The pious wag their fingers
While love’s perfume
Lingers
In a darkened room,
Where mere mortals enjoy
That which the saint would destroy.
Saints and Mere Mortals
2 Replies
Category Archives: books
The Tower
A man all his efforts bent
To the exclusion of all else,
On the construction of a tower called self.
The higher it went
The less content
He grew.
Breaking through
the clouds
And feeling proud
He saw
A boy soar,
Then fall, seaward bound.
Icarus was the boy’s name
And from his fall nothing profound
Came
For man continues his building just the same.
Crystal Ball Gazing
Will the click of a mouse
In the virtual house
Of the brain
Replace
Nature’s sweet face?
Or can man restrain
The genie who, perhaps already half woken,
His words as yet unspoken,
Holds out visions of heaven and hell.
Will men dwell
In the half light
Where day and night
Lose all meaning
And seeming
And fact become as one?
Has man gone
So far
That we lose who we are?
Can rich variety be reduced
And man seduced
By the girl made up of data?
Sooner or later
These things may come
To pass, but history does run
In strange ways, and the historian shakes his head
At the futurologist, now long since dead
Who said
“It is inevitable, For X must lead to Y”.
Ideas live and die.
The historian sighs
And thinks on why
Man tries to make the world conform to some abstract law.
He has seen it all before
And puts but little store
On those enamoured by neat little rows.
The futurologist may into the future stare
While history’s winding track leads heaven knows where.
Beauty
Sometimes the air is so pure
And beauty’s store
Becomes too much.
At such
Moments the heart is full
And a dull
Ache
Will not me forsake.
Tears fall on the tranquil lake.
The sun awakes.
I will go
And see the rainbow
Shine
And ponder on what some call nature
And others the divine.
The Horseman
How easy to construe
The new and inviting
For what is true.
The ride exciting
Will
Thrill
For a while.
The denial
That a thing has become banal
Shall
Not prevent it from being so.
The rider halfheartedly says “woe”
But the horse
Will continue on it’s familiar course.
“I will turn back”the horsemen doth say
“Yet how easy it is to stay
On the well trodden way.
The day
Grows dark
And the lark
Has long since ceased to sing.
The weary fairies in their ring
To me call.
Oh, how easy ‘Tis to fall …”.
Should Poets Explain Their Poetry?
How far (if at all) should a poet explain his (or her) work? I have always been of the view that poets should leave it to the interpretation of readers to determine what their verses mean. To explain all risks treating readers like young children who must be spoon fed. Furthermore, detailed explanations by the poet remove the joy experienced by many lovers of poetry of reaching their own conclusions concerning a poem’s meaning.
Recently, 2 people have expressed the view (on 2 separate occasions in face-to-face conversations) that explanations as regards a poem’s meaning (or what caused me to write it) would be helpful. During the 2 occasions on which I have given poetry readings, I have included a brief explanation concerning the poem’s origins. However I remain of the view that to furnish chapter and verse in respect of a poem’s meaning detracts from the enjoyment of reaching one’s own (often unique) conclusion. One gentleman with whom I discussed the matter suggested that notes could be appended to poems concerning their origin and/or meaning with a caveat that those who wished to come to their own conclusion should skip them. While this is an interesting idea, I don’t want to turn into a didact, I am, after all a poet not a teacher.
As always I would be interested in my reader’s views.
Kevin
Heels
Heels clicking.
A clock ticking.
Sounds intermingle.
Fantasies kindle
In the mind of the single man
Who can
But hear
The click of stillettos
Passing near.
Supine he lies,
And closing his eyes
Tries
To slumber.
Idly he doth wonder
What takes
A girl out so late
And who else wakes,
Rapt, by joy or fear
Harkening to heels
Passing near.
The Fox and the Devil
Lucifer fell
Into a well
And said, “I wonder who herein does dwell?
The dark be dammed, its blacker than hell!”
“Tis I”, said the fox sly,
I too fell in here.
‘Tis clear
I will die.
Yet, I am the bolder
Of we two.
Let me stand upon your shoulder
And cause a to-do!
Never fear
I will summon help here.
So the devil did accept
And the fox leapt
Up on to Satan’s shoulder
And being the bolder
Of the two
Threw
himself out.
You should have heard the devil shout!
“A pox
On you fox.
Come back forthwith
And give
Me a hand”
He did command.
Said the fox sly
“No thank you, I will fly
Far away.
For the sake of humanity, ‘Tis better you dwell
Forever in this well”,
And truth to tell
He will there remain
Until the terrain
Of Hell freezes over.
Truly, God is in clover!
An Unsuitable Attachment
An unsuitable attachment
Leads on to detachment.
The slow drip, drip
Of anoyances strip
Bare
Any pretence that either party care.
Beware
For the perfect bust
Engenders lust
Which may be for true passion mistaken.
When dalliance is over, the forsaken
Heart Cries
Out for love, and seeks joy in another’s eyes.
‘Tis frequently a temporary reprieve
For lonleness will oft times cause man to believe
That desire is love.
The gods above
Shrug,
For they have seen it all before.
And well know
That further woe
Is in store.
K Morris reading a further selection of his poems
Me reading four of my recently published poems.
