K. Morris's Blog, page 711
November 14, 2015
Peace for Paris
I can add nothing to what is written here. A moving post. Kevin
Originally posted on arwenaragornstar:
At least 128 people have died and around 180 were injured last night in Paris in a series of carefully planned and coordinated attacks. The Islamic state claimed responsibility for the attacks citing Paris as “the capital of abomination and perversion, the one that carries the banner of the cross in Europe.”
I don’t think anybody was surprised by the fact the horrors...
Paris Attacks
Sometimes words die on lips
And cruelty strips
Away
The light of day.
Only the rain
And pain
remain.
November 12, 2015
The Wall (Dedicated To My Grandfather)
The wall seemed so high.
Acorns fell as from the sky.
There they would lie
To be collected by you and I.
The acorn’s hard shell.
I remember it well.
The smell of the wood
Natural and good.
Now the wall is to high
And on the other side you lie.
The Poet
Originally posted on Jennifer Elisa Novotney :
Writing a poem
is like waking up
for the first time.
It’s like seeing someone
as a stranger.
The poet is the thinker
looking at life
from a Dutch angle.
The poem is the epiphany
that can’t be forced
and won’t be obvious.
But when it comes to the poet,
the rumble of thunder warns
that the rainstorm of words
is on the way.
Those words
fill the poet’s head
all at once
creating a flood.
The poet is compelled
to write them all down
one word at a time...
Dancing Girl
Come visit the stage.
‘Tis all the rage
to see ecstasy without feeling.
Your senses will be reeling
as the lights on the ceiling
reveal her kneeling.
The club will be dark.
She will play her part
to perfection.
You need not fear rejection
for she will never tire.
and your desire
Is her pleasure.
Take your leisure
and find romance.
Come see the robot dance
November 11, 2015
Made In Britain
Everything will fail.
On my new shower rail
is written
“made in Britain”.
Kipling is out of fashion
yet there remains a passion
for things made here.
Caesar’s ghost stands near.
The sneer
On Ozymandias’s face
Has been wiped from it’s place
Leaving only sand
And barren land.
Everything will fail.
On my new shower rail
is written
“made in Britain”.
—
Yesterday I purchased a new shower rail and was pleased to discover that it was made in Britain. This sparked the above poem.
Secret Diary Of PorterGirl – The Making Of The Book Trailer
Secret Diary Of PorterGirl – The Making Of The Book Trailer
Many thanks to Lucy of Secret Diary Of Porter Girl for her wonderful guest post. Please do check out Lucy’s blog and her book.
Kevin
Since when did book trailers become a thing? I had not come across them until the release date of my book, Secret Diary Of PorterGirl, loomed ever nearer and people started making mutterings about one. I had previously dipped my toe into the world of moving pictures by making short sketches for the blog...
November 9, 2015
The Lost Muse
I have dreamed poetry’s sound.
Something quite profound.
But when I awake
the muse does me forsake.
In the labyrinth of my brain
no doubt the words remain
But I havemislaid the golden thread
that ran through my sleeping head.
Sometimes I get them down
while the world sleeps all around.
But oft they float away
lost in the light of day.
Quote Of The Day
“If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies
on the other side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity”.
(Middlemarch Chapter XX, http://www.victorianlondon.org/etexts/eliot/middlemarch-0020.shtml).
November 8, 2015
Can I touch Your Face?
Being blind
I sometimes find
myself wondering what women look like.
With little sight
it is impossible to tell
so why do I on this subject dwell?
I do perceive
that a voice may deceive.
Girlish tones
Can belong to old crones.
A scent draws me in
thoughts of skin
and sin.
“Would you like to touch my face?”
“This is not the place
my dear.
People are near.
Besides we have only just met.
I don’t even know your name yet”!
She lingers.
Thinking of sensitive fingers
Loss of sight
does not equal no d...
