I know that these trees
Are older than man
And the church
Which so many men pass
Without a glance
Or sigh
Hurrying by.
Man
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Tag Archives: nature
Nettles and Rain
The nettles flourished in the rain.
When I came there again
Men had removed them.
Civilisation came.
Nettles and rain
Remain.
Foxes
The below poem contains an expletive. I make no apology for this, as poetry should be honest:
“The foxes are fucking“, you said.
A vulgar thing to say,
But we where on our way
To bed.
And I,
Hearing their cry
Pondered on lust
And the vulgarity of you.
But what you said was true.
And we 2 could see
That oft in lust
We hide from dust.
When I Last Passed
When I last passed
This way
I recall no wall
Of wild wet flowers.
That bloom
In May
In the summertime
Flowers will bloom
Still. But in wintertime
Who will recall
This rain-kissed wall
Of springtime and rhyme.
Birds on a Spring Evening
| On leaving
The half-empty pub On a spring Evening, I heard birdsong. I love These chill Nights , when the trill Of birds is heard On the still Street. Their unconscious art Calls to my sad Glad heart. It was always so. And I know Their song will remain Until I gain The churchyard path Where all must pass.
|
Under Spring Sky
Under spring sky
I touched blossom
Temporary as I.
This Little March Snow
This little March snow
Soon must go.
And spring birds sing
Over tombs.
Churchyard Birds
These trees
Speak to me
Of mortality.
Touching old bark
And cold gravestone,
I hark
To the birds
Still heard
By me.
The Fox’s Bark
I often find
The fox’s bark
Fills my mind.
How fast the light
Fades in woodland glades
And becomes the dark
Of suffocating night.
In the park
Where children play
His cold, sharp bark
Seems to say
You spend your day
In the sun
But the night
Blots out light
And your day
Is done.
(The final stanza is very long compared to the first 2 and I am not sure how the poem hangs together. Would welcome the views of my readers. Thanks. Kevin).
Chasing Squirrels
In the wood
My dog chased
A squirrel.
No thought of good
Or bad
Had he,
For he was free
Of morality.
In my mind
I often find,
Squirreled away
A thought
I ought
Not to think
Of play
With prey.
K Morris - Poet 