In my dreams, it sometimes seems
That the owl calls to me.
I can not see
Where he may be.
Yet his voice is clear
And I hear him near
Calling to me.
.
He speaks to me
Of my mortality
Reminding me of Macbeth
And approaching death,
And yet he
Does not bother me,
For we all
Must, one day, fall.
.
Copyright: K. Morris.
When I had the operation
There was no fear,
Just the knowledge of death, hovering near.
.
There was no particular anticipation
That I might die,
Merely the desire to get it done
Once and for all.
.
I did not fall
And the Reaper saluted me.
But I thought I heard him say,
“I will be back, one day
.
Copyright K. Morris.
UPDATE: I spoke to the consultant this morning and he said that I might not require an additional aspiration, as the growth in my head was diminishing due to the antibiotics. Kevin.
Seagulls fly and I
Can not stay.
I must be on my way.
I have but a short time to rhyme
And I can not stay.
.
Seagulls cry and I
Am unable to stay.
I must be on my way.
I will die
And am unable to stay.
I have but a brief time for rhyme,
And I may not stay.
Copyright: K. Morris.
Sometimes I find my mind
Obsessed with verse.
It is a curse.
But, what is even worse,
I find my brain
Fails to retain
What I wrote
In earnest or joke!
Copyright: K. Morris.
There is a garden
With artificial leaves
Where people memorialise the dead.
.
It has been said
That these leaves
Represent those long dead
.
There is a wall
Showing all must fall
Yet there is hope
For one must grope for hope
Even in the cold ground.
Copyright: K. Morris.
There was a young lady of Crystal Palace
Who went by the name of Alice.
They said to her Claire,
“You should take great care!”,
She said, “my name it is Alice!”
Old father time
Got caught in a rhyme
And couldn’t get away.
He knew not
What to say or do
As his hands
Got stuck with glue.
The wind is eternal.
It blows and my thought goes
Scuttering like dead leaves.
I heard the clock’s tick tock.
Should I grieve
For lost time?
There is no time
Only my temporary body clock
Which will, one day, stop.
My head is dead.
After a flash of electricity in my brain
Am I the same?
My head feels dead.
I understand the words said, and can’t explain
Why it feels dead.
My head may not be dead.
I can interpret and explain.
Perhaps my memory is the same,
But my head feels dead.
Doors get knocked at midnight
To gentlemen’s delight.
While neighbours gossip, left and right …
K Morris - Poet 