K. Morris's Blog, page 587

There Was A Young Lady Called Jane

There was a young lady called Jane
Who was extremely fond of the rain.
When the weather was dry,
It made her cry,
And she lived on the American plain

Problems in listening to the podcast of my interview on the World Poetry Reading Series

I would like to apologise for the difficulties encountered by some readers when attempting to listen to the podcast of my recent interview on Vancouver Co-op Radio. Several people, (including my own dear mum)! Have contacted me saying that they could not access the broadcast (a link to which can be found here, http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=11765).

Having (initially) been able to listen to the programme, I was unaware of the problems experienced by others in accessing the broadcast. However, havin...

Heredity

Rhyme

I am the family face;
Flesh perishes, I live on,
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion.

The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance – that is I;
The eternal thing in man,
That heeds no call to die.

Thomas Hardy

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What Does It Matter?

What does it matter that you sing,
High up in yonder tree,
For your song is not for me,
And to sing
Is such a temporary thing

Shouting Into The BlackForest

A young child, at the edge of a vast forest, calls out
“is there anybody there?”
The silence echos back at him, as it has always done. But, sooner or later something may answer his call. Will it be a large, friendly Labrador, with it’s tail wagging furiously that comes rushing out of the forest’s black interior to greet him, or a pack of ravenous wolves. He knows not, yet he continues to call.

—

Is not the above, rather like our obsession with finding “aliens”? I don’t know whether they exi...

neelwrites/writephoto/thursdayphotoprompt/hole/12/05/2017/

neelwritesblog

A JUNGLE STORY

Thursday photo prompt – Green #writephoto

#writephoto

Thursday photo prompt – Green #writephoto

By Neel Anil Panicker

Inspector Iqbal Khan was in a bad mood. He had never been inside a jungle.

The closest he had come to a wooded experience was when as a kid he and his cousins had scaled the seven-foot-high walls of the sprawling farmhouse adjacent to their ancestral village house and scurried back again, the pockets of their cotton half pants bulging with ripe...

There Was A Young Lady Called Gale

There was a young lady called Gale
Who lived in a place named Hale.
She had a brother, Sid
And the things they did,
Made the vicar quail!

Book Launch for “My Old Clock I Wind” by Kevin Morris

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During my interview with Ariadne Sawyer, of Vancouver Co-op Radio’s the World Poetry Reading Series, on 4 May, (http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=11765), I was asked about my plans as regards my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind And Other Poems”. Ariadne’s question prompted me to get my skates on, as it brought home the fact that I had given little thought to the idea of a physical (real world) launch of “My Old Clock”.

I am planning a book launch in late June. The launch will ta...

Mermaid and Merman

“Our love is deep as the sea,
And There is such depth to you and me.
We go so far down,
We will in passion drown”,
(the mermaid said,
As she wriggled her toes,
On the ocean’s bed).

“Poseidon knows,
How the tide comes and goes,
My pretty rose”,
(I said,
With a shake of my head,
As I departed our briny bed).

The Magic Order

Once grown
We are thrown
Out of that magic place
Where the fairy’s face
Is by children seen.

The fairy queen
We may perceive
From afar,
Yet we must remember who we are
As it does grieve
Her when an adult crosses the border,
And disturbs the sacred order

—

Children should be allowed to be children, and not forced to grow up before their time.