Tag Archives: k morris author

The Horseman

How easy to construe
The new and inviting
For what is true.
The ride exciting
Will
Thrill
For a while.
The denial
That a thing has become banal
Shall
Not prevent it from being so.
The rider halfheartedly says “woe”
But the horse
Will continue on it’s familiar course.

“I will turn back”the horsemen doth say
“Yet how easy it is to stay
On the well trodden way.
The day
Grows dark
And the lark
Has long since ceased to sing.
The weary fairies in their ring
To me call.
Oh, how easy ‘Tis to fall …”.

Should Poets Explain Their Poetry?

How far (if at all) should a poet explain his (or her) work? I have always been of the view that poets should leave it to the interpretation of readers to determine what their verses mean. To explain all risks treating readers like young children who must be spoon fed. Furthermore, detailed explanations by the poet remove the joy experienced by many lovers of poetry of reaching their own conclusions concerning a poem’s meaning.
Recently, 2 people have expressed the view (on 2 separate occasions in face-to-face conversations) that explanations as regards a poem’s meaning (or what caused me to write it) would be helpful. During the 2 occasions on which I have given poetry readings, I have included a brief explanation concerning the poem’s origins. However I remain of the view that to furnish chapter and verse in respect of a poem’s meaning detracts from the enjoyment of reaching one’s own (often unique) conclusion. One gentleman with whom I discussed the matter suggested that notes could be appended to poems concerning their origin and/or meaning with a caveat that those who wished to come to their own conclusion should skip them. While this is an interesting idea, I don’t want to turn into a didact, I am, after all a poet not a teacher.
As always I would be interested in my reader’s views.

Kevin

Heels

Heels clicking.
A clock ticking.
Sounds intermingle.
Fantasies kindle
In the mind of the single man
Who can
But hear
The click of stillettos
Passing near.

Supine he lies,
And closing his eyes
Tries
To slumber.
Idly he doth wonder
What takes
A girl out so late
And who else wakes,
Rapt, by joy or fear
Harkening to heels
Passing near.

The Fox and the Devil

Lucifer fell
Into a well
And said, “I wonder who herein does dwell?
The dark be dammed, its blacker than hell!”

“Tis I”, said the fox sly,
I too fell in here.
‘Tis clear
I will die.
Yet, I am the bolder
Of we two.
Let me stand upon your shoulder
And cause a to-do!
Never fear
I will summon help here.

So the devil did accept
And the fox leapt
Up on to Satan’s shoulder
And being the bolder
Of the two
Threw
himself out.
You should have heard the devil shout!
“A pox
On you fox.
Come back forthwith
And give
Me a hand”
He did command.

Said the fox sly
“No thank you, I will fly
Far away.
For the sake of humanity, ‘Tis better you dwell
Forever in this well”,
And truth to tell
He will there remain
Until the terrain
Of Hell freezes over.
Truly, God is in clover!

An Unsuitable Attachment

An unsuitable attachment
Leads on to detachment.
The slow drip, drip
Of anoyances strip
Bare
Any pretence that either party care.

Beware
For the perfect bust
Engenders lust
Which may be for true passion mistaken.

When dalliance is over, the forsaken
Heart Cries
Out for love, and seeks joy in another’s eyes.
‘Tis frequently a temporary reprieve
For lonleness will oft times cause man to believe
That desire is love.

The gods above
Shrug,
For they have seen it all before.
And well know
That further woe
Is in store.

Reprieve

Is a poem a thing of art
Carefully crafted in every part?
Or does the poet roughly ssing
Of Cupid’s sting
And pages wet
That he may not forget
His unrequited love?

The heart
Finds expression in art.
Rough hewn or not
The poet has got
To find a voice.
He has no choice
Other than to obtain a brief
reprieve
From grief
In the words he doth weave.

Burning

The fire
Rages
In stages.
At times it burns low
And I know
Sleep
Will creep
Into my room,,
Her sweet perfume
Rendering me
Free
Of desire.

Yet at other times the fire
Doth burn
Bright.
My thoughts turn
To delight,
Which slippery as eels
Itself reveals,
Then, a fleeting satisfaction seals.

Midnight steals
Away.
The hot coal
In my soul
By day
Burns low
Yet I know
The glow
Is always there
And will, once more, flare

Neither a borrower nor a lender be

Polonius famously remarks, “Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend”. While I haven’t lost any friends as a consequence of lending books, I have determined not to let others borrow my work in future.
As those of you who follow this blog will know, the print edition of “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” has been available to buy for several months. Since it’s publication I have given away copies to family and friends. In addition several libraries and my local pub (who maintain a small lending library) have been recipients of free copies of “Lost”. While I am delighted to have my book available in libraries and dens of iniquity (sorry I mean pubs)! I have clamped down on lending “Lost in the Labyrinth” to readers other than via the institutions (including my local pub) who hold copies. My rucksack usually contains several copies of “Lost” which, if the opportunity arises I show to potential readers in the hope they will purchase a copy. While a number of people have bought copies without asking to borrow my work, I have been surprised that several individuals have asked, “Can I borrow it?” The first few times this question was asked resulted in me answering in the affirmative. I have, however now come to the conclusion that if, after having looked at my book someone is sufficiently interested to request to borrow a copy, then they are (potentially) intrigued enough to purchase one. I have therefore taken to saying that the book is for sale and (thus far) readers have happily bought my work.
Someone or other famously remarked that “its nice to be nice”. Indeed it is. However authors are not registered charities and we should not be expected to give away or lend out our books for free. This may sound harsh, however one would not expect the local butcher or publican to give away free joints of meat or beer so why should authors be expected to do so? Having said that, I have given away at least one copy of my work to a person who, I sensed could not afford to pay for it. I felt this was the right thing to do. However those who can pay (unless they are family and/or close friends) should, in my opinion do so. I wouldn’t expect a free haircut in my local barber’s nor should he expect a free copy of my book.
In conclusion, generosity is a wonderful trait but, as authors we need to insure that we are not taken advantage of by those who could easily pay for our work but instead choose to request a free copy or to borrow one. Charity is a splendid thing and I have (with fellow authors) contributed to a charity anthology in aid of Guide dogs). However charity and money making need to be separated out, otherwise authors risk what is (often) only meagre earnings from their litary endeavours being swallowed up by paying out for their own work which they then give away or lend rather than sell.

Birds

Outside my window the birds twitter.
No bitter
Singing from those who live, yet know it not.
Their lot
Is a happy one,
For they are here then gone
Without foreknowledge that the sky will darken.
I will harken
To another song.

The long
Summer nights have arrived.
Why do I strive
For delights
Of a different kind,
When I find
In the birds
A truth surpassing words?