Monthly Archives: February 2020

Whilst Climbing Up An Extremely Tall Tower

Whilst climbing up an extremely tall tower
I saw a lady in a shower.
I said to her,
“Is your name Claire?”.
She said, “no! and vacate this shower!”.

An Introduction to Blank Verse

A good introduction courtesy of the blog Interesting Literature, on the origins of blank verse. The post explains that blank verse was invented by the Earl of Surrey, and explores the differences between blank and free verse, blank verse being closest to everyday speech.

To read the article please visit, https://interestingliterature.com/2020/02/what-is-blank-verse-introduction/.

When A Young Lady Named Spink

When a young lady named Spink
Said, “I really do like kink!”.
And I said, “do you mean kitsch?”,
She said, “I am more than rich!”.
We married, and she dressed in pink.

Poet Kevin Morris to appear on Vancouver Co-Op Radio’s The World Poetry Reading Series, at 9:10 pm (UK time), on Thursday 27th February 2020

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I am delighted to announce that, on Thursday 27 February, at 9:10 pm (UK time), I shall be appearing on Vancouver Co-Op Radio’s The World Poetry Reading Series, https://worldpoetry.ca/.

My thanks to Ariadne Sawyer, host of The World Poetry Reading Series, for her kindness in inviting me to appear on her show.

I have been priveleged to appear on Vancouver Co-Op Radio on several previous occasions. For my previous interview, in which I discussed and read from my “Selected Poems”, please visit this link, https://worldpoetry.ca/?p=14784.

You can find “The Selected Poems of K Morris” here, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/.

When A Young Lady Named Rose

When a young lady named Rose
Said, “please, stamp on my toes!”.
And I said, “are you a masochist”,
She said, “I most positively insist,
That you please, stamp on my toes!”.

Everything There Is To Be Said

Everything there is to be said
Has been said,
Of nature, beauty,
Love, duty
And bed.

Many poetic men
(And women)
Have employed their pen
To condemn
(Or glory in)
Sin.

So perhaps its true
That there is nothing new
To be said.
Yet poets think,
And the ink
Runs blood red.