scented blossoms albeit
soon cut for tea in cups of bark she’d bring.
Perhaps you’ll think I’ve lost my way in love
to harbour such desires. But can’t you see
to love a tree will help you reach above
and from the hold of humans make you free?
I think a tree’s the only one I’d wed —
the mystery kept alive by what’s unsaid.
© Alan Morrison, 2013
Roller-Coaster [sonnet]
Your undulations crash against the cliff
on which I have forever stood with awe.
Beneath my feet a telling hieroglyph
engraved in rock evokes a higher law.
Then elemental foamly calms assure
me I can blend my surgesome pulsing flow
of restless blood with every drop of your
entrancing dream-enhancing power show.
For I am not inert and flaccid flesh;
but heaving deep and moved by moonly beams.
Just like the sea I weave and intermesh
and float my soul in tranquil storm extremes.
It only takes one leap to brave your brine.
The same applies to those who will brave mine.
© Alan Morrison, 2013
Forever Alchemy [sonnet]
For reasons I thought best in distant past
I fell on my own sword and let you go.
Thus I became a self-iconoclast —
a one-man dab-hand self-destruction show.
You strode into that snow-capped country white;
a virgin in my eyes you’ll always be.
I thought if we stayed friends there’d still be light;
transcending all our ancient alchemy.
But still you turned my nickel into gold
(our laughter was the grand transmuting stone).
And though we laugh not now (if truth be told)
our gilt-edged stocks have somehow strangely grown.
No matter where on earth you’ve ever been,
the truth is only I deserve your skin.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
Would you Love him if he wasn’t Famous? [sonnet]
Would you love him if he wasn’t famous —
if he was not some big shot in the world?
Just another normal ignoramus;
would you still want him round your finger twirled?
Be honest, tell the truth, if he was just
a plumber or a sweeper in a store
would love be there or feelings of disgust
and would you wish he could be so much more?
No need to answer all my questions here;
I know already what you’d have to say.
You choose men not for love but out of fear:
a parasite — on power and wealth you prey.
To seek the top guy’s programmed in your genes
but gold-digging is whoring which demeans.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
Not Merely One [sonnet]
There is no single soul to call The One.
The love-cord twined in everybody’s heart
can just as easily be finely spun
to weave a home in any counterpart.
The seeds of love will land wherever they
can find some wholesome earth to flourish in;
for they can spring to life in any way.
It’s love which chooses where it will begin
…and never end (though interruptions come,
disruptions too) with many journeys made
for to love’s siren call we must succumb
when destiny plays out its serenade.
It’s wise there’s more than One for us to know
for through variety we vastly grow.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
Crystal Reverie [sonnet]
If everything was made of crystal glass
how much more careful we would likely be.
Before the world our thoughts would clearly pass
and that then thus dissolves mendacity.
Scheming, plotting, inwardly concocting
snares, wars, ruses, any subterfuges
all exposed for all to see, erupting
lays bare road-to-nowhere posing stooges.
Yet if of glass we all were cleanly made
the ones resentful of the clarity
would soon go on a shatt’ring escapade
and thus would reign again barbarity!
But still, despite my body’s opaque form,
I’ll make my heart’s transparency the norm.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
Undesire [sonnet]
I used to think desire was a word
which I should seek — experience in full.
Somehow it drew me and my loins were stirred
perceiving it as almost visual.
Whenever I desired I acquiesced;
temptation’s flickers set my heart in flames.
But then I saw desire as second-best
lusting after unattainable aims.
So now no longer do I fill my eyes
and ears with thoughts of what I vainly want.
Whatever comes my way I improvise;
when faced with snares I shall be nonchalant.
And thus desire and I have formed a truce
because for futile ends I have no use.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
Misunderstood [sonnet]
There’s one thing which is worse than being despised
and that’s when one becomes misunderstood.
Far worse than getting merely ostracised
or any other kind of victimhood.
At least when someone hates you there’s a chance
that spite can be extensively turned round;
whereas misunderstanding is a stance
which means that no solution can be found.
However, looking back across the years
one sees a pattern in the paradigm:
Most artists or freethinking pioneers
were seldom comprehended at the time.
Does this reflect your life-theme perfectly?
If so, rejoice! You’re in good company!
© 2012, Alan Morrison
She [sonnet]
She won’t knock upon your door politely
and neither will she ask to be received;
What she gives should not be taken lightly:
Accept the fact you will one day be grieved.
The Naked Troubadour 