I cannot command
The sand
Nor all these fallen leaves
To show me
The meaning of infinity.
And the mighty sea
Levels the castle I left
On the beach.
Poets reach
For rhyme.
As old Time
Laughs,
For he sees
Even the great sea
Must pass
A young lady of an ancient profession
Is known for her tact and discretion.
She is really quite charming
And likes to go farming,
But best not discuss her profession!
An elderly lady known as Miss Ria
Said “the end it quickly draws near.
But do not weep.
We all must sleep.
And please don’t drink all the beer!”
You guide me around the branch
Which once danced
But now lies on the path
As you and I
Pass by.
It is now gone
But the tree lives on.
While you, my old friend,
Know not all things must end
And simply guide me
Round a branch
Once part of a tree.
We dance
And smile
For a little while
And then pass
As the summer grass
That turns to hay.
But you, my friend,
Are happy
In your ignorance of branch
And tree
“I am looking for something a little bit cheaper”
He said on his mobile phone
As he walked all alone
Among the dead.
I passed by
And thought of the Grim Reaper
Who has a place for all to stay
All men pay
Though not in the market way
I met a ghoul on a train
Who showed me his very big brain.
I said to him “ghoul!
You are truly a fool!”
He said “no! I’ve a big brain!”
I recall
Collecting conkers and acorns
From woodland lawns.
Some came over the wall
To lie
on the path.
I gathered them
As I passed.
I was a boy back then
And loved Autumn.
I love her still
And know I will
As all men
Become as those conkers and acorns
I gathered in childhood
From woodland lawns.
I have held them tight
Although I know
Come the end of night
They must go
And I will be left,
Bereft
Thinking on butterflies
Who pass
And lust,
Fragile as glass.
I have heard the hours
Tick by
And grown old
In arms I can not hold.
But Spring flowers
Provide a temporary
Relief from cold.
I have sought
The flower’s heart
And fought
With the same
pleasure and pain
Over and over again.
In the end only art remains
For blooms must fade
And the poet leaves behind
Merely a rhyme
On ink stained page
On Thursday 17 September, I hosted my monthly slot on the World Poetry Café, which is broadcast on Vancouver Coop Radio.
During my segment, we discussed why many people seem to lack interest in poetry. I also read a number of my poems, including several from my recently published collection Shadows and Birdsong, which is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HDQ9QK3Z/
To listen to the podcast, please follow this link: https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-sept-17-with-kevin-morris/ My segment begins approximately 20 minutes into the show and runs for about 25 minutes. I also read a couple of poems at the end of the podcast.
My thanks to the World Poetry Café and to co‑hosts Ariadne and Victor. As always, I very much enjoyed appearing on the show.
I tried to grasp
The wind
Who sang to me.
But I could only catch
A thought.
But it flew free.
My words caper on paper
While the wind sings
And laughs at me.
Most things decline.
This mind
Will not stay.
Few will read my rhyme
When I have gone away.
Yet I have this day
Of Autumn
Where the wind blows, momentarily,
And I am caught
In inner talk
All is temporary
Save for the breeze
Who sings
Eternally.
