Through the open door of the surgery
Comes the summer breeze.
Often the wind sings in the tree
Or plays with leaves
Fallen on the path. And in these leaves
And the windswept tree
I know we are bound for the ground.
In the past, the leisured class
Would have time to feed their minds
In this place of tall bookshelves,
Whilst servants, unseen, would cook and clean.
And the workmen who built this place of stone?
Their names are unknown,
But perhaps a thoughtful member of the upper class
Thought on those who toiled
And oiled the machine
As he sat at his books.
And knew the whole would collapse
Where not each man to play his part
In maintaining the machine.
—
This poem was sparked by a recent visit to Cardiff Castle’s Library https://www.cardiffcastle.com/rooms/library/
Her hair, smelling of Coconut Oil
Takes me back to you.
She too is black.
Once my passion boiled for you
In coconut scented sheets.
I wonder, does her skin
Leave coconut on bedclothes
And does her man’s nose
Linger where bodies meet?
Do I sin
When I yearn for coconuts
Firm to the touch
And soft skin
I can not touch?
On 9 June, I announced that my poetry collection “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” was available as a Kindle download from Amazon, https://kmorrispoet.com/2024/06/09/k-morris-new-collection-of-poetry-the-churchyard-yew-and-other-poems-is-available-on-amazon/.
Due to various circumstances it took longer than anticipated to make the paperback edition of “The Churchyard Yew” available. However, I am pleased to announce that the paperback is now available and can be found here, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0D9NPV8KQ/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=.
If you do read “The Churchyard Yew” please do consider leaving a review.
Kevin Morris reading a number of poems on TikTok. You don’t need to have an account to view the videos.
I have dreamed
The strangest dreams
And believed them to be true.
When I die
Will I finally find the reality
Of all I see?
No, I will see
No more of dream
Or of what we call reality
For I will no longer be me.
After the beauties of Kew
I went with you
To a cheap hotel.
I remember I almost fell
As we mounted the stairs
To their unfriendly glares.
I can remember your name.
Did I feel shame?
I really can not recall
But I recollect a fall
And those dangerous stairs
In a backstreet hotel.
As I try to write
The tick tock
Of the clock
Measures my day and night.
At other times
Lost in rhymes
I hear it not.
The beat of women’s feet
Has measured my pleasure
And pain. But the clock mocks
Us all. We fall
In love and lust,
And time turns all to dust.
“Roses are fading”, you said.
I lent and smelt
But there was little scent.
In childhood I would
Collect from nature’s plentiful store
Acorns and conkers
But no Oaktree grew.
Now we two see fading flowers.
I think of lost hours
But speak not of them to you.
https://www.forbes.com/sites/entertainment/article/best-poets/
An interesting list. However, whilst I think such articles can spark interest in poetry and perhaps encourage those who have not yet come to love the art form to do so, any such list is just the opinion of the author. I, personally am surprised that Keats does not get a mention. His fine poems on autumn and his ode to a nightingale surely make him worthy of inclusion in such a list.
K Morris - Poet 