In the wood’s dark
Heart the breeze
Whispers in the trees
Words that I can not comprehend.
May god send
Me peace
And this breeze
Never cease.
In The Wood’s Dark Heart
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Monthly Archives: June 2017
A little about me…
For anyone who is interested in nature, photography, or both, I recommend checking out my friend, John’s newly launched blog. Kevin
I’ve been fascinated by natural history all my life. Indeed, one of my early childhood memories is of planting a conker in the flower beds in the back garden of our family home and the delight in seeing it grow and develop into a small sapling. I was quite upset when my father removed it explaining that it was not the best place for a sapling that would grow into a big tree.
As an older child, I dug a wildlife pond in the same garden and was amazed at how quickly it became home to a myriad of plant and animal species. I can recall lying next to the water’s edge and watching pond skaters zip across the surface whilst tadpoles and water boatmen swam beneath and beautifully iridescent dragonflies hovered above.
The love of nature is one of the reasons I became interested in photography and I like…
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There is a quiet place
The horrific terrorist attack, which took place in London on the evening of 4 June, brought to mind my poem “There is a quiet place out of reach”. Those who carried out this atrocity have “empty souls”, indeed some may doubt whether they possess any soul whatever. Had it not been for the swift action of the police, in shooting dead the terrorists, this terrible incident could have been even worse. Fanaticism and barbarism must be withstood and defeated.
Kevin
“There is a quiet place out of reach
To those who hatred preach.
They prate,
And understand too late,
Or perhaps not at all,
That pride comes before a fall.
Words meaningful as a harlot’s compliment fall
On the ear
Of men who hear what they want to hear.
The truth clear
Is, I fear,
Too often lost in sound and beer.
The fanatic’s words drear
Will fill the empty soul
Of those whose goal
Is the destruction of the whole
Liberal project;
To which they object
Without knowing why.
Then, pointlessly, die”.
Who is worse, the tempter or the sinner?
Who is worse? The tempter or the sinner?
The expensive dinner
Bought by a man, for a girl young enough to be his daughter.
Common sense flung
Aside,
Along with his pride.
As a lamb to the slaughter
He traverses a path
That would make a cat laugh.
And what of the girl, who does strive
To keep alive?
(Though in the west,
One must confess
That it is more likely to be her “need”
For a new dress
That does her greed
Drive).
The tomb is ever near.
Perhaps it is this thought most drear
That leads a man, in later life,
To take to mistress or wife
A girl who will still
The fear that he is growing old
Though the charms
Of youthful arms, bought with gold
Can not a man save
from the cold grave.
There Was A Young Man Called More
There was a young man called more
Who’s head was extremely sore.
He denied that it was drink
But the devil did wink
At the empties on the floor!
(“empties” means empty bottles. In this case of the alcoholic kind).
Paste
When conversation
Lags and you are full
Of dull
Anticipation.
When you have no connection
Save for a shared perception
Of mutual need
Or greed.
Then, When the lights go out
the shout
Of conscience is stifled,
And paste pearls rifled.
Poet Kevin Morris interviewed for Rhyme
I was honoured to be interviewed by Victoria, for her excellent site Rhyme. My interview covers a variety of topics, including what inspires me to write poetry, together with those poets who have exerted an influence on my writing. To read the interview please visit https://rhymepoetry.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/interview-with-kevin-morris/.
K Morris - Poet 