I am marrying a young lady named Kate
Who will inherit all of my literary estate.
She says, “writers have money”,
Which I find really funny –
As she’ll inherit all of my literary estate …
I am marrying a young lady named Kate
Who will inherit all of my literary estate.
She says, “writers have money”,
Which I find really funny –
As she’ll inherit all of my literary estate …
I am delighted to announce that I will be reading my poetry at Ashburton Library in Croydon on Saturday 8 November at 2 pm. For anyone who is in the vicinity and would like to attend please follow this link for further information and to book https://croydon.events.mylibrary.digital/event?id=247174
I look forward to seeing you on Saturday 8 November.
Every author loves to hear from their fans. I was therefore flattered to receive the following email which, inexplicably had ended up in my spam folder. I can’t for the life of me imagine why!
“Dear Kevin E. Morris,
I recently discovered your YA thriller, Heightened: Project Evolve, and was impressed by the fast-paced storytelling, compelling worldbuilding, and Kai Chapman’s powerful journey from uncertainty to identity. The balance you’ve struck between action, suspense, and emotional resonance makes this story especially appealing to young adult readers who crave both adventure and self-discovery.”
After the flattery, comes the solicitation of business:
“I also noticed areas where minor refinements in phrasing and structure could strengthen readability and enhance its impact. With the right editing polish and targeted promotional strategies, I believe Heightened: Project Evolve has the potential to stand out in the crowded YA market and secure Top-20 bestseller status on Amazon within its categories …”.
Whilst my name is indeed Kevin Morris, my middle initial is not E, nor have I written a young adult novel entitled “Heightened: Project Evolve”. Methinks that the spammer in question has wasted both their time and mine by firing off the above email.
I doubt the author of the email which, in my opinion, the real Kevin E Morris was fortunate not to have received, has even read the YA work in question. More than likely they read the book blurb and perhaps glanced at a few reviews prior to firing off the email sighted above. Or, perhaps they made use of AI.
I am sure that I am not the only writer whose mailbox has been honoured with such expressions of admiration, followed by a solicitation for money, and I’m sure that I won’t be the last. As is so often said, if something looks too good to be true. The chances are that it is too good to be true!
The last
Of the summer grass
Is mown.
The future is unknown.
The past
May be a guide.
But we decide
What seed is sown.
But does grass
In the mower’s grasp
Feel itself free …
Caught up in thoughts of work
I heard a bird sing.
I have been touched by beauty
And knowledge of my mortality.
He flies free
While I feel the futility
Of my work
When he sings.
When a young lady named Jacinta
Went and trod on a splinter,
She hopped all around
And said something profound.
And then she cursed that splinter!
The wind is fresh
Carrying the scents of life and death.
While from a tree
The autumn leaves are falling on me.
I lose myself in rhymes
Of passing time
And others who once stood
In autumn’s wood.
My friend collects acorns from leaf-strewn lawns
Hoping that Oaks may grow.
Others may see the fully grown tree.
While we will not know.
If there is no heaven or hell
Then one may as well
Give in to sin.
But they say Hell’s fire is hot
So perhaps better not
Play with pretty Miss Moriah.
Though I have heard the atheists tell
There is no hell.
So I’m going to heaven
With Moriah at 7 …
A man who liked to eat chalk
Said that it helped him to talk.
One day, feeling bored,
He swallowed a blackboard.
Which worked very well with that chalk!
It is often said that the dead
Are, forever, dead
And that only fools believe in ghouls.
But, having read
Of ghosts and vampires. When I retire
To my bed
I feel the dead
Draw near.
And in my troubled dreams I scream
In fear.
Yet ghosts and ghouls
Are for fools –
Or so I hear …