K. Morris's Blog, page 600

Coin

She was hot as the weather
As hell for leather,
They rolled in the heather
With the chink of coin
To join
Them together.

There Was A Young Man Called Birch

There was a young man called Birch
Who never would go to church.
The vicar did say
“For your soul I shall pray.
You reprehensible young man called Birch!”

War of the Dots (History of Codes for the Blind)

As a registered blind person and a braille user, I was interested to read this article regarding the controversy surrounding which braille code should be used. As a blind person growing up in the UK, I was taught to read English Braille. At that time the braille used in the UK did not utilise capitals. As a consequence, when I began to touch-type (using a manual typewriter) I had to learn to use capitals which, as a braille user was initially rather difficult to remember. Today the braille pr...

Nothing

How can one repent
When there is no scent
Left behind
For a man to find?

My Forthcoming Collection of Poetry (An Update)

I have now received the proof-read manuscript of my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind And Other Poems”.
So what inspired the title of my collection? On the bookcase in my living room sits a Ting-Tang clock which dates, I believe from the early 1900’s. The clock inspired the first poem in my collection (and the title of the book) and is entitled, appropriately enough “My Old Clock I Wind”. As I wound my faithful old time piece I felt acutely aware of time passing. The pend...

Stellar Guest Post – Kevin Morris

Many thanks to Nicola for publishing my poem as a guest post on her blog. Kevin

Sometimes Stellar Storyteller

Today’s Stellar Guest Post features London based poet, Kevin Morris. I am often left in awe of authors and poets purely as a result of the beautiful work they produce. Throw into the mix an element of adversity and I am astonished all over again.

Here, Kevin has kindly reproduced a poem for us which is from his poetry collection, ‘Lost in The Labyrinth of My Mind’.

___________________...

Butter

The cook does mutter
About the missing butter,
While the dog licks his lips
And eyes up the chips …

—

Yesterday (25 March), I found my guide dog Trigger with his nose in a tub of butter. I had heard a crash in the kitchen earlier. however, on investigating and there appearing to be nothing amiss, I returned to the living room, until the sound of my hungry canine tucking into a tub of butter reached my ears!

Chained To The Rhythm (Katy Perry)

Reread, Reread And Reread Again

newauthoronline

You have spent eons polishing that poem. Read it through until the words swim like spectres before your eyes and, finally, being satisfied with the results of your labour pressed publish. What a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done flows through one when one’s perfectly crafted words our out there for the great reading public to pour over. A few days later you sit down and reread your pearls of wisdom. Oops your writing which seemed to constitute perfection personified...

Visiting the Zoo

Visiting this zoo
I wander through
This ordered place,
Where every wild trace
Is prettily boxed and tied
For the public to see.
A tiger looked at me,
Sighed
And thought of his tea …