My dog has no conception
Of my introspection
As he rolls on grass
In dying August.
I think on the past
While he takes pleasure
In the sweet summer weather.
Knowledge can be a fearful thing.
I know my spring
Has long passed.
Yet my friend makes me smile
For a brief while
As unaware that all things pass
He enjoys the grass.
Lost in thought
I walk
Through the evening wood.
Then I see
My shadow beside me.
In inner talk
I failed to see
The wood’s beauty
And my whirling words
Drowned out the birds.
My tomorrow may not come.
Yet the sun
Shines through the trees
And there is beauty
In these shadows and birdsong.
A summer rain falls.
And birds sing.
The earth smells fresh.
But I recall
I have bills to pay.
Yet returning home
To my working day
I carry birdsong
And the rich earth
In my heart.
Nature’s art
Feeds my poetry.
Yet she
Outshines all poetry.
Caught up in our nightmares
Of what may, or may not occur,
We forget the beautiful sunset
And that the earth in the wood
Smells good when wet.
Living in fear
We fail to hear
When birds sing.
Our spring
Is so brief.
Nightmare’s teeth
Pierce our hearts.
Yet we have art
And nature’s beauty
Ere we depart
Into that sleep
Where we are unaware
Of beauty or nightmare.
Traffic goes by
It’s sound amplified by rain.
A plane flies
In the summer sky
And birds sing.
While I compose my poetry
Touching on eternity
And the fleeting spring.
When, at 4 am,
I awoke, the birds spoke
To me, bringing peace
And a return to sleep.
I enjoy the sunshine
In early summertime
As I pass by tombs,
Stark and white
In the bright light.
I love the wild rain
And how it sound
Wraps me round
Calming my overheated brain.
Civilisation is an intricate clock.
But all clocks stop.
The dance ends my friend.
Listen to the rain
And watch the sun set.
I leave the pub behind
And find
In the song of birds
The truth not heard
In the words
Of men
Who prate and hate.
So I listen to birds
And purifying rain
For there is no hate
In birds or rain.
We maintain
The urbane
And are witty
In the city.
But those who hark
To the fox’s bark
In the suburban dark
Find the urbane
Hard to maintain
And their wit
Begins to slip.
(Note: the above poem appears in my collection “Leaving and Other Poems”, which is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Leaving-other-poems-Kevin-Morris/dp/B09R3HR9KG).
I long for the wet woods
Where the rainy breeze
Is full of flowers and leaves
And the damp earth
Speaks of death and rebirth.
I love the wood
When birds sing after rain.
I will surely die,
And Mother Nature will remain.
But we are forever part
Of nature’s great heart.
Her vital cycle of birth,
Death and good earth.
K Morris - Poet 