At the edge of the churchyard
I pause as a solitary bird sings.
Spring has long gone.
And early Autumn says all ways
End in the churchyard.
The traffic passes.
At the Edge of the Churchyard
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Tag Archives: crystal palace poets
All Smells Fresh After Rain
All smells fresh after rain.
The scent of wet earth
Speaks of rebirth.
But excess heat
Will defeat the rain.
These dead leaves
Hang
Or fall
And I recall
Autumn is yet to come.
A Square of Sunlight
I saw a square
Of sunlight fall
On my study wall.
It is no longer there –
We all borrow
Each joy and sorrow
Until our square
Vanishes into empty air.
I Feel the Wind
I feel the wind
On my skin
And hear him
Whisper in the trees
Reminding me of you.
I go in
And face my darkening window
Were I to die tonight
I would go happy –
Yet tomorrow will probably come.
I will walk in sun
Or rain.
Then, returning home again
I will face my window
But not the same
One as tonight
Poet Kevin Morris on World Poetry
On Thursday 19th March I hosted a segment on the World Poetry Reading Series World Poetry Cafe March 19 2026 with Kevin Morris by VictorSchwartzman | Mixcloud. During my section of the podcast I read William Wordsworth’s the Solitary Reaper which is one of my favourite poems. In addition, I recited a number of my own poems and talked about my poetry.
To listen to the show please follow the above link. My bit starts some 20 minutes into the podcast.
Identity
I heard my entry phone go.
I said, “hello?”
He said, “Its Tesco”.
I replied, “its not me!”
After, I thought I ought
To have said, “its not for me”.
For I am, of course “I” or “me”.
But, you see
I was not thinking of my identity
At the time,
For my mind
Was caught up in rhyme!
Role Play
When a dominant young lady named Fay
Said, “lets all indulge in role play!”
And severe Miss Jane
Produced a large cane,
I made my excuses that day …!
The Autumn Dark
The Autumn dark is coming down.
One day I will drown
And leave the night
And the light.
For I am bound by dark
And will not fight
The inevitable night.
An Elderly Writer Known as Ted\
There once was an elderly writer known as Ted
Who said, “burn all my works when I’m dead!”
His young lover Divine
Said, “they’re all online!
With the picture of the vicar in our bed …!”
I Shall Not Romanticise
On opening my mum’s back door
I hear the rain pour.
I shall not romanticise
Rain or death.
Man dies
And some are left bereft
Listening to the rain.
K Morris - Poet 