K. Morris's Blog, page 638

The Seasons

Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
And creeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.

As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does bring.
Spring
Follows winter stern.
Buds return
And soon,
Come summer, flowers will bloom.
Autumn imperceptibly doth r...

You Are Unknown To Me

You are unknown to me.
True we made free
But who
Can see
Into the human heart?
Not I.
Fireworks die
And I
Am left alone with my art.

I have known many of your kind
And find
It strange how birds of diverse feather
Flock together.
Yet it is not so peculiar after all.
For in many a girl’s pretty face
We trace
Man’s fall
From grace
And Milton following,not far behind.

Poetry for Guy Fawkes Night

Image license obtained Copyright: mab0440 / 123RF Stock Photo

In honour of Bonfire or Guy Fawkes night, (November 5th), I am linking to some of my poems touching on that occasion:

Catherine Wheel Autumn Rain The Dark

There Was A Young Man Called Guy

There was a young man called Guy
Who, like Icarus, wanted to fly.
He jumped off Big Ben
At a quarter to ten.
I really don’t understand why!

in the end

Annette Rochelle Aben

Took just a moment

To look beyond the moment

That didn’t matter

2016 Annette Rochelle Aben

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Poppy

To those who died that you and me
Might live free.
To those who gave their sweet breath for King and Countrie.
I regret that yesterday
I had no cash to pay
For a poppy deep red
To remember the dead.

I will not know the stench
Of trench
Nor the wrench
Of fear
And pain as spear
Drains the life away.

What can the poet say
Who has never known
The touch of steel against bone?
We die alone
But most will peaceful go
And will not know
The woe
Of comrades lost,
Nor count the cost
Of bloody strife.
T...

To My Dog, His Nose Pressed Up Against My window

“Tell me, what do you see?
As you gaze at yonder tree
Where squirrels jump from branch to branch
And leaves in the late Autumn air dance?

On seeing the fox, who strolls through the garden as though he owns the place
Do you trace in his wild face,
your fellow canine? And does his sharp bark
That oft times pearces the dark
Find an answering echo within your loyal dog heart?

Watching the world pass
Through my window glass,
Tell me
What do you see
As you gaze beyond yonder tree?”

A Short Analysis of T. S. Eliot’s ‘Death by Water’

The continuing analysis by Interesting Literature of Eliot’s “The Wasteland”.

Interesting Literature

A reading of the fourth part of The Waste Land

‘Death by Water’ is by far the shortest of the five sections of T. S. Eliot’s 1922 poem The Waste Land. The section which precedes it, ‘The Fire Sermon’, is 234 lines – over half of the entire length of the poem. Why is ‘Death by Water’ so short? We’re going to attempt a brief summary of this section of the poem here, along with some words of ana...

Well, yes, right…or write…

Interesting take on the desire of humans to make contact with aliens.

Mick Canning

The clocks have gone back, and it’s getting dark earlier and earlier, but there is still a blackbird singing in the garden, although there is also the smell of wood smoke in the air – from a bonfire, I would guess – and a definite chill in the air. The autumn leaves have been exceptionally beautiful this year, seeming to have an extra couple of tones of red and orange. And there are still plenty of late flower...

Knickers

The below poem was inspired by a comment overheard by me while enjoying a drink in a pub last weekend (Saturday 29 October).

—

“This beer tastes like lady’s knickers”, says an elderly man at a table.
Standing at the bar, I am scarcely able
To contain my laughter, and idly think
As I enjoy my drink
“what about a bra
And are
There knickers for the male kind?”

I find
In pubs much amusement
And bemusement.
“How would he know?”
Better not to go
There I think
As I sink
My drink.

“Lady’s Knicker...