Full of promise, oh fragile flower, your loveliness passes in but an hour. Your scent overpowers me, giddy with desire, this fire rages hot and dies in an hour.
Passion
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Tag Archives: mortality
Me reading Ernest Dowson’s poem ‘They are not long the weeping and the laughter’.
Me reading Ernest Dowson’s poem They are not long the weeping and the laughter
The Sea
The sound of the surf, swish, swish as the great waves come and go fills my head. The tide sweeps all before it, the great waves flattening sand castles and all our human works. At first the moat fills with water but the castle still stands grand and tall against the tide’s mighty roar. Slowly walls subside the whole being taken back by the great ocean, returning to whence it came.
Standing on the cliff edge the roar fills my ears. The hypnotic sound of waves breaking and receeding is all that can be heard. The world is drowning being taken back by the great atlantic. All will eventually pass but not quite yet for slowly the tide receeds but tomorrow he will return in all his mighty glory and anger reminding us that we are mere men. Time and tide wait for no man, both keep rolling, humans attempt to run and hide but, eventually all will be brought low like the puny sand castles we built as children.
Slowly I replace the conch shell on the shelf in my living room. The sound of the clock reasserts itself and distant twittering of birds is heard.
‘Rain’ by Kevin Morris.
Me reading my poem entitled ‘Rain’. This poem was inspired by me standing by the window you can see in the video, listening to the rain. It is a lovely, sunny Wednesday evening, but the same window, and the same garden, on which the rain fell several weeks ago!
Kevin Morris reading his poem ‘Birds’.
Me reading my poem entitled Birds,
Kevin Morris reading his limerick ‘Beth’.
Beth by Kevin Morris.
On Sitting At My Desk Hearing Traffick Pass
Listening to cars passing their engines lost in the distance never to return. Like seconds ticking the traffick moves inexorably onwards. What is the purpose? Why must I die and be forever lost in the emptiness of death?
Restless Nights
Lying in bed, thoughts, unbidden creep like unwanted guests into my head. Unable to sleep, listening to the rain I think of Larkin, the curtain edges undarken and postmen, like doctors go from house to house.
Epitaph On A Seeker Of Pleasure
He lived his life like a feather, blown hither and thither forever, by the cold winds of change. Young ladies of pleasure filled his leisure with bliss and pain. He held nothing dear, no one came near, life passed him by, until with a sithe, death came and called his name.
Ball Games
A large brindle lab retriever cross you stand on the sun dappled grass your eyes fixed on the small round prize in my hand. I throw and the rubber ball already deeply engrained with the many maulings it has suffered at the hands of strong canine jaws flies threw the air hitting the garden fence. You bound joyfully forward to secure the prize, the ball is soon secured in your soft mouth.
You come to me your tail wagging furiously inviting me to take the ball. I reach forward but you withdraw circling me that tail dancing in the summer breeze. I give chase laughing as you keep the small round prize just out of my grasp. You growl the sound belied by that waiving tail. Happy Trigger without a care in the world your universe is this small green patch of grass and me. Your thoughts in this moment fixed entirely on this joyous game.
The sunny garden receeds into the background. Mechanically I continue to frolic my brain elsewhere remembering my previous dog Drew. I recollect the day. You where full of life in the morning eager to take me into the office on your harness. In the evening you started to pass blood. We of course took you to the vets but it was all to late. You died leaving me with memories of a thumping tail, a cold wet nose and a tender spot in my heart which still aches for you.
The game over Trigger rolls on the grass paws waiving in the air begging to have his belly scratched. Lucky Trigger with no conception of death or concerns for the future, you exist in the moment my fortunate four legged friend.
K Morris - Poet 