The flowers are finished in the hanging baskets
That beautified in summertime.
Now the autumn has come
And I hear knocks
From dead things in the rain and wind.
The clock on the wall
Makes a steady tick
As flowers continue to fall.
I like to write
But sometimes the rhymes won’t come.
In the morning sun
I have written of pretty flowers
Who know not hours
And clocks that tick the day away.
At times I write
Of midnight doors where young women knock
And pause for a while
(but never stop).
My verse makes readers smile
While others curse.
But I can not deny
That sometimes the rhymes
Just won’t come.
As previously mentioned here, I will be reading my poetry at Ashburton Library, Shirley Road, Croydon tomorrow, Saturday 8 November from 2-3 pm. Admission is free and refreshments will be provided. If you are in the vicinity it would be good to meet you.
Please feel free to just turn up. Or, if you wish to book please call 0207 8845175 or visit An Afternoon of Poetry with Kevin Morris | Croydon Libraries
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.
There once was a great lover of Latin
Who had a job as a professional assassin.
Whilst reading great Virgil
He became very ill.
That’s what comes of reading too much Latin!
I am good
Sometimes.
And lose myself in rhymes.
I am blood.
Love.
And in the end
I am words half heard
By readers and friends.
And gathering dust
On books
I am a plaything
In the arms
Of the whispering wind.
She has charms.
Her summer breeze teases
Bringing delight.
But those who fight
The wind
When she is wild
Will find themselves a helpless child
Locked tight in arms
That have lost all their charms
And will pray
For the ungovernable wind
To stay her anarchic play
And the summer breeze
To gently tease once more.
But put no store
In that wild fickle thing,
The eternal wind.
Today, I am sharing a link to me reading from my collection, “More Poetic Meanderings”, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/poet-kevin-morris-reading-from-his-collection-more-poetic-meanderings-part-1.
“More Poetic Meanderings” is also available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon and can be found here https://www.amazon.com/More-Poetic-Meanderings-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B0BZT9G139
I am a fan of the short poem. Below is a brief untitled poem by Walter Savage Landor, 1775-1864 Walter Savage Landor – Wikipedia.
—
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, and next to nature, art:
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
I walk amidst these
Windblown
Leaves.
How time has flown.
I shall in beauty drown
And think on these
Fallen leaves,
Which now strew the ground.
(Taken from “Light and Shade” Light and Shade; serious (and not so serious) poems eBook : Morris, K: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store).
K Morris - Poet 