K. Morris's Blog, page 543

Remembrance

In honour of those who gave their lives for freedom, I am reproducing below my poem “Poppy”, which first appeared here on 4 November 2016. This year I was able to purchase a poppy to remember the dead.

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—

To those who died that you and me
Might live free.
To those who gave their sweet breath for King and Countrie.
I regret that yesterday
I had no cash to pay
For a poppy deep red
To remember the dead.

I will not know the stench
Of trench
Nor the wrench
Of fear
And pain as spear
Drains the life...

Poems Inspired By The Great North Wood

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Great North Wood, London, UK

Several of my poems have been inspired by the Great North Wood, one of the remnents of which is some 2-3 minutes walk from my home, http://www.wildlondon.org.uk/great-north-wood. I have spent many hours walking my dogs in Spa Woods, which form part of The Lawns, https://www.croydon.gov.uk/leisure/parksandopenspaces/parksatoz/the-lawns.

This afternoon I came across several volunteers from The Great North Wood/The Friends of Spa Woods engaged in conservation. A bonf...

All You Need is Love – 4 Days in Liverpool

As a Liverpudlian, (I moved from Liverpool to London in 1994 but have family in this great city and visit often), I enjoyed reading this post. If you have yet to visit Liverpool I wholeheartedly recommend you to do so.

Darlene Foster's Blog

I found music and love everywhere I turned on my recent visit to Liverpool. I fell in love with the sing-song accent of the friendly Liverpudlians and found this city a delight to explore.  After all, this is the home of my teenage heroes, John, Paul, Geor...

There Was A Young Lady Named Holly

There was a young lady named Holly
Who was extremely plump and jolly.
We met at night
And to my delight
She led me into folly …

Schopenhauer

While on the way to the shops yesterday, I met an acquaintance. As one does in such situations, we passed the time of day. During our conversation my companion thanked me for the print copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, that I had given him. He had he said read it 3 times and intended to read it again. My poetry was, in his view bleak and reminded him of Schopenhauer.

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I must confess to never having read Shopenhauer, but the words of my acquaintance kindled in me a desire...

Rhythm

Man has striven
To disturb the rhythm
Of sea and sky,
And I
Can only sigh.

I Don’t Understand

I don’t understand those who wish that the sun would always shine,
For life is varied, and I pray that it will remain so.
When others complain
I shall go
Out in the rain
And feel alive
As they into buildings dive.

Some say the winter is drear
And huddle near
Fires that suck The oxygen away.
I can not stay
Indoors
On a cold winter’s day
But must ramble about on the moors
Or take a walk in an urban park
For the dark will come
And blot out the sun.
I am dust.

Gaunt Angel

The angel of passion haunted this place.
Many a grace
In the form of lass
Did pass
Through the ever open
Door.
Trite words where spoken,
(Most returned no more).

Now an angel gaunt
Does haunt
This place.
I can not see her face
Yet she does in secret flaunt
Her wares,
A payment just for man’s affairs.

Shy

Shall I
Hie
Towards the shy?
For it is I.

A flower may die
Untouched by the bee
But what of me?
For who am I?

The Sceptic

A sceptic stood on the river bank.
“Jump in
And swim”,
They called to him,
Showing off their strokes.
Having seen it all before
He remained on the bank,
And shrugged as the swimmers sank.