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Great Feedback On My “Selected Poems”

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I was delighted to receive the following email earlier today:

“Dear Mr Morris,
I am writing to tell you that your poems in “The Collected Poems of K Morris” that you gave me on the train on my way to college are exceptional. You might not remember me but I am the girl doing politics and history that you met on the train and gifted your amazing book to. I have always been interested in writing poems and therefore you have really inspired me to carry on my interest and write some poems of my own. I would really like to thank you for gifting me your book and inspiring me to continue writing”.

The Selected Poems of K. Morris

“The Selected Poems of K Morris” can be found here https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07WW8WXPP/ (for the UK), and here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/. (for amazon.com customers).

(Please note, I have not included the young lady’s name in order to protect her privacy).

Kew

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I must have liked you

As I paid for us at Kew.

 

 

We spent some hours

Among exotic flowers,

And strolled in glass houses

Where respectable spouses

Walked too.

 

I bought

A room in a cheap hotel

Off Victoria Street

Where assorted lovers meet

Then depart

And no hearts are left

Bereft.

 

We dropped off the key

At reception

Saying we would be back …

I wonder, did they have any  perception

Of us two …

 

It was just an hour

Or so

In a cheap hotel

Long ago.

 

 

But I must have liked you

For I paid for you at Kew.

 

Brain Abscess

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Some fear their final breath.

I have fought

With the absence of thought

Were I reached for words

And repeated “thank you” again and again.

 

There was no pain

Of the physical kind.

Just the mind

Closing down

And a lopsided walk.

 

When I cried

It was not at the fear

Of dying.

I can face my final breath.

No! I shed my tears

For the collapse of my mind.

 

I found in me

No poetry of mine

But grasped at others rhymes

To keep my inflamed brain

Alive.

 

I survived.

My brain abscess is no more.

I pour out poetry.

For I am not yet dry.

 

 

One day I will die.

 

 

I have no great dread

Of being dead.

What I fear

Is living death

Were breaths are taken

But the mind is dying

Or dead.

The Clock

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Whenever I return to my family home

The clock on the wall

Stands alone

Looking down on us all.

 

I have composed rhyme

To women and wine

And the clock on the wall

Watches us all.

 

We laugh

And time slips away.

As the clock on the wall

Looks down on us all.

 

One day

Someone will be gone

And the clock on the wall

Will tick on

Just the same.

 

For Time is blind

And the clock knows not

Who has gone

And who remains.

Who has

Vicar’s Table

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When a young lady named Mable

Danced nude on the vicar’s table,

I said to Miss Hocking,

“That girl’s behaviour’s shocking!”

She said, “Yes! She’ll break that table!”

Poetry

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I walk in sunshine

And gentle rain.

I see

My shadow

Goes with me.

 

 

I feel beauty

In rainbows.

 

 

But what will remain

When I go?

 

 

Just dust.

The elements

And me,

Refracted back

In poetry

Crocodile

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A crocodile on a log.

I sat. My dog nearby

And thought

Perhaps

I ought

To run away

To live another day

As the creature might be starving –

But it was merely carving,

A log,

Me, and my dog

On a spring day

Impermanence

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¬

These flowers

Are fading now.

 

 

This vase

Which stands so stable

On this wooden table

May not break

In my lifetime.

 

 

But hours pass.

Glass breaks

And this rhyme

Composed as I sit

At this wooden table

As the clock ticks

May remain

When all I see

Is gone from me.

 

 

But this grain

Of truth

Will stay

When my mind

Can no longer play

With time.

Currently Untitled

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Walking to the pub to meet you

On a warm afternoon in summertime

The rhyme of Richard Corry filled my mind.

 

 

I remember  well

How the water fell

Into the pub’s pond

Recycled again and again.

 

 

Few things last long

And all things must fall

In the end.

 

Still I recall

Meeting my friend

And discussing Robinson’s rhyme

One summertime

Long ago.

 

The same rain falls

Again and again

And seasons return

But men …

Cooling Tea

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Dull spring morning.

Another day

Of work

In a contemporary play

Of temporary things.

 

Soon the afternoon

Will come.

The sun

May shine –

 

How many moons

And suns

Will I see?

 

My mug of tea

Grows cold

Next to me

Guy with a Tie

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There once was a guy with a tie

Who was plagued by a very large fly.

When a girl called Yvette

Said, “is he your pet?”

He swatted that fly with his tie!