Sunlight slants through branches.
The ethereal girl dances
As the poet romances
Her
Out of the summer air.
The trill
Of an evening blackbird
Is heard.
Then without a word
She is gone,
Though in his heart she lives on.
Perchance
She will dance
Once more
When Autumn winds roar,
And clothed in russet gown
We will lie down
And forever, sleep
A bizarre
Dream of a runaway car,
As real
As this desk I feel.
A mad man driving,
Me striving
To get out.
No point to shout.
Me on the phone.
The driver alone
In his crazed head.
We stop, I am not dead.
A few incoherent words are said
By one
Who is in his mind far gone.
I stay.
He moves away.
—
A day breaks much like any other.
Soon I may discover
What man drove that phantom car
And who we really are.
Perhaps he is me
And I am he …
The pneumatic
Girl’s ecstatic
Sigh
Causes him to wonder Why
No passion lights her azure eye.
Such style
And oh, Her smile.
He will resile
But that smile …
“I will play awhile
Then resile”.
It is a beautiful day.
They will make hay
As the sun does shine.
Women and wine
Are surely divine,
So he will make hay
While the weather stays fine.
There was a young lady called Michaela
Who met a deep sea whaler.
By the light of the moon
He brandished his harpoon,
That intrepid, handsome sailor
You neither sleep nor weep,
While I sleep, the sleep of the just or unjust?
Awaking, lust
Is replaced
By a kind of guilt
Mixed with tenderness?
I can not see your face
And the Quilt
Covers
That
Which
Perhaps
Should
Have
Remained
Undiscovered.
Skeleton
Cupboard
Not
Yet
Discovered.
Brush
Under
Carpet
Swept,
Sweeps
No
More.
There was a young lady called Nell
Who worked in a hotel.
The guests where crude,
But she was no prude
And Nell would never tell …
I am in the process of compiling a further collection of my poetry. This is, on the face of it an easy task. There are many poems, consequently it’s simply a question of pulling them together in a single volume. Well not quite, for there are a number of issues which I need to address prior to pressing that “publish button:
1. What criteria ought I to employ when choosing poems for inclusion? I could (as mentioned above) simply include all the poems written since the publication of my previous collection, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/). However, while I am happy with all the poems on this site, newauthoronline.com (I wouldn’t have allowed them to go live where this not the case), I don’t believe that each and every one of my poems is worthy of inclusion in a new collection, at least not in their current form.
I could make my determination on the basis of “likes”, including those poems which have attracted the most “likes” and/or comments. This is the approach which, broadly speaking will be adopted by me, for, in general the pieces receiving the most “likes” are my favourite poems and are, in my view most worthy of inclusion. However there are other poems which (while having received fewer “likes” are of special importance to me and will, on this basis be included. While public appreciation of one’s work is a wonderful thing and I am extremely grateful to each and everyone of my readers who likes and comments on my work, in the final analysis I write for myself rather than to please (or displease)! An audience. If the poet (or any writer for that matter) becomes a slave to the preferences of his readership he (or she is lost.
2. Which publishing platform should I use? I will certainly use Kindle to distribute the ebook version of my forthcoming collection. For all Amazon’s problems/issues (and it has quite a few), the company remains, in my view the most effective mechanism for distributing ebooks. In addition to the ebook I will be producing a print edition. Many readers still prefer hard copy books and having spoken to a number of young readers (in their late teens or early 20’s) I know the love of traditional books is not confined to the middle-aged and older generations.
I will, of course keep you posted on the collection’s progress.
Finally I would like to close by saying a big thank you to all my readers/followers. Your comments and “likes” help to keep me writing.
Kevin
No need for roses to impress
The girl in the short summer dress,
Though there is wine a plenty
To fill the empty
Cup.
A man may sup
And not be filled
Though wine be spilled
Upon the sheet
Where nectar sweet
Runs
And the great tide comes
In once more
To sigh
And die
On barren shore.
When the sweating
And the getting
Is almost done
And our sun
Is setting,
Will we count a race well run?
Let us be wary lest the tears fall
And what seemed sweet, turn to gall.
K Morris - Poet 