K. Morris's Blog, page 50

Backstreet

After the beauties of Kew

I went with you

To a cheap hotel.

I remember I almost fell

As we mounted the stairs

To their unfriendly glares.

 

I can remember your name.

Did I feel shame?

I really can not recall

But I recollect a fall

And those dangerous stairs

In a backstreet hotel.

As I Try to Write

As I try to write

The tick tock

Of the clock

Measures my day and night.

At other times

Lost in rhymes

I hear it not.

 

The beat of women’s feet

Has measured my pleasure

And pain. But the clock mocks

Us all. We fall

In love and lust,

And time turns all to dust.

Speculate to Accumulate

FOWC with Fandango — Speculate – This, That, and the Other (fivedotoh.com)

 

I met a young lady named Kate

Who said, “you must speculate to accumulate!”.

So I spent all my money

On Kate and Miss Honey.

And now I own just a plate!

The Charms of a Young Lady’s Arms

I met a young lady of Sheffield

Who said, “all the men they yield

To the sweet charms

Of my warm arms”.

I said, “what! In this muddy field!”

An Innocent Drink

I met a young lady named Belle

In the bar of a seedy hotel.

We spent our time

Discussing rhyme over wine,

Now the papers feature me with Belle!

3 of My Poems from the Churchyard Yew and Other Poems Included on the World Poetry Reading Series for 11th July 2024

I have been fortunate to have had several of my poems from “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” included in the World Poetry Reading Series for July 11th World Poetry Cafe for July 11 2024 Victor and many old poets by VictorSchwartzman | Mixcloud.  Among the poems included are “A Hyacinth’s Scent Last Night” and “Blossoming Time”.

 

My poems are preceded by several poets reading their own work, including a fine reading by T. S. Eliot of “Sweney Among the Nightingales”, and the Welsh poet Dylan T...

Another’s Death

In another’s death we see

Our own mortality.

We sympathise with the bereaved,

And may even grieve.

But in another’s death we see

Our own Mortality.

Can AI Write Poetry?

A work colleague recently drew my attention to an episode on the podcast “This American Life”, in which the writer Simon Rich grapples with the possibility that an artificial intelligence (AI) will take his job. The podcast contains extracts from the audio recording of “I am Code”, a book containing the results of an experiment where a group of friends asked the precursor to Chat GPT to write poetry.

The segment in question begins approximately 25 minutes into the podcast and runs for 21 minutes...

On the Death of a Writer

The rain is falling again.

The garden smells fresh

And a solitary blackbird sings.

 

I heard of your death.

Your book remains unread.

You had others to write

And now are dead.

 

Each man has his plans

Literary or otherwise.

But none knows

When his eyes may close.

 

The clock ticks as I write.

The scent of wet earth

Enters the house.

Tonight I will close my eyes,

And tomorrow write …

 

Everyone Needs a Good Workman

There was a young man named Nool

Who was famous for his versatile tool.

A spinster called Shilling

Employed him for drilling

As she’d heard of Nool’s versatile tool!