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Best Poems Written by Richard Morris

Below are the all-time best Richard Morris poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Bookends of Eternal Dark

Where were you so long ago?
All those eons before a tot.
In some distant god’s château? 
No. Not there. You were not.

On a shelf of surplus stock,
A soul dressed up in heavenly frock.
Perhaps a spirit not yet wrought,
No. Not there. You were not.

Then began your book of life,
It’s made in volumes three.
The past, the present,
--- the yet to be.

Will you write only pleasant,
As you pen volume present?
Avoiding matters to disavow,
Parting life’s waves by your prow.

Crashing the crest before the break,
Leaving burst bubbles in your wake.
What great act earns its worth,
And a lasting mark upon the earth? 

Is that mark worth the grind,
Should your labor be realigned?
The train of life rolls on rails of time,
And travel stops at the end of the line.

When that ending word is writ,
The final one that you submit.
When there is no more yet-to-be,
You close the cover on volume three.

The tome is closed. Where do you go?
To the place you were taught?
To some distant god’s château? 
No. Not there. You are not.

Your Book of Life, a mere spark, 
Bounded by bookends of eternal dark.Where were you so long ago?
All those eons before a tot.
In some distant god’s château? 
No. Not there. You were not.

On a shelf of surplus stock,
A soul dressed up in heavenly frock.
Perhaps a spirit not yet wrought,
No. Not there. You were not.

Then began your book of life,
It’s made in volumes three.
The past, the present,
And the yet to be.

Will you write only pleasant,
As you pen volume present?
Avoiding matters to disavow,
Parting life’s waves by your prow.

Crashing the crest before the break,
Leaving burst bubbles in your wake.
What great act earns its worth,
And a lasting mark upon the earth? 

Is that mark worth the grind,
Should your labor be realigned?
The train of life rolls on rails of time,
And travel stops at the end of the line.

When that ending word is writ,
The final one that you submit.
When there is no more yet-to-be,
You close the cover on volume three.

The tome is closed. Where do you go?
To the place you were taught?
To some distant god’s château? 
No. Not there. You are not.

Your Book of Life, a mere spark, 
Bounded by bookends of eternal dark.

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Ah, To Lament

It’s good to lament. Or maybe not.
A glorious future, never brought. 
I remember her, I did adore.
We were to be, evermore.

That’s what love can do. And did.
How quickly from my grasp it slid.
Love ended on a one-way track.
She loved me not as much back.

Heartbroken with no cure.
Love a fairy tale, that for sure.
Never again, I did swear,
The world proved love unfair.

Down a different path I wandered.
Love an illusion, no longer pondered.
Though, I must admit a lament or two.
Brief they were, but true.

Surprised was I, love didn’t last.
In time, the pain, the heartache past.
Whittier’s words of Tongue or Pen,
The saddest were, “What might have been.”

Illusions etched in memory’s wall,
Leave a blur in the withdrawal. 
To lament is to fantasize,
A picturesque past and romanticize. 

The mind perceives what the heart desires,
A path lighted by hopeful fires.
Love, a perfection not found,
Becomes the path to grievous ground.

That treasured time was unkind,
It left divers dolors deep behind.
Older, but am I wiser by the day?
Alas, I lament, I cannot say.

Those lost years I disregard,
Cherished moments, I still guard.
Times when she ruled my heart,
Before reality pulled us apart.

Love lost forever, is to lament.
Love must be evermore, not something lent.
Love is priceless time, do not burn.
Love those who love you in return.
	
Thirteen years until another to adore,
Now not a one-way track,
I loved her, she loved me back. 
A perfect love evermore.

The sun replaced my mental cloud,
She said, “I love you,” right out loud.
Waves of love made me warm,
A love that became the norm.

Life is now the dream I sought,
Living love, the way life ought.
Yes, time moves with no grin,
My dream faded not with aged skin.

To the one whose love is no ghost,
To forever love, I propose a toast:
We grew old with love and fun,
I love you. My heart and soul you won.

This poem is also on Vimeo
https://vimeo.com/440756997

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Yours To Keep

Yours to Keep

I was there, when you were born.
You brought a smile, not a scorn.
I was there, and watched you sleep.
Protecting, your tiny soul to keep.
		
What do you dream, I did oft ponder.
Made me sigh, my heart grow fonder.
Such innocence upon your face,
Would you always show such grace?

I was there to see you grow, 
To child and more, so long ago.
We as family, did trips take,
To many a country, island and lake.

I always sought another kiss,
To watch you grow, to reminisce.
A loving hug, a simple smile,
To add a memory to our file.

Well, when I re-play your life,
Your young years had little strife.
Those were days of joy and prime,
Your youth was such a happy time.

Hours became days and weeks,
Too quickly how time sneaks.
Weeks became months and years,
Until my love fell upon deaf ears.

Yes, I was there, as you grew,
Saw you both smile and stew.
Take your place in the world,
Aghast at how life unfurled.

It matters not how old you are,
Whether you be near or far.
You’ll always be my little girl.
To me, my eternal pearl.

One last thing I must add,
Tonight as you go to sleep.
Remember always, I’m your dad,
With love, and yours to keep.

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Love Is Like a Pane of Glass

Water flows from the dam of life,
Not easy, but not all strife.
There is a point at which we die,
Lest we forget, not all goes awry.

Often, we denounce and scold,
As we pass from young to old.
Friends and family are to adore,
Before you or they are no more.

Love is like a pane of glass.
Held by two, it can endure.
If by one, too heavy a mass,
Alone not too sure.

Always in motion, never stable, 
Never static, ever brittle.
Held a moment, barely able,
To withstand the noncommital.

Words you utter, tone of voice,
A grimace, smile, or rolling eye.
Words and deeds are your choice, 
Be they honey or some lye.

Every thought or smile,
Frown or furrow can beguile,
And must pass first this test:
Is it really for the best?

If the pane glass should drop, 
It will chip, crack or shatter. 
Damage you cannot stop,
Lasting memory does matter.

Each cycle does grow short, 
The glass ever more frail.
Until that one last retort,
You’ve had the final rail. 

You get no second chance,
To name what really mattered.
Gone forever, that romance,
The pane of glass, has shattered.

Details | Richard Morris Poem

The Clock

Gramps had a Sunday rite,
It was quiet, perhaps trite. 
In his chalice a Bloody Mary,
As solemn as a seminary.

Took the goblet and a crank,
To his great Big Ben clock.
Slowly wound as he drank,
When done, he’d close the lock.

A hundred years of perfect time,
With a soft, not muffled chime.
On the hour, brass bells peal, 
Then a strike, the hour to reveal.

From its grand and lofty tower,
Only time did the clock devour.
Telling time is how it played,
For only this, was it made.

The pendulum’s eternal swing,
Akin to ocean, time was king.
Like endless waves of the sea,
That hit the beach, to rise and spree.

The old clock stopped 
	when Gramps died,
The crank too hard, 
	still Granny tried.
The case too tall 
	for her new abode,
Became gift to grandson, 
	down the road.

The clock from Gramps, to enshrine,
One day to pass it down the line.
‘Til then to crank it every week,
Its old wood to groan and creak. 

The grand old clock no mere shell,
A soft ticking, then sudden knell.
Like ocean waves, gave quiet peace,
Its pulleys and cables never cease.

The sounds of eternal tick,
Westminster chant be its lick.
All derived from weekly crank,
For this and love, Gramps we thank.

****
This poem is also on Vimeo
https://vimeo.com/455917835

Details | Richard Morris Poem

No Angel Plays a Tune

In what direction do we speed? 
A mote of dust, this drifting earth.
Scant years of life don’t count.
To us only, are they paramount.

We are born of family clan.
Do we act as best we can?
Words of Marvell, truly spoke,
Many a thought, to provoke.

We know not, when is our end.
‘Til then, what message send?
We know all, and even yet,
Mostly, do we forget.

Time forever fades away.
Another sunset, another day.
‘Til one day it does not rise.
‘Tis the day, a person dies.

To you, my dear petite, 
I must remind,	
Grudges, destroy the sweet, 
Humble the kind.

Spite brings no joy, 
No love, no light,
No peace, no relief
Of pain or plight. 

You have not world enough, or time.
To squander life, indeed a crime.
In a moment, you too are old.
Did your hurting heart turn cold?

I’m human, not devil or divine.
Where does one draw the line?
In a flash, life flees the living,
Leaves behind, the unforgiving.

When parents face eternal rest,
Was your silence truly best?	
Words are too tardy said,
When you, or they, are dead.

When life comes to end, 
Nothing left to tend,
No flower left to bloom,
No angel plays a tune.

Years of love and much more,
Your youth, shared with us.
Now it’s we, you do ignore.
Is there nothing to discuss?

Before I’m ashes in an urn,
Perchance you may yet discern.
Think of Dad, and espy,
A flash of love, no mere sigh.

I’m your father. Was all for naught?
We are here. And then we’re not.
One last breath, and all is dark,
There’s no angel, and no harp.

*****

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Dance With Me Evermore

Come dance with me, the Teke man said,			
Offering carnations red.
Together my love, our feet will fly,
My heart you fill, you’ll not deny.

He held her tight, but loose enough,
To twirl about, and strut her stuff.
A twosome, yet they were one,
Who lived life, love and fun.
	
He saw the love in her eyes,
The kind of love that never dies.
Their bond, the strongest weld,
To ecstatic future they propelled.

True love, no passing fling,	
A pair to waltz and to swing.
Their dance was that of souls,
To be never dashed upon the shoals.

To each the other a special rose,
That filled the heart, not the nose.

His love for her, he did shout,
She in return, he had no doubt.
Love built on rock, not sand,		
Forever in each other’s hand.

When at last, at heaven’s door,
They shall dance evermore.

*****
This poem is on Vimeo
https://vimeo.com/571732134

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Grains of Joy

We face the hourglass of life,
Filled with grist of joy and strife.
Two bulbs, a narrow neck,
Each grain a single speck.

The top, the future, as it were,
The bottom is past, does not stir.
That third part, the neck, is now,
But one fleck does it allow.

To some, all grains look the alike,
Yet each unique, not a strike.

The top an opaque globe,
Untold instants fill that lobe.
Golden glints of yet-to-be,
A jillion events yet to see.

Grains above, beyond our ken,
Instant joy, right there and then.
Query what each grain brings,
Which heals, which stings.

Alas, we live grain by grain,
Twixt an abiding twain.
Next it falls, gone and done, 
Joins the past, soon overrun.

Only one-by-one does life allow,
In the narrow neck of now.
See the flash, take it in,
It passes once, and not agin. 

As each grain passes through,
There’s a flash of what to do. 
That’s the moment of which I speak,
‘Tis not the time to be weak or meek.

Let not your mind go wander,
There’s no instant to squander. 
Grains above push their weight,
The past you can’t resuscitate.

Once the grain passes by,
Too late for truth or alibi.
There is no going back, 
It lays forever in the stack.

Comes a time the top is hollow,
No yet-to-be to follow.
See the world on the sunny side,
Prune problems in your stride.

You live life as a twinkle,
Take the joy it does sprinkle.
Precious moments are too few,
Enjoy them all, it’s up to you.

Details | Richard Morris Poem

Joy of Memories

Memories are nostalgia not,
Nor broodings of the ought.
Just wispy peeks of the past,
High cirrus clouds gone passed.

Memories relive good times,
A photo found, rings the chimes.
A memory spark, an impasse,
A departed era, seen through the glass. 

Fondly I recall my youth,
Places I lived, lost a tooth.
High school desks, my steady girl,
The one who made my heart swirl.

Of memories that emerge, 
There are some that I purge.
Solely good ones do I seek,
At only those will I peek.


Over time, my world did change,
Important things did re-arrange.
Still it’s warm, with breeze and sun,
But some I’ve lost, one-by-one.

Some I loved and would never lose,
Now remain only when I muse.
I cherish moments I have left,
The clicking clock far too deft.

The present is our only shot,
Withholding love is for naught.
Each day I wonder, is it my last?
With each blink, the now is past.

Forget things that make you sad,
Forgive all who made you mad.
Make memories and be glad,
Love family, especially dad.

****
Note: this poem is also on Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/437912020

Details | Richard Morris Poem

When We Did Dance

Autumn gone, now winter frost,
Reflections return, times long lost.
Words, pictures plucked from air, 
Those I know are always there.

Sixty years ago and more,
When life and love could only soar.
My world consumed by you and lust,
Our future set, and robust.

Abrupt and sudden, torn in two,
Scattered leaves, no more glue.
Whistling wind, and desert rain,
Drowned my pleas, all in vain. 

Remember me, you almost married,
Then sudden shift, and love miscarried.
Among your dreams, perchance,
Are those years when we did dance.