I’ve uploaded several humourous poems to Soundcloud. You can view them below:
I’ve uploaded several humourous poems to Soundcloud. You can view them below:
My short story ‘Samantha‘ will be available for free in the Amazon Kindle Store from the 5th – 9th July, here for the UK and here for the US.
“Samantha tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution in the city of Liverpool. Can Sam’s love for Peter, a man she meets in a nightclub, save her? Or will Sam end her life in the murky waters of Liverpool’s Albert Dock?
My book ‘The Suspect and Other Tales‘ will also be available for free from the 9th – 13th July, here for the UK, and here for the US.
Tales of the unexpected, ranging from stories of crime and vengeance through to ghostly happenings in an ancient mansion.
If you download and read ‘The Suspect’ and ‘Samantha’, please do consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or your website.
When a young lady whose name is Rose
Said, “your views I shall oppose!”,
And I replied, “but you don’t know my view!”,
She said, “that’s perfectly true,
But I really don’t like your clothes!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is Rose
Jumped up and down on my toes,
And I said, “that really does hurt!”,
She tore off my shirt.
As to why? only Rose knows.
—
There was a young lady named Rose
Who composed a poem all about toes.
When they said, “its incomplete
As there aren’t any feet”,
She hit them right on the nose!
On going to bed last night
I met a young lady named White.
I admired her see through nightdress,
But she asked me to stress
That nothing happened last night . . .
When I heard
A bird
In a tree
Sing to me
In a park,
I thought that the dark
Imaginings I see,
May not come to be
A man may be
A Tory
Of the deepest blue
Or a Socialist of the strongest hue
Of red,
Yet with sadness shake his head
At what
His own lot
Do when
The legislative pen
Falls to them . . .
When a young lady whose name is White
Got into a bit of a fight
Over her missing left shoe,
With a girl called Lou,
I went and hid her right!
—
When a young lady whose name is White
Got into a bit of a fight
With a girl called Lou,
Over her missing left shoe,
I wished them both “good night!”.
—
When a young lady whose name is White
Said, “I like Wuthering Height”,
And I asked, “do you mean Heights?”
She took off her tights
And said, “lets not discuss literature tonight!”.
On my way home yesterday evening, I bumped into an acquaintence and engaged in one of those random and somewhat odd conversations one does, on occasions find oneself involved in. My acquaintence with the gentleman with whom I spoke is of a passing nature, in that we have spent a few minutes chatting when we encounter one another. However, yesterday evening we spent some 40 minutes or so talking, during the course of which I learned that he is an artist. This led me to mention that I write poetry, to which his response was that “poets/poetry wants to control people”.
I was, I must confess somewhat taken back by the above statement. Despite me trying to elicit why my acquaintence held such a view, I was unable to obtain an answer which made sense to me. However the statement that “poets/poetry tries to control people” got me thinking about whether there might be any substance to the opinion expressed by my acquaintence.
Poets do (as with the rest of the population) hold views on religion, politics etc, some of which find their way into the poetry they write. Can reading a poem which voices a particular opinion “control” the reader?
Many years ago I remember reading an anthology compiled by the late left-wing Labour politician Tony Benn, entitled “Writings On the Wall: A Radical and Socialist Anthology”. I remember being impressed by some of the writings contained therein, however the book did not turn me into a Socialist. Where there to be a simple connection between what we read and how we vote then, surely I would now be a card carrying member of the British Labour Party or another Socialist party which (as mentioned above) I am not.
A poem has no power to exert physical control over the reader. Indeed, during the course of our chat, I mentioned to my acquaintence that where I to take hold of him and demand that he act in a certain manner that this would, quite obviously entail an attempt by me to exert control over him (I hasten to add that no one was grabbed or maltreated in any manner during the course of our interactions). We can, therefore safely conclude that poetry (or any other form of art for that matter) has no power to (literally) “control anyone.
Having said the above, it is true that Nazi Germany, the former Soviet Union, Mao’s China and various other regimes have banned books and persecuted (or even murdered) writers with who’s work they disagree. For example “The Gulag Archipelago”, which catalogued the horrors of the Soviet prison system was banned in the USSR, and its author persecuted. So, obviously totalitarian governments fear literature that attacks the belief structure on which the regime is built.
Does the fear of totalitarian regimes of literature which attacks their world view proove that poetry (and other forms of art) have the power to “control” those exposed to them. No. What free artistic expression can accomplish is to encourage those exposed to it to question their view of the world (or at least some aspect of it). Encouraging critical thinking is not control. Quite the opposite for, in the case of the authoritarian government it is the regime (not the poet or other artist) who is “controlling”, whilst the artist is questioning the status quo.
In conclusion, poetry does not “control”. It may (and often does) contain a message (political, religious or otherwise), however the reader can make up his/her own mind as to whether they agree (or disagree) with the poet’s perspective. It should, of course also be remembered that much poetry is purely (or largely) playful in nature. There is, for instance in most limericks no desire on the part of the poet other than to produce laughter in his/her readership.
As always I would be interested in the perspectives of you, my readers.
Kevin
A powerful poem by Lorraine.
Yesterday as we drove
Through a foreign land
Close yet far
I sensed a darkness
Mysteries held
An iceberg
Of former times
Beyond the concrete barrier
A river
That called many
And enticed a few
That plucked some from life
By force
That became a resting place for sorrows
Once turbulent
A place of killing
Of undoing
I see the traces
I hear the moaning of souls
I walk in the graveyard
And hear the river sing
In 2016, I published my poem, Squire and Peasant, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/05/12/squire-and-peasant/.
The above is one of the poems I am minded to read at a poetry reading on Thursday 4 July. This will be a private event (unfortunately not open to the public), hence I wanted to share this poem here in order that it may be more widely enjoyed.
Kevin
Kevin