I am delighted to have had 5 of my poems published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal. To read my poems please visit https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2024/10/five-poems-by-kevin-morris.html
I have often desired
To play with fire
Though I know
The hot coal
Will sear my soul.
I have frequently said
“Come to bed”.
We undressed.
She caressed
And love was dead.
A girl’s youthful arms have their charms.
But by morning’s bright light
How often have men awoken from dream
And seen they grow old.
Is not the insect on this tree
Happier than me?
He will live and die
In this wood
As I pass by pondering on love.
He knows naught of sorrow,
Or poets who rhyme of borrowed time
And a tomorrow
That may never come.
He leaves his mark on decaying bark
And knows not why.
While I leave this brief rhyme behind.
I long for rain
To come and drum
On my window panes.
It speaks to me
Of the great sea
From whence I came.
In love or lust
We make the rain.
Our progeny swim in the sea
From whence all came.
I am man, sea and rain,
And the eternal dust
The Path to Eternity
The churchyard floodlight
Momentarily brightens the night.
But the graves stand out white
Both day and night.
The graveyard is opposite my home.
It’s old stones
Have seen my shadow pass
Along that path
Were the moral and immoral
Cease their quarrel
In eternal dust.
On an autumn afternoon
I change my jeans
In a cold bedroom.
My glass has seen scenes
Where girls barely known comb
Their hair, and then depart.
How often have I thought
I ought to make a new start.
Yet soon my glass has reflected back
A girl doing her hair
Before she leaves me
In sheets where strangers meet.
Sometimes my lust is satisfied
But my heart cries
Out for love.
Yet I continue to buy
What can not be bought.
And perhaps ought not.
I was delighted to receive a great review of my collection of poetry, The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems. To read the review please visit https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/2024/10/04/robbies-inspiration-a-duo-of-poetry-book-reviews-the-churchyard-yew-and-pilgrim-poetry-bookreviews/
I passed by the war memorial
On an autumn afternoon
And, hearing children, thought of Sassoon
The sun soon sets.
On the war dead.
In school war poets are read.
Owen and Sassoon are learned.
And memorials are built still.
You kept your top on.
I knew you wouldn’t stay.
When you where gone
I found a piece of pizza
You had left behind.
There are many kinds of takeaway.
And I often find
Such dishes are stone cold
6 degrees.
The air in the wood is good.
Leaves fall
And a Blackbird’s call
Follows me through the trees.
My mind should be still
But. Like a mill
I find my mind grinds
And the bird is only half heard.
Would that I could
Be one with bird and tree
But useless thought
Has it’s hold on me.
Yet, sitting here
I can almost hear
The Blackbird
And see the beauty of each tree
Which yesterday I failed to see.
K Morris - Poet 