Tag Archives: nature poetry

I Have Awoken to Birdsong

I have awoken to birdsong

And lain awake

Until sleep takes me again.

I measure time

With clocks. Birds and flowers

No not hours,

Nor do they see me

Conversing with time

In a half rhyming rhyme

Until my song is done.

Churchyard Birds

These trees

Speak to me

Of mortality.

Touching old bark

And cold gravestone,

I hark

To the birds

Still heard

By me.

Nesting Boxes

I recall the nesting box

On my grandfather’s shed.

Blue Tits laid their eggs.

Some grew, and flew



January seems dead.

Yet, in the churchyard birds




And, come the spring

Birds will lay in boxes

To the delight

Of young children.

And foxes bark

In the depths of night.


We may try to deny
That Mother Nature is there.
But the bur
On our clothes.
The prick of the rose.
And twigs in our hair.
Show what we know,
That nature is there.

My Poem “A Summer Butterfly” Included on the World Poetry Reading Series for 21 July

I am pleased to announce that my poem A Summer Butterfly has been included on the World Poetry Reading Series for 21 July. A Summer Butterfly is read by Ariadne Sawyer and can be found approximately 6 minutes into the podcast https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-for-july-21-2022/.

I listened to the show using Google Chrome. However, other browsers should also work. You don’t need an account on Mixcloud in order to listen.

You can find a transcript of my poem here https://kmorrispoet.com/2022/07/05/a-summer-butterfly/.

A Summer Butterfly

A butterfly
On a
Sunny day
Flew by
My Labrador.
A snap of jaw.
And our summer chat
Of this and that.

All things must die
As the summer butterfly.
Death’s jaws will close
On man and rose.
You and I
Are but butterflies
Who love and laugh
And then must pass.

As the Light Slowly Dimmed

As the light
Slowly dimmed
I took delight
In birds.
“Oh my god!”.
But words
Are not birds.

In the Cold Air

In the cold air
A bird did sing.
I have my care.
But I heard a blackbird
Trill in the chill air,
Which took away my care.


An intense sense
Of my mortality
Comes to me
When I hear
The sweet clear
Song of birds.

Oft when caught
In useless thought
Or in empty words,
I hear the birds.
I see beauty.
And am free