Me reading my poem ‘There are no pockets in a shroud’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘There are no pockets in a shroud’.
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Tag Archives: kevin morris poet
K Morris reads his poem ‘The writers’ pen’
Me reading my poem ‘The writer’s pen’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The delight of snow’
Me reading my poem ‘The delight of snow’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The crooked tree’
Me reading my poem ‘The crooked tree’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘This rhyme is out of time’.
Me reading my poem ‘This rhyme is out of time’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Barefoot’.
Me reading my poem ‘Barefoot’.
Everyone Knows
Everyone knows, that the first man to liken a maiden to a rose
Was a poet (at least it is often contended so),
But the critics then go
On to say that those
Who continue to use such metaphor
Are second-rate, as it has all been said before
But has not the rhymer written about everything under the sun?
And if so, are we now not done
With rhyme?
For surely we should spend our time
Both day and night
In instructing others on how to write? …
Echo Chamber
On 9 May 2017, I wrote “Echo”, https://newauthoronline.com/2017/05/09/echo/. There is a pronounced tendency for we humans to consort with like-minded people and to seek out media which affirms those views we already hold.
Many live in “echo chambers” where their own views are reassuringly echoed back to them. It’s not always easy to stand back and (so far as is humanly possible) to view the whole picture.
Yet we must do so if we are to be wise and avoid the “echo chamber”.
Limericks
There was a young man named Paul
Who lived in a rather grand hall.
His sister named Linn
Sat on a pin.
You should have heard that young lady bawl!
—
There was a literary critic named Paul
Who wrote a review on a wall.
The book’s author, who was named Howl
Took a large damp towel
And scrubbed the review off that wall!
—
There was a young man named Mitch
Who was extremely rich.
He attended a grand ball
In a fine old hall
And duelled with a Count in a ditch.
Many A Life Is Undone In The Pursuit Of Fun
Many a life is undone
In the pursuit of fun.
We may turn and run
From the fact
Of an act
And the sun
Will continue to shine.
But, in the dark
The truth stark
Reveals that every fine
Day
Passes away
For delight
Must end in night.
