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
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.
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.
Listening to windchimes
I think how we strive,
Always struggling to arrive.
And, for a moment find
All striving cease
And peace
In windchimes.
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.
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 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.
When, at 4 am,
I awoke, the birds spoke
To me, bringing peace
And a return to sleep.
As pointed out in this article, https://engelsbergideas.com/reviews/the-second-world-war-had-its-poets-too/, the poets of the First World War are better known than those of World War II. I am, however, familiar with several of the poets (Keith Douglas for example) mentioned in this article. I shall certainly be adding this book to my books to be read list.
Today I am a guest on Ester Chilton’s blog. In my guest post I talk about what caused me to write my poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”. To read my article pleas follow this link to Esther Chilton’s blog https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/06/13/guest-writer-spot-172/?jetpack_skip_subscription_popup. Please do leave any comments you may have on Esther’s blog.
K Morris - Poet 