Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘She stood upon her head’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘She stood upon her head’.
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K Morris reading his poem ‘Cigarette’.
Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Cigarette’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The Poet on the hill’.
Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘The Poet on the hill’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The path through the woods’.
Poet Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘The path through the woods’.
#BLOGGER INTERVIEW – Christopher Graham, The Story Reading Ape
A great interview with Chris the Story Reading Ape who does so much to help authors.
Chris Grahamis much admired, respected, and appreciated in the blogging world. His indefatigable support of authors and bloggers is rivaled by few others.The Story Reading Ape‘s 4th blog anniversary is April 4th, and I can think of no better way to show my appreciation than by featuring him on my blog. Here’s to you, Mr. Ape! May you live long and prosper. I’m also putting energy out there for you to win the lottery 😊
Follow Chris’ blog HERE
When did you start blogging and what prompted you to do so?
I started blogging on April 4th 2013 after reading authors’ pleas (on Goodreads) for promotional opportunities on blogs.
What moved you to choose an ape as your gravatar and online presence?
My Most favourite author was (and still is) Terry Pratchett, who once stated, “The anthropologists got it wrong…
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Cigarette
Imagine the scene.
She craves nicotine.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
I regret
That I can not answer yes to the question.
Her scent, and perhaps a suggestion …
Yet I can not repent
That I do not choke
Myself with smoke.
There Was A Young Man From Whitehall
There was a young man from Whitehall
Who said “all empires fall”.
He wore a threadbare suit
And owned only one boot,
But his name I don’t recall.
Encroaching Darkness
darkness
is washing
over me
like
spilled
black ink
viscous
puddles
View original post 77 more words
Sometimes
Sometimes I attempt to shout down the birds
And choose
To lose
Myself in words.
But as a dart
Ere long
Their song
Pierces my heart.
On occasions I try
To escape the owl’s cry
And pretend
There is no end
To meet
And sheet.
But as night falls,
He calls to me.
The Fall
The bird’s call
To man, who’s fall
Brought
Him knowledge. Now caught
Up in his thought
He hears words,
While the birds
Sing,
Welcoming the spring.
