Tag Archives: free verse

Conscious of the Breeze

I am conscious of the breeze

In the trees

As the vehicles pass me by.

 

Back at my flat

I go to my open window

And hear the eternal breeze

Passing through the trees.

Poet Kevin Morris Interviewed by the Croydonist

I was delighted to be interviewed by the Croydonist, a website which covers the area in which I live. To read my interview, please follow this link

https://www.croydonist.co.uk/kevin-morris/

 

I am grateful to Julia of the Croydonist for her kindness in interviewing me.

Kevin Morris Reading from his poetry collection, “More Poetic Meanderings”

Today, I am sharing a link to me reading from my collection, “More Poetic Meanderings”, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/poet-kevin-morris-reading-from-his-collection-more-poetic-meanderings-part-1.

 

“More Poetic Meanderings” is also available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon and can be found here https://www.amazon.com/More-Poetic-Meanderings-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B0BZT9G139

Love

I have heard girl’s giggle

As I walked alone

The hard stones

And thought on lover’s wriggles.

Then returned home

To my bed to lie

Where no lover’s sigh

And the emptiness of night

Grips me tight.

But when love dies

Lovers also cry.

Mermaids

There is much on display today

In the sultry city.

I am witty.

We chat of this and that.

She laughs. adjusts the rucksack

On my back.

I think on mermaids

And know I grow old.

What it means to be human in an age of intelligent machines of

An insightful article entitled “what it means to be human in an age of intelligent machines”, https://thepoetspeace.wordpress.com/2025/06/24/what-it-means-to-be-human-in-an-age-of-intelligent-machines/.

 

I think the author makes some excellent points. However, whilst artificial intelligences (AIS) can vacuum up vast amounts of data (the poetry of John Keats, William Shakespeare Etc) and produce a “poem” from that data, it does not comprehend what it is doing. Nor does it feel real emotion.

 

In contrast, the poet on hearing the song of the blackbird as the dusk comes down is profoundly moved. He feels sadness mingled with joy and the overflowing of his emotions leads to the composition of poetry. Whilst an AI may vacuum up the poet’s work and produce a poem based on it, the poem (and the other poems utilised by the AI in the composition of it’s poem) have, for want of a better word, been stolen. The AI feels nothing and comprehends nothing.

 

 

Dream or Reality

In my dreams

It often seems

To me

That what I feel

And sometimes see

Is reality.

 

 

When death steals

Up on me

Will it simply  seem

That I dream?

The reality

Is unknowable to me.

Eliot’s Typist

Eliot’s typist is glad when its over.

She who leaves me

Has never read

The Wasteland

And would not understand Prufrock.

Yet she knows the loneliness of men

And slippery mermaids

Who drown with them.