K. Morris's Blog, page 502

Free to enter poetry and prose competition for under-represented writers

BRIDGET WHELAN writer

Founded in 2013, the Creative Future Literary Awards are the UK’s only national writing competition and high profile awards ceremony for under-represented writers in the UK. Is this poetry and short fiction competition for you? Creative Future defines under-represented writers as people who feel their opportunities are limited as a result of: having a mental health issue having a physical disability having a long-term limiting illness having a learning disability/ASD/...

There Was A Young Lady Called Samantha

There was a young lady called Samantha
Who owned a large pet panther.
It fed on fish
And a dainty dish
That went by the name of Samantha

Demon Alcohol

Wonder

I wonder
Who makes the thunder.
Is it Thor
Who makes that roar?

The scientist will say
In a most prosaic way
That there is no deity on high
Merely electricity and the endless sky.

I sigh
For the forgotten days of belief.
This life is brief
And scientists say that there is no wonder
In yonder lightning flash
And the crash of thunder,
Yet still I wonder …

(Written in response to https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/wonder/).

Inchoate

Inchoate desire.
A fire
Fanned by a girl’s sweet scent.
No need to repent
As yet.
Come tomorrow
There will be sorrow
And regret.

(Written in response to https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/inchoate/).

There Was A Young Lady Called Lou

There was a young lady called Lou
Who said “I shall thwart you”.
But ere long
She changed her song,
That capricious young lady called Lou!

(Written in response to https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/thwart/).

Rain And Sky

I remember well
The hut.
The rain fell
But
I swear
That I was content there.

Alone I was
Because
I wished it to be so.
I know
The rain and sky
For it is I.

A strange boy was I.
My heart
Given to rain and sky,
Standing aloof from the loud
Crowd
In my hut.
But
Half wishing to be part
Of those who were children as I
Yet knew not of rain and sky.

Key

I see
The key
To my clock
On the bedside table,
As we …
I am unable
To block
The advance
Of time,
Although I can retrace
In rhyme
Many a dance
And half-remembered face.

The clock’s hands are still
Though mine move
And will,
Until
My inner clock
Receives a final shock

Nothing

Thrusting
Into nothing.
Trusting
In nothing.
A way of coping,
Perchance hoping,
For Something
Of nothing.

“Sinister Dexter” By Lucy Brazier Is Now Available To Pre-Order

[image error]I am very excited to be here, on the wonderful blog of poet extraordinaire Kevin Morris, to share with you the news that the third book in the PorterGirl series is here! Sinister Dexter takes us once again to Old College, where things are never quite as they seem, even when they are.

After avoiding the murderous intentions of The Vicious Circle in First Lady Of The Keys and risking life and limb to find a priceless missing painting in The Vanishing Lord, our heroine Deputy Head Porter finds h...