Monthly Archives: June 2025

When a Man of the World

When a man of the world said, “Rose,

The wise young woman knows

That all men they are full of sin!”,

That girl gave a grin,

As she went in search of her clothes …!

Ron and the Scone

There once was a man named Ron

Who liked to go on and on!

A girl called Lin

Said, “forgive my sin!”,

As she brained Ron with a scone!

 

(The word “scone” is often pronounced as “scon” depending on which part of the UK one comes from).

The Joy of Rhyming Poetry

As I shopped in the supermarket earlier today, one of the assistants read the poem printed on my t-shirt:

 

“I found

Blossom on the ground;

Which brought

To mind the thought,

We all,

As the blossom, fall”.

 

“Do you like poetry?”, I asked.

“Yes. If it rhymes”, she replied.

 

I was delighted that the lady liked rhyming poetry. And my pleasure was compounded by the fact that the poem in question was composed by me. (“Fallen Blossom” is included in my collection, “More Poetic Meanderings” More Poetic Meanderings: Amazon.co.uk: Morris, K, Morris, K: 9798388968302: Books).

 

The above  conversation with the shop assistant caused me to ponder on why so many people (including myself) enjoy rhyming poetry.

 

As a child I learned many nursery rhymes, some of which I can still recite by heart. For example, whilst in the pub enjoying a few drinks with a friend, the nursery rhyme “There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe” There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe – Wikipedia, popped into my mind and I quoted it to my friend.

 

On the one hand, the rhyme can be seen as a bit of fun designed to make children laugh. It’s catchy nature lends itself to easy recollection by the reader. However, on the other hand, the poem speaks of child cruelty, (the beating of children with a shoe would today rightly have Social Services banging on the door and taking the abused children into care)!

 

The above rhyme is not therefore simply a charming piece of poetry. It is also (and perhaps primarily) a critique of child neglect. Not withstanding it’s dark messages “There was an Old Woman” remains memorable, as do such rhymes as “Hey Diddle Diddle” Hey Diddle Diddle – Wikipedia, a much more cheerful and light hearted rhyme, which I can still recite from memory.

 

I do not know how many children growing up in today’s society are exposed to the joy of nursery rhymes. However, it is my view (admittedly unscientific) that exposure to rhyme at a young age has the capacity to instil in people a life-long love of poetry and, in particular of rhyming poetry.

 

It is fashionable in some circles today to dismiss rhyming poetry as being “old hat” and to laud free verse. Whilst I have no beef with free verse, my instinctual preference is for poetry that rhymes. Whilst at school I recollect reading the “Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, The Highwayman | The Poetry Foundation. The rhythm of the poem enchanted me at the time and continues to do so to this very day.

 

I will finish with my own poem, “On the Death of a Writer” which contains elements of rhyme:

 

The rain is falling again.

“The garden smells fresh

And a solitary blackbird sings.

 

I heard of your death.

Your book remains unread.

You had others to write

And now are dead.

 

Each man has his plans,

Literary or otherwise.

But none knows

When his eyes may close.

 

The clock ticks as I write.

The scent of wet earth

Enters the house.

Tonight, I will close my eyes

And tomorrow write …”

 

(“Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Through-Some-thoughts-death-ebook/dp/B0F8TWMZJD).

Whilst Walking Through a very Dark Park

Whilst walking through a very dark park

I met with a vampire named Mark.

When I began to pray

He said, “it’s a play!”,

But the werewolves howled in that park …!

Life’s Pleasures

I enjoy the sunshine

In early summertime

As I pass by tombs,

Stark and white

In the bright light.

 

I love the wild rain

And how it sound

Wraps me round

Calming my overheated brain.

 

Civilisation is an intricate clock.

But all clocks stop.

The dance ends my friend.

Listen to the rain

And watch the sun set.

How to Write a Sonnet

An interesting short piece on how to write a sonnet How to: Write a Sonnet • Poetry School. I have attended courses at the Poetry School and can recommend them.

Interview with Poet Kevin Morris Regarding his Poetry Collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”

I was recently interviewed by Ariadne Sawyer of the World Poetry Reading Series about my recently published poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”, https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Through-Some-thoughts-death-ebook/dp/B0F8TWMZJD

.

 

During my interview, I read a number of the poems from “Passing Through”, and touched on other topics pertaining to my poetry and writing process.

 

To listen to my interview on Mixcloud please go to World Poetry Cafe June 5 2025 with Kevin Morris by VictorSchwartzman | Mixcloud

. My segment starts approximately 22 minutes into the podcast.

Cuckoo

My unbalanced clock

Will still tick tock.

The pendulum swings.

But no Cuckoo sings

And the clock’s

Music has stopped.

 

A Review of My Poetry Collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”

I was delighted to receive an email earlier today from a reader who has read my recently published poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”. In order to protect the privacy of my correspondent, I have not included any details which might identify her:

 

 

 

“I hope you are well and recovered from your traumatic period.

I like your poems about it and especially enjoyed these:

 

Whole Again; very poignant and concise.

 

Twilight: Lovely ,a  brief and enchanted moment, like a haiku.

 

A Garden in Early Spring: another lovely one. You are very good at describing that time of day becoming night.”

 

“Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death” is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon Passing Through: Some thoughts on life and death eBook : Morris, K : Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store.

 

The Poet’s Goat

There once was a poet named Moat

Who rode around on a great goat.

When they said, “your verse,

It grows worse and worse!”,

He would smile and blame that goat!