If I could be one with the song of the birds
No words
Would I require,
But man’s desire
Led to his fall,
And now the call
Of the bird
Goes unheard
By those drunk on their own words
Unheard
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Tag Archives: kevin morris poet
Red Beach
A red beach.
The tide’s reach
Will wash away
This human clay.
Today
The mercenaries
Will take their pay.
Nothing in Particular
On a fine
December day, when the sun does shine,
I breathe in the smell
Of old books, and hope all may be well.
Dust causes me to cough.
One may scoff
At the idea
Yet I fancy, death brings up the rear.
My wardrobe door creaks at a late hour.
Reason’s power
Has gone astray
And I pray
That despair
Remains in his lair.
On Patrol
On patrol.
She is in control,
Her whole
Being bent
On making him content.
His pent
Up frustration
Is expressed in dissipation.
He has long since lost control
And is losing his soul.
She stays for a while
Then leaves with a smile
And a wave.
The position is grave
And no one is saved.
On patrol again
She wonders when
Or if the men
Will ever see
The real she
Hidden behind the make-up.
Girl and man need a wake-up
Call,
But it is easier to fall
Than to arise
And reach for the skies.
Poems for Winter
The official start of winter is 1 December. However, given the extremely cold bouts we have been experiencing here in the UK, coupled with winter’s impending onset, I wanted to share with you a number of my poems with a wintry theme:
The Clocks Have Gone Back
Thoughts On A Winter’s Evening
Will Spring Come Again?
Snow
Bee And Rose
December?
Leaf
Does Poetry Need To Rhyme?
A couple of days ago, an acquaintance asked me whether poetry needs to rhyme. My response was that there is no necessity as regards the use of rhyming in poetry. Eliot’s The Wasteland springs to mind as a poem where free verse is employed throughout large portions of the work.
Most of my own poetry does utilise a rhyming scheme. I feel most comfortable expressing myself in rhyme. This does not, however mean that my poems rhyme throughout, (there is no point in sticking to a rigid rhyming scheme if by so doing the poet loses the sense of what he is trying to say. It is better to have a line which doesn’t rhyme than force one and thereby garble the essence of the poem).
I would, as always be interested in your views. Does poetry need to rhyme? And at what point does poetry become poetic prose or simple prose as opposed to poetry as it is usually construed?
Kevin
Mannequin
As a mannequin in a shop window, at which people stare,
She stands in the glare
Of the bedroom light.
Once, such things did excite.
Now all is null
Or on occasions, he
Takes a dull,
Almost professional interest in yet another she.
Gazing at the girl, in her birthday suit
He thinks on the route
Cause of his obsession with mannequins.
Loneliness or sins?
Where begins
A man’s cursed traverse
Of the path to the ever lasting bonfire
Where desire
Ends in mechanical sport
With a mannequin bought
Out of boredom.
He knows there is no true joy in hoardom
For him or her.
Still, in despair
He takes a half-hearted pleasure there.
Another Time, Another Place
A man, alone, in a room, listening to a distant bird.
Not a word
Of his overheard.
The neighbours are friendly enough, not prying
Or spying.
Liberty’s flower
Blooms an hour
But he has heard tell
It may be dying.
Night Duty
The click clack of stilettos.
Girls from ghettos
Feet are lost
In carpets they could never afford,
While a discreet board
Shows the cost
Of most things.
The lift bell pings.
What goes up must go down.
The receptionist, eyes lost in her book
Gives a slight frown.
Why bother to look?
For of course
A nod is as good as a wink
To a blind horse.
There Was A Young Lady Called Claire
There was a young lady called Claire
Who fell asleep while climbing the stair.
Should you ask me why
I shall make reply,
“How would I know, I wasn’t there!”
