No tower fell
And the hangman’s bell
Failed to knell.
The passage of time
Obfuscates crime.
Was a line crossed
And morality tossed
asunder?
Did plunder
Take place?
Disgrace
Waits in the wings.
Things
Are not forgotten
And often
The deeds we sow
Flower in woe.
We come out of night.
Oh brief delight.
The song of the bird
A loving word
All are heard.
Nature’s scent
Our lives are spent
In joy and pain.
In the end ‘tis all the same.
From the dark womb
We come
For a time dally under the sun
Then to the tomb.
It is over all to soon.
This is a re-recording of my poem ‘Dolls’. The clarity of the second recording is, I believe, better than the earlier reading.
‘Dolls’ can be found in ‘The girl who wasn’t there and other poems’, available here for the UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 and here http://www.amazon.com/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 for the US.
I thought it would be interesting to share a view of the bookcase in my bedroom. The books in question are all in braille. I have four book cases in total; the one in the bedroom, another in my living room and two in my study/spare room.
K Morris reading an anonymous poem entitled ‘The Bridal Morn’
A selection of books from my bookcase
My bookcase
K Morris reading an anonymous poem entitled ‘The Bridal Morn’
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/oct/08/poem-of-the-week-bridal-morn
An article from The Guardian about the poem ‘The Bridal Morn’
She watches the mountain.
Granite spurts as a fountain
out of control
encompassing the whole.
Lava fills her garden.
The rock it will harden
once more.
Another eruption is in store.
The poet on the hill
Sits still
And ponders why
Man must die.
The weather is fine
nature or the divine
causes the sun to shine.
Every living thing
Will have it’s spring.
The newly opened flower
time will devour.
The blossom’s heady scent,
is quickly spent.
Men soon disperse
We are lent this earth.
All must enter the dark wood
The bad along with the good.
The poet continues to ponder
While yonder
The light begins to fade.
Man’s destiny is the grave.
A glamorous bra
To show who you are.
Sharp pointy heels
to seal your deals.
A short red dress
your legs impress.
Your shapely bust
ingenders lust.
While your long blonde hair
Does men ensnare.
“Girl do you possess the art
To reveal your heart?”
Pandora’s box is deep.
Her mother would weep
Where she to spy
The secrets that within it lie.
Curiosity killed the cat:
His hat
that room.
The moon
still shonne
And the night continued on
You wow them in the saloon bar
Surely my friend you will go far.
You link
with those who drink
and refuse to think.
The pub goers applaud.
There can be no discord,
We must be protected from the unwashed horde.
A few wise old owls dissent
It’s a big tent
There must be room for dissent.
But the customers hear what they want to hear.
The regulars cheer
Never fear
Your friends are here.
An ad.
Perhaps a little sad.
A girl replies.
Those empty eyes.
An inspector sighs …
K Morris - Poet 