K. Morris's Blog, page 582
June 4, 2017
Girls Like You
It’s always time for tea, and when I looked
at you, that one time in October, while I
felt discomfited, I thought about black tea
and strange girls, the only ones I have ever
known, trance-like faces and eyes, terrors
gripped inside woven fabrics, mixed mesh
melded into colors – unnatural – tattooed like
bikers, and foulmouthed like trash day, but their
beauty beatified, saints and sinners grow up,
and on my lap I waited for them to return,
for their eyes to discover how...
Who Knows?
Some thought his poetry meant this
And still others that.
He wore a hat
Sometimes
And often (being lost in rhymes)
Went out with no raincoat.
He had no moat
And little private wealth.
The reader sighs
Trying to categorise
The poet’s view.
Some declare that he was a Tory of the deepest blue
(while others protest this was not true!).
A few saw a man of the left,
But found themselves bereft
On finding verse which (they say)
Romanticised the nobility of yesterday.
Perhaps the poet smiles somew...
In The Wood’s Dark Heart
In the wood’s dark
Heart the breeze
Whispers in the trees
Words that I can not comprehend.
May god send
Me peace
And this breeze
Never cease.
A little about me…
For anyone who is interested in nature, photography, or both, I recommend checking out my friend, John’s newly launched blog. Kevin
I’ve been fascinated by natural history all my life. Indeed, one of my early childhood memories is of planting a conker in the flower beds in the back garden of our family home and the delight in seeing it grow and develop into a small sapling. I was quite upset when my father removed it explaining that it was not the best place for a s...
There is a quiet place
The horrific terrorist attack, which took place in London on the evening of 4 June, brought to mind my poem “There is a quiet place out of reach”. Those who carried out this atrocity have “empty souls”, indeed some may doubt whether they possess any soul whatever. Had it not been for the swift action of the police, in shooting dead the terrorists, this terrible incident could have been even worse. Fanaticism and barbarism must be withstood and defeated.
Kevin
“There is a quiet place out of...
June 3, 2017
Who is worse, the tempter or the sinner?
Who is worse? The tempter or the sinner?
The expensive dinner
Bought by a man, for a girl young enough to be his daughter.
Common sense flung
Aside,
Along with his pride.
As a lamb to the slaughter
He traverses a path
That would make a cat laugh.
And what of the girl, who does strive
To keep alive?
(Though in the west,
One must confess
That it is more likely to be her “need”
For a new dress
That does her greed
Drive).
The tomb is ever near.
Perhaps it is this thought most drear
That leads a m...
June 1, 2017
There Was A Young Man Called More
There was a young man called more
Who’s head was extremely sore.
He denied that it was drink
But the devil did wink
At the empties on the floor!
(“empties” means empty bottles. In this case of the alcoholic kind).
Paste
When conversation
Lags and you are full
Of dull
Anticipation.
When you have no connection
Save for a shared perception
Of mutual need
Or greed.
Then, When the lights go out
the shout
Of conscience is stifled,
And paste pearls rifled.
Poet Kevin Morris interviewed for Rhyme
I was honoured to be interviewed by Victoria, for her excellent site Rhyme. My interview covers a variety of topics, including what inspires me to write poetry, together with those poets who have exerted an influence on my writing. To read the interview please visit https://rhymepoetry.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/interview-with-kevin-morris/.
May 31, 2017
There Was A Young Man Called Hawking
There was a young man called Hawking
Who wished to go to Dawking.
He missed his train
And cried out in pain,
“I guess I should start walking!”
