The dark is always there
Perceived by the self-aware
Who care
To stare
Beyond the bright lights
And passing sights
Into the ever-present night.
The Dark Is Always There
2 Replies
Uneventful
All was still in the church.
No lurch
Of sudden fear
To chill
My heart
As I passed the stones where the dead sleep.
Should I create, for the sake of art
A devil with horn?
No, I am forlorn
For this year
Neither scheming demon
Nor the obscene
Fingers of the dead
Troubled my boring Halloween!
In Honour of Halloween
In honour of Halloween, here are links to some of my poems, and other writings with a Halloween and/or a supernatural theme. Enjoy!
Will You Go
An Early Halloween Poem
Dark Angel Poetry
There Was A Young Lady Called Gale
There was a young lady called Gale
Whose look made hardened criminals quail.
She met a thug one night
Who, to her delight
Began to weep and wail!
Overheating
You in that dress,
Trying to impress.
Its anyone’s guess why.
The heater near by,
We sat overheating,
Time eating away,
Though I knew you would stay,
Until break of day.
Come the morn, no cock crew,
Yet I knew we where through,
Until the next time.
O women and wine,
Are truly divine,
And man knows not,
When he has lost the plot …
The Clocks Have Gone Back
The clocks have gone back and the weather is cold.
The bold
Venture outdoors.
The temperature underscores
That winter is here
And the year
Is nearing it’s close.
Fingers and toes
Freeze.
There is no breeze,
Only the chill air to please
Senses the all encompassing heat
Would defeat
Share your blog!
A generous offer to share your blog. I have already popped over and shared one of my poems. Kevin
The Anatomy of a Mourning
Flanked by kin
Holding up the stretcher,
The white sheet charting your casing like the afternoon mowing down inner cities.
The mosque hurling the compassionate to your side
To temporarily wreck their composure
Uncovering how you were a pillar of the community,
Your tenants took a furlough from their inflation adjusted lives
And stuffed their mouths and shot their feet under the flash of cold showers.
Doorbells ducked into tin-foil wraps,
Dirty dishes into slumber parties going through laminated albums
No one said it was your penchant for red meat,
Or the hostility of habits to diabetes,
It was remember how he used to keep to himself mostly, but was a good man.
It was he is survived by his wife, five children, and ten grandchildren,
The likes of who will gargle the holy water used to bathe their wounds.
–
A Bird in My Garden Sang
A bird in my garden sang.
A pang
(I no not why)
Into my heart sprang.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that I will die,
Though birds will still sing
Be it winter or spring,
And bring
A melancholy joy
To girl and boy.
The tears start
When nature’s beauty overpowers.
Countless hours
Has many a poet spent,
His efforts bent
On personifying mother nature,
The creator,
Who has no heart
Yet lives and breathes
Through his art.
A Review of my collection of poetry, “Refractions”
I was delighted to receive the below review for my collection of poetry, “Refractions”:
“I was touched with the wisdom and the heart behind the words. To know that the beauty of the world and all its glory is not lost on anyone makes me humbled.
I read and enjoyed all of these works and each one touched me on a different level. I look forward to reading more from Kevin Morris”.
Thank you to the reviewer for taking the time to read and review “Refractions”, which is available, as an ebook in the Amazon Kindle store. For the review please visit, https://www.amazon.com/review/RR1WAIUSHF5PF/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B01L5UC2H2.
