I have dreamed
The strangest dreams
And believed them to be true.
When I die
Will I finally find the reality
Of all I see?
No, I will see
No more of dream
Or of what we call reality
For I will no longer be me.
What is Reality?
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Tag Archives: mortality
As I Try to Write
As I try to write
The tick tock
Of the clock
Measures my day and night.
At other times
Lost in rhymes
I hear it not.
The beat of women’s feet
Has measured my pleasure
And pain. But the clock mocks
Us all. We fall
In love and lust,
And time turns all to dust.
K Morris New Collection of Poetry “The Churchyard Yew and Other Poems” is available on Amazon.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
K Morris - Poet 