When a ferryman who sailed the great river Styx
Went and pelted me and my mates with bricks,
Me and Moat
Sank his boat,
Which now lies at the bottom of the Styx!
The Ferryman
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Lost Shoes
A young lady who is fond of booze
Lost her stiletto shoes in the river Ouse.
Now a naughty nun
Wears them for fun –
We met on a round the world cruise!
Perm
I met a man with a perm
Who called me a worthless worm.
I grabbed sharp sheers
And despite his tears
I cut off that worthless perm!
Poet Kevin Morris Featured on Sally Cronin’s Blog
I was delighted to have my recently published poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death” featured on Sally Cronin’s blog https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/2025/06/18/smorgasbord-book-promotions-new-book-spotlight-life-reflections-passing-through-some-thoughts-on-life-and-death-by-k-morris/
Dream or Reality
In my dreams
It often seems
To me
That what I feel
And sometimes see
Is reality.
When death steals
Up on me
Will it simply seem
That I dream?
The reality
Is unknowable to me.
Tell Me Not Here, it Needs Not Saying by A. E. Housman
In my place of work there is a poetry club of which I am a member. We meet on a monthly basis and discuss 2-3 poems. In May, the club where kind enough to allow me to read several poems from my recently published collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”.
At next week’s meeting we will be discussing Housman’s “Tell Me Not Here, it Needs Not Saying”. The poem (which is one of my favourites) was suggested by me. You can find a reading of it by the poet Andrew Motion here https://poetryarchive.org/poem/tell-me-not-here-it-needs-not-saying/.
“Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death” is available in Kindle and paperback, and can be found here Passing Through: Some thoughts on life and death: Amazon.co.uk: Morris, K: 9798284279151: Books
Matt’s Cat
When a young man known as Matt
Went and bought a very large cat,
An elderly person called Brian
Yelled something about a lion!
And that was the end of that!
Eliot’s Typist
Eliot’s typist is glad when its over.
She who leaves me
Has never read
The Wasteland
And would not understand Prufrock.
Yet she knows the loneliness of men
And slippery mermaids
Who drown with them.
Early Morning Birds
When, at 4 am,
I awoke, the birds spoke
To me, bringing peace
And a return to sleep.
Demons
When the religious persist
In saying demons exist,
I ask which
Demons created Auschwitz?
K Morris - Poet 