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.
I Heard Birds
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Category Archives: musings
He thought her what she was
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 open poetry competition 2020, closes on 31 January
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/.
Why Instagram means that poetry is going from bad to verse
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
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.
Mix
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.
51
Its my birthday today.
I shall walk in the wood
And maybe see
A nymph.
But, if so,
I shall be good!
I shall go to the pub
Tonight
And delight
In the company of companions dear,
As we sit near
To the open fire.
I am 51.
Over half a century has passed.
Tonight I shall raise a glass
And wonder where the time
Has gone,
And be glad
That I have
Friends, and rhyme.
I Would Rather Die In This Darkening Park
I
Would rather die
In this darkening park,
While
Evening birds sing,
Than in some sterile
Hospital wing,
Where drugs oblivion bring,
And no birds sing.
—
Having written the last line, I am reminded that I owe a huge debt to John Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci”, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44475/la-belle-dame-sans-merci-a-ballad).
The last 2 lines of the first stanza of Keat’s poem read:
“The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.
While the last stanza of the poem runs thus:
“And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing”.
You May See Beauty in Poetry
You may see
Beauty in poetry,
And smile
While
The thing being described,
Is otherwise …
A Poet’s Epitaph
“He liked to rhyme
And was fond
Of women
And wine,
And sinning.
Now he has gone beyond
Women,
And wine,
And sinning.
And he is out of time
For rhyme”.
