There was a young DJ called Weeks,
Who said “the broadcaster speaks!”.
He addressed the invisible crowd,
In a voice firm and loud,
But his listeners heard only squeaks!.
There Was A Young DJ Called Weeks
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Monthly Archives: February 2017
Do You Possess?
Look into my heart,
Do you possess the art
To reveal
That which I would conceal?
Like an eel
I am hard to grasp.
‘Tis perhaps
An impossible task,
So tell me my friend can you reveal
That which I would conceal?
Beauty is truth, and truth beauty
From time to time, a line of poetry pops into my head. I can’t shake off the words of the poet and remain a little restless until the author of said lines has been discovered by me.
Recently the following lines kept running around in my mind
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
A quick Google search reveals that the above beautiful words where penned by John Keats and appear in his Ode on a Grecian Urn
The internet is often attacked for “dumbing down” literature in that it fosters a desire for instant gratification (the wish for easily digestable bite-sized entertainment in the form of stories, poems etc).
There is, in my opinion an element of truth in this criticism. However the internet does, at it’s best open up almost instantaneous access to the world of literature and, in the case of the lines sighted above, enabled me to quickly ascertain their origin.
Kevin
Anything Accept
It is said that “every man has his price”.
We decry vice,
For the nice
Guy or gal
Shal
Not get caught
Doing what they ought
Not to do.
But who
Save the saint
In narratives quaint
Can with honesty say
There has never been a day
(An admission truly shocking),
When temptation came aknocking.
Some may not fall
Yet recall
The devil on their shoulder
Who whispered “you are getting older.
Only the fool
Adheres to the rule
That keeps him poor”.
That door
They may refuse to open,
Yet the devil’s words are spoken
And every word
is heard
By man and child.
Many, like Wilde,
Do persist
And resist
Anything accept temptation.
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!
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 drink
And in think
Tanks construe
Ideas of varying hue
Which, no doubt, they believe to be true,
Then foist them on me and you.
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 pass by me I would see an outline and only be aware that it was a friend when they spoke.
I began writing poetry in 2012 and at that time the idea that my visual impairment might impact on the kind of poems I wrote never occurred to me. However, given that several people have commented on my poor vision and how this may impact on my writing, I thought it would form an interesting basis for a post and I am grateful to Sue for agreeing to publish my article.
On Thursday 26…
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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.
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 acceptance of my submission. With time I totally forgot about it and this is a good reminder for everyone – always make inquires about your submission process or application – as you might get positively surprised 🙂
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K Morris - Poet 