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.

Bentham’s Head

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We are supposed to strive,
And arrive
At a goal.
The whole
Point of education
Is to generate wealth for the nation.
One must be constructive
And do something productive.
Making wigits
And counting digits
Keeps the wheels of commerce turning.

Gradgrind says we must always be learning
But I am discerning
He means
As a machine
That thinks not but performs.
He scorns
Arts for they have no goal
Other than the enrichment of the soul.

Bentham is dead
Yet his head
Calculates still,
While the poet on the hill
Takes delight
In the dark and starry night.

—

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/museums/jeremy-bentham/about/bentham-head

An edited version of my interview on Croydon Radio is now available

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With huge thanks to David Cronin of Moyhill, I am pleased to be able to post an edited version of my interview on Croydon Radio. The previous version (posted here) ran to some 2 hours, of which my contribution is approximately 30 minutes. The edited version (which contains only my interview) can be found at:

(http://moyhill.com/lost/assets/km-interview-croydon-radio-2016-04-09-16-00-53-edited-64k.mp3).

Ex (by Anon)

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The Past Has Passed
Once upon a time
This heart of mine
Was broken by you
But now I’m no longer blue.
However, you seem to want me back
But as always you lack
To tell me how 
You truly feel now.
I’ve had to let you go
Because I now know 
Without the all important trust 
It simply won’t work.
Perhaps I’m a little colder 
Or wisdom came as I got older
But in my heart I feel it’s right
To bid our love a sweet good night.

Stallion

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The stallion getting old
Feels the cold,
But When he runs with the mares
His cares
Seem far away.

He doth play
At romance
But cannot prance
As once was the case.
Another pretty face
Becomes as one
With lovers long since gone.

There are always mares
With which to pair,
To keep him warm
As the dawn grey
Slinks over the horizon
Ushering in yet another day.

Wha Fe Call I’ – Valerie Bloom

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Thank you to Jayne King for drawing my attention to the poem, “Wha Fe Call I’” By Valerie Bloom. The poem examines the oddities of that wonderful language, English, (http://betweenthelines.darkbb.com/t334-wha-fe-call-i-valerie-bloom).

Disability

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I hear
The sea in my ear.
It’s waves ever near
Go swish swish.
I wish
They would withdraw.
But what if the roar
Should cease
Leaving a deafly peace?
To be blind and without sound
Is to some a horror profound.
Yet many who in silence dwell
Do not consider it hell.

Society puts it’s fear
On those who can not hear
And finds
In the blind
An object of pity
For it is easy to patronise
Those with no eyes.
“I could not cope
And would abandon hope”
They say
While the disabled shrug
And get on with their day.

Updates to my ‘About’ page.

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I have updated my ‘About’ page to include a link to my interview on Croydon Radio. In addition, I have added a link to the print edition of ‘Lost in the labyrinth of my mind’.

To visit my ‘About’ page, please click: https://newauthoronline.com/about/

 

A Truly Remarkable Man

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Jack Eason's avatarHave We Had Help?

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Group Captain Sir Douglas Bader CBE, DSO & Bar, DFC & Bar

Back in nineteen seventy aged twenty-two, I returned here to the UK by sea aboard the Greek passenger liner RHMS Ellenis to see both of my aging aunts. Once I arrived I soon realised that the money I had wouldn’t last long. So after I had found a bed in a working mens hostel in a village on the western border of Heathrow (Colnbrook), I started looking for work.

I came across a low paid job on Heathrow airport thanks to my talking to a couple of blokes in the pub across the road from the hostel, as an aircraft cleaner for a small business situated on the south side of the airport – Field Air, that maintained business jets like the Hawker Siddley 125, and provided a fleet of aircraft tugs.

Hawker_Siddeley_HS-125-700B,_Premieravia_JP7451929

That’s when I met Douglas for…

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Behind Closed Door

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Comfortable hotel beds
And lights that turn red,
On pavements cold
Where only the bold
Or foolish dare to tread.

The dread
Of discovery
And reputations shot beyond recovery,
May keep the mean streets clean,
While behind closed door
Things go on as before …

—

In April, the French legislature introduced a law making it illegal to pay for sex, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/apr/06/france-passes-law-illegal-to-pay-for-sex-criminalise-customers.

Wanting to Know

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What do you think
As we drink
the wine,
Your fingers entwined in mine?
Do I want to know
And, if so
Is It out of a genuine care
To grasp Where
you have been
Or what seen?
Do I really want you to say
What thoughts of woe
Hold sway
During your average day?

I find it is easy to be kind.
But better not to talk
Of the demons that stalk
Our head.
Let us retire
To bed
For drink is the sire
Of desire
And in love’s fire
We burn
Ere we return
To our sorrow.
Let tomorrow
Go hang.
We will play today
Though the sky has long since turned grey.