K. Morris's Blog, page 612
February 7, 2017
There Was A Young Man Called Paul
There was a young man called Paul
Who wrote on the classroom wall.
His teacher Matt
Objected to that,
So he scrawled all over Paul!
February 6, 2017
Reduction
If we reduce
It to the bare bone,
Man stands alone,
His purpose to produce.
He is a mere factor of production.
What a reduction
Of you and me
To a robot who can not be free.
The dull
Texts that Marx and Bentham wrote
Are full
Of such stuff.
I have had enough
Of the dreary theory
Produced by long dead sages.
Weighty pages
Read
By those who live too much in their own head
And try to force the world to conform
By reform
Or worse!
My verse
Will not halt the curse
Of those who too much water dri...
Guest author: Kevin Morris – Visual impact
In this post I discuss to what extent my visual impairment (I am registered blind) impacts on my writing. My thanks to Sue Vincent for kindly hosting my article. Kevin
Silhouette. Image by Nick Verron, who is also partially sighted.
At approximately 18-months-old, I lost the majority of my eyesight due to a blood clot on the brain. While I can distinguish light and dark and discern the outline of objects, I am unable to see detail. So, for example, if a friend were to...
There Was A Young Man Called Di
There was a young man called Di
Who’s poetry made the critics cry.
His verse was so sad,
It drove them half mad.
They truly wished to die!
Autumn Rain
Many thanks to Pax Et Dolor Magazine for publishing my poem “Autumn Rain”. Kevin
By:- Kevin Morris
Rain you are lonely, crying outside in the darkness.
A few sad fireworks fizzle and die.
Me, sitting alone on my sofa. Rain, is it you who are lonely, or I?
Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
February 5, 2017
Nimble
Here you are.
In between my thoughts,
juggling like an acrobat,
on a thin wire.
In between my thoughts,
hiding like a bat in the dark
corners of my mind.
In between my thoughts,
white dove
knocking on my window
carrying a message of love.
In between my thoughts,
I try not to think of you,
but you’ve become nimble.
Note: This poem was originally published here, in Redwolf Journal. Strangely enough, I accidentally discovered that my poem was published, since editors never notified me on the a...
Of Rain and CDS
This week has been an interesting one.
On Thursday I fell into conversation with a colleague and learned that he has downloaded my poem, “Raining” onto his phone. He will, he says read it when in reflective mood, especially while camping.
To read “Raining please visit, https://newauthoronline.com/2015/10/28/raining/.
Yesterday (Saturday 4 February), I was stopped on the way out of the block of flats in which I live by a gentleman who asked
“Are you the poet?”
“Yes” I replied.
I was a little s...
The Tabloids Say
The tabloids say
“They slunk away
As the grey
Dawn
Did warn
Of another dismal day
For old London Town”.
The clergyman does frown
And putting the newspaper down
Remarks “I see,
The papers have poets in their fee.
All I can say
Is there will be hell to pay
When she reads that, later today …
There Was A Young Philosopher Called Neil
There was a young philosopher called Neil
Who said, “all we perceive is not real”.
It was his bad luck,
To get hit by a truck,
Which knocked some sense into Neil.
The Mechanical Man
The mechanical man lears,
His gears
Responding to well-worn
Stimuli,
As a doll he does spy.
Hearts are torn
In twain.
Although some maintain
That as neither care,
They can have no heart to tear.
