Author Archives: K Morris Poet

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About K Morris Poet

The purpose of this website (kmorrispoet.com) is to showcase my writing. For details of my published works, please click on the 'About' page of my blog.

The Judge And The Prisoner

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The judge put the black cap upon his head
And looking at the prisoner in the dock said,
“You are guilty of the slaughter
Of mother, son, father and daughter.
Down the years
You have provoked countless tears
And you shall pay
For your crimes today.

We have drugs that will keep you under control.
You have had your final soul.
I sentence you to perpetual irrelevance.
Now go you hence!”.

The Grim Reaper bowed his knee
And said “so shall it be.
I leave you in the hands of my good friend
Tedium Eternal, for death is at an end …”.

A Call for Submissions: Future Poems!

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suzannahevans's avatarSuzannah Evans

future-subsRead the call for submissions on the Emma Press website and SUBMIT YOUR POEMS!

I’m really excited to be working with the amazing Emma Press, whose themed and illustrated anthologies are such things of beauty, as well as dry-witted fellow apocalyptician (that’s a mixture between apocalypse and magician and I’m not sure it works) Tom Sastry on this anthology. We want your poems about the future, whatever kind of future that might be: dystopian, utopian, one where we’re at the mercy of our robot overlords. Or what’s happening next week, or what to do with your life. Or a combination of any / many of these things.

You’ve got until April 1st to make your submission and I’m really looking forward to reading all the poems we receive, and even more to creating an anthology of them.

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There Was A Young Lady Named Ling

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There was a young lady named Ling.
We met at the start of spring.
She said “nature is budding.
Do have some Christmas pudding”.
But it really wasn’t my fing!

—

There was a young lady named Ling.
We met at the start of spring.
She heaved a great sigh
And said “I don’t know why
The spring it rhymes with Ling”.

Fleeting

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My poem, “Leaves Blown At Night”, came to me as I walked with my guide dog, Trigger, on a December evening in Liverpool. The leaves blowing around my feet reminded me of the fleetingness of things and, in particular my own mortality