Tag Archives: mortality

K Morris New Collection of Poetry “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” is available on Amazon.

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I am delighted to announce that my collection of poems “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” is available on Amazon in Kindle format. The Paperback should be available in the next couple of days, and I will post links to it once the book goes live.

 

The photograph on the book cover shows the churchyard of St John the Evangelists Church in Upper Norwood. The photograph was taken by my friend Michelle Whiteside.

The book description reads as follows:

A miscellany of poems about nature, passing time and relationships.

If you read “The Churchyard Yew” please do consider reading a review on Amazon.

For the UK

For the US

The Churchyard Yew

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I stood with you

By the churchyard Yew

On Palm Sunday

As children and donkey

Made their way

Past the Yew

And into the church.

 

It was wonderful to see

The children happy.

But, just on the periphery

Of joy I often see

The Yew, which has survived

So many lives

Waiting for me.

The Old Tree

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In my adulthood

I passed by the tree

Well known to me

In my childhood.

 

 

It stands by a path

Where many have passed

That old tree

Without a glance or sigh.

 

 

Our lives move fast

As we rush to catch

Some form of transport.

And we all are caught

In time’s great web.

 

 

All our loves and lusts

Must turn to dust.

And even this great tree,

Which will outlast me,

Will be dead

Impermanence

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Sometimes I dwell on the impermanence of things.

In early spring the birds sing.

And I pass by grass green from rain.

But the grass will not stay.

 

 

The mower will come in sun or rain

And make sweet hay.

But the hay will rot  away.

 

 

Rain will return again

And I will pass by grass

Lush from the rain

Until I am as the hay.

Blossom in the Rain

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How soon the scent

Of blossom is spent

In the rain.

These little flowers

No not hours,

While I pass by

In unending rain.

Birds on a March Evening

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Birds on a March evening.

Such beauty and grieving

For we all must sleep,.

 

 

Sometimes I almost weep

For birds in the evening

Will sing on

When I am gone.

 

 

Yet this night

I shall take delight

In evening birds.

For the graveyard plot

Has no song.

Time’s Scythe

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February is slipping away.

It is easy to say

I will act tomorrow,

But why not act today?

For each moment I borrow

And Time’s unyielding  knife

Ends all joy and strife.

And none can say

When his scythe may fall.

But it must fall

And bring all to dust.

 

 

Scaffold

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I see scaffold on the old church .

Perhaps it is required

To hold bricks which may otherwise slip.

 

 

I have passed by graves

In the cold rain

As the great heavens  above

Stood empty of love.

 

 

This scaffold may momentarily  save

The church. But all

Are in thrall to dust.

The Fox’s Bark

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Sometimes the fox’s bark

Pierces the dark

As our bodies meet

Under comforting sheets.

A girl’s soft kiss

And exploring hands

Can command my lust.

But your bark,

So cold and sharp

Speaks of dust.