K. Morris's Blog, page 564

Naïve?

Naïve?
Who to believe?
What we perceive,
The signals we receive,
Are so much
Double Dutch.
Or are they so?
For the wise may know
The meaning
Of scheming.

An imagined delight
Takes flight.
The perceived swan
Is gone
And the old owl
Has no time
For the poet’s rhyme,
For behind each word
Is heard
The wolf’s foul growl.

Interview with Amy Foreman

An interesting interview. I was particularly impressed with Amy’s defence of rhyming poetry.

Rhyme

Rhyme is honored to publish an interview with Amy Foreman, one of the best contemporary poets.

What was your relationship with poetry before you started writing it?

I have always loved reading literature, including poetry, so, even though my BA was in Music and Theology, I got my MA in English Language and Literature. Poetry, especially the rhyming poetry of such greats as John Milton, George He...

There was a young lady named Claire

There was a young lady named Claire
Who had a steamy affair.
Her boyfriend Ned
Caught her in bed.
I swear I wasn’t there …!

Getting your self-published books into libraries

A useful article on how to get self-published books into libraries.

I know from my own experience, that approaching libraries directly is a productive means of getting your work onto their shelves.

I was delighted when Liverpool Central Library, wrote to confirm that they had added 2 copies of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, (http://moyhill.com/clock/), to their shelves.

As a result of me contacting Swansea University (my former place of study), they kindly accepted my donatio...

I knew a man who sought

I knew a man who sought
The wild bird
Who’s song he heard,
And once caught,
Oh, how he wept at the damage wrought.

The hay is soft

The hay
Is soft.
Time gently coughed,
As man and maiden lay,
Heedless of how the day
Passeth away

Shall I speak

Shall I speak of turtle doves
And innocent loves,
and a world where all are good
And do as they should?

Shall I talk of men upright
Who say “good night”,
And leave,
And never deceive?

Or shall I speak
Of the flesh that is weak
And men who seek
For the discreet door?

I know which you would prefer,
But a circle is not a square
And squire and maid
Are not always staid.

Walking through the churchyard, I saw a shape

Walking through the churchyard, I saw a shape.
There can be no escape
From the tomb.
The gloom
Is there
For those who care
To look beyond a sunny day.
continuing on my way
I passed that tree,
That did loom
Over tomb
And me.

There was a young model named Louise

There was a young model named Louise
Who liked her audience to please.
When she appeared on the catwalk,
The judges reached for a fawk,
As her dress it was made of peas!

Why do I strive, for that which I can not possess?

Why do I strive, for that which I can not possess?
Is the sun’s caress
Not enough
That I must grasp at other stuff?
Caught
On the wheel
Of thought
I feel
That I aught …

Be done
With useless thinking.
I shall at life’s fountain be drinking,
For existence doth run
Away,
And I can not reclaim a single day
Spent,
In thinking on a nymph’s unknowable scent.