K. Morris's Blog, page 395

“You enjoyed your run today”

“You enjoyed your run today”,
I say.
And one day
Your run will be done
My faithful old canine,
While the sun
Will still shine
On mine.

Our Civilisation

Our civilisation is just
As these flowers I touch,
Bright petals and dust.

England

A cricket ball
Did fall
Into a pristine
Village stream
And was swept away.
And the squire of yesterday
Counted the cost
Of a cricket ball,
Forever lost

This Tree

This tree
In the churchyard
With it’s gnarled bark
Will outlast me.
This thought, to some stark
Comforts me
For my heart
Is part
Of this self-same tree.

When A Young Lady Named Dawn

When a young lady named Dawn
Danced in a field of corn,
The farmer called Giles
Danced on the stiles
And thus their love was born.

Calling Time

Sometimes I write at night
And come the morning light
I take up my pen again.
One eventide
I shall lay aside
My pen
And not take it up again,
And the night
Shall take what I write,
For the landlord must call time
On my rhyme.

When A Young Man Named Mike

When a young man named Mike
Sat on a rather sharp spike
I said, with a sigh,
“My friend you won’t die,
But Mike, You have broken that spike!”.

Writing Blind

This list of writers, who where blind makes for interesting reading, https://blog.bookstellyouwhy.com/from-homer-to-borges-a-list-of-blind-writers. The list includes Homer (although there is debate as to whether the author of the Iliad did, in fact exist), John Milton, James Joyce and Borges.

In terms of living writers, I am aware of Giles L Turnbull, http://gilesturnbullpoet.com/ and Victoria Zigler, http://www.zigler.co.uk/victoria.htm, both of whom are blind. Coincidentally Giles and I att...

We Wish For Fish

We wish for fish
But when the fish
Is caught,
And wish
Turns from thought
To act,
We in fact
Find that the line
We did use
Entangles, and mangles
Us in our own ruse.

The Cat and the Hound

A cat will play with a mouse and thrust,
Much to we humans disgust,
Nature red in tooth and claw
Into our face.

The hounds will chase
The fox, and it leaves me bereft
For it is we who take pleasure in the creature’s death.

It is a truth profound
That the cat and the hound
Can not be bad,
But sometimes I think,
That we humans are mad.