K. Morris's Blog, page 708
November 29, 2015
A Dialogue
There is a frame of mind
that says “leave as you find.
Let the great oak alone
and spare the ancient stone
for they serve a purpose
if one looks beneath the surface
of things”.
Others bring
to bare a mind
which no beauty doth find
in oak and stone
“for they stand in the way
Of a brighter day”.
“But if you pull the tree down
what then supports the ground?
For the roots go deep
and people weep
when the oak falls
on ancient halls”.
“Let us wield the axe and be glad
for the old ways are bad.
New...
Swan
The restless wind
calls to the unquiet mind.
I see a swan upon a lake.
A serene
queen
she glides through the water
as some daughter
of the gods.
A man hidden in the reeds
scarcely breathes
for fear
she will notice him near.
The swan sings.
Her song brings
sweet melancholy to his soul.
The whole
scene
he dreamed
awakening to the restless wind
that calls to the unquiet mind.
The Primrose Path
A cold fire burns.
She turns
And looks.
She struts
Her stuff.
Her desire for cash
His decision rash.
Two souls zooming out of control
Down the primrose path
To hell.
All appears well
Then, smash!
November 28, 2015
Speke Hall
I do recall
many a trip to Speke Hall.
The trees have seen it all
kingdoms rise and fall.
The old house stands
guardian of the land.
Now the airport has come.
and planes run
where once the squire walked
and talked
or perhaps shot
game for the pot.
Old books
one can not touch.
A family’s past preserved
behind rope.
Would the squire choke
at the sight
of the National Trust shop
where jam can be bought by the pot?
Do the dead
shake their head
as I gaze on their four poster bed?
The past conserve...
Kiss
“The world is a bleak place” I said.
You took me into your bed
kissing away
The words I did say
and strange to tell
All did seem well.
November 27, 2015
Horribly Early
It is horribly early.
I can not sleep.
A bird tweets.
No feet
upon the street.
Cars pass
lost in distance vast.
I could return to bed
but I am awake
and doubt that sleep will take
me back
to be stretched upon the rack
of nightmare
and despair.
Sleep is a fickle friend.
Oft she doth pretend
to soothe the troubled mind
but man doth frequently find
in her arms that bind
a maelstrom of emotion
an ocean
where many are tossed
and forever lost
November 26, 2015
Why Do I Write?
Why do I write
oft long into the night?
Is it for pure delight
at the craft
or am I daft?
I hear my clock’s chime.
Time
crouches near.
The year
is drawing to it’s close.
The writer knows
that words live on
long after he is gone,
so strives to leave a mark
on this world stark.
A light that glimmers
in the dark
Illumining the human heart.
(Upper Norwood, 27 November 2015).
November 25, 2015
Tree
Do you think of me
As you stare at a tree?
Beauty makes us free
If we can see
Beyond the tree.
Early Morning Walk
My dog snuffles
and scuffles
amongst the leaves.
He is just there
With no care
For what I think
As I drink
In the fresh morning air.
The Amazon Review Policy Elephant in the Room
A good post which I recommend all authors read. Kevin
Originally posted on Jo Robinson:
