Were I to compose
A poem about a rose
Some would see young women,
And, maybe, find therein
A reference to sin.
I shall, therefore, suppose
Not a rose
But the fruit
Of Paradise,
Which is, as the reader knows
At the root
Of love, and vice.
I did softly explore
A flower, as yet
Unopened. And, on returning for more,
I found (to my half-regret)
That a bee
Had been before
And explored that flower,
To it’s tender core.
I walk amidst these
Windblown
Leaves.
How time has flown.
I shall in beauty drown,
And think on these
Fallen leaves,
Which now strew the ground.
Power
Play.
Shower.
Away.
I heard birds
On a chilly
January day.
How silly
For you or I
To try
To interpret what they say,
For the song of birds,
Is beyond our poor words.
He
Thought her what she
Was,
And acted accordingly,
Because
That is what she
Was.
What made her so
He
Did not know,
But because
That is what she
Was,
Both He
And she
Acted accordingly.
What makes for
“Because”?
“Was”?
And “acted accordingly”?
There is no iron law
To explain he
And she.
And circles may,
One Day,
Break.
The Kent and Sussex Poetry Society are running their 2020 Open Poetry Competition.
Anyone can enter, either online or by post, and submit a poem and/or poems on any subject.
The closing date for entries is 31 January 2020. For details please visit, https://kentandsussexpoetry.com/the-kent-sussex-poetry-society-open-competition/.
An interesting article in The Times, which is, on the whole not very complimentary about Instapoets (I.E. those poets who post on Instagram), https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/why-instagram-means-poetry-is-going-from-bad-to-verse-d25rc9h3s.
The article ends with a list of the 10 leading poets on Instagram.
I do (occasionally) post some of my poetry on Instagram and you can find my page here, https://www.instagram.com/kmorrispoet/.
(Please note, The Times is protected by a paywall, which means that you can only read articles if you have a subscription to the newspaper. You can, however register free of charge for 1 month and access content, however after this period your card and/or bank account will be debited, unless you cancel within the period specified on The Time’s website).
The rain
Patters Amongst these leaves.
I listen again
And ascertain,
That its the breeze
Midst these trees.
Yet it sounds the same
As rain.
A mix
Of limbs
And diverse sins.
Some get their kicks
From rhyme.
Time
Passes
For lads and lasses.
Bodies intertwine
Genes travel on
Though we are gone,
Whilst others leave a rhyme
Behind, for posterity to find.
K Morris - Poet 