Some speak of the inevitability of progress.
While I rhyme of springtime
And trees that bud in ancient woods.
But autumn will surely come
And the trees undress.
Bare branches breed despair in some.
But spring sun will come
And buds appear in gardens and woods.
For nature has her cycle
Of death and rebirth
And cares not for what
We label as progress.
When a young man named Lee
Went and tried to blackmail me,
I gave a big smile
And said, “meet Mr crocodile!”
Which ended that blackmail and Lee …!
In the churchyard, something fell from a tree
And nearly hit me
There is a time for composing fine rhyme
About graveyards and mortality.
And the occasional limerick can be great fun.
But trees assaulting me!
That makes me run!
There was a young man named Paul
Who jumped off a very high wall.
He aimed for custard
But landed in mustard!
Which was far too hot for Paul!
Fallen leaves
Blown by Autumn’s breeze
Follow me
Into my residence.
There can be
No pretence
In these piling leaves
Of immortality.
But others will hear
The breeze
And see autumn leaves
Blowing near
In other years
When I am gone,
And as one
With leaves.
I have climbed the never ending stair
Leading nowhere.
And explored corridors with so many doors.
And, on opening them
Have found myself in the same place again.
I have savoured many a sweet perfume
In bedrooms.
But the scents all mingle and become one.
And soon are gone.
Yet still I walk another empty corridor
And, opening a door
Find myself where I was before.
With another pretty face.
And me slipping further from grace
There once was a young lady called Miss Fox
Who placed lots of ads in a phone box.
An elderly vicar named Glyn
Spoke of wickedness and sin
As he called Miss Fox from that telephone box …!
I met a young lady of a certain profession
Who said, “sir, do please show some discretion!”,
Her name is Miss Bess
And here is her address –
But no! I think I should show more discretion!
I listen dutifully as he speaks of forestry.
A soft breeze whispers in trees
And I am far away where wind plays
Through the forest and through me.
I recently appeared on the World Poetry Café, which is hosted by Ariadne Sawyer. During my interview, I read several of my own poems. In addition I recited “Ode to a Nightingale” and “To Autumn by John Keats.
My segment begins approximately 19 minutes into the podcast. To listen to the show please visit World Poetry Cafe Sept 18 2025 Kevin Morris by VictorSchwartzman | Mixcloud
In addition to listening online, users of Apple products can download the Mixcloud app, which is available in the Apps store, and listen on iPhones, iPads Etc.
K Morris - Poet 