When I die
What will people see
In my poetry?
Will they read me
At all?
I will not know
Whether tis so
For in my pall
My poetry
Must surely go.
Though perhaps it may
Not be so.
When I Die
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Tag Archives: mortality
When, and Where
I heard birds
And the clock,
And wondered,
When, and where
My heart
Will stop.
Progress
Walking through the churchyard
On a freezing evening,
I consider progress. ,
And pass by
Fading inscriptions
On tombstones.
Churchyard Birds
These trees
Speak to me
Of mortality.
Touching old bark
And cold gravestone,
I hark
To the birds
Still heard
By me.
The Fox’s Bark
I often find
The fox’s bark
Fills my mind.
How fast the light
Fades in woodland glades
And becomes the dark
Of suffocating night.
In the park
Where children play
His cold, sharp bark
Seems to say
You spend your day
In the sun
But the night
Blots out light
And your day
Is done.
(The final stanza is very long compared to the first 2 and I am not sure how the poem hangs together. Would welcome the views of my readers. Thanks. Kevin).
I Can Try
I can try
To immortalise my clock
In a rhyme.
And, when I stop
My rhyme
May still engage
On fading page,
Though I
Shall know it not.
A Fallen Tree
On 3 December, I published this poem, https://kmorrispoet.com/2022/12/03/i-passed-a-log/. Below is a slightly reworked version of my composition entitled A Fallen Tree:
A fallen tree
Spoke to me
On a
December day.
Once it stood
In ancient wood.
Now I
Pass by
As December grows colder
And I ever older.
2 Poems from My Poetry Archive
On going through my poetry archives, I came across the below 2 poems. The poems can also be found on my Tiktok, along with many other examples of my poetry, https://www.tiktok.com/@kevinmorrispoet. You don’t have to have a Tiktok account to listen to my work.
Epitaph on a poet
A book of poems upon his grave
Could not the poet save.
The few his words touched
Failed to keep him from the dust.
Here Lies Lot
Here lies Lot
He knew not
Neither who nor what.
Yet there he lies
Forever lost to tears and sighs.
Its Close to 1 Am
Its close to 1 am when
I hear the wild wind shake
My window. Later, when I go
Out I will see
How his dances
Have made free
With poor branches
And leaves
Brought low
By his breeze.
When men go
Among fallen trees
And scattered leaves
They know they to must go
And join fallen trees and leaves
Fallen Churchyard Leaves
Walking through fallen leaves
In the familiar churchyard
The poet sees
The hard
Fact that all
Leaves fall.
K Morris - Poet 