What does that blind man do
Gazing through
Empty space
As though he could trace
In thin air
Something you and me
Dare not see?
Walking back from the park,
His thoughts dark.
A sense of grief
At the lack of belief.
Then came the wind chimes,
Signifying nought but rhymes?
In my post of 13 August, (https://newauthoronline.com/2017/08/13/my-old-clock-i-wind-will-soon-be-available-as-an-audio-download/), I said that my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind” was in the process of being recorded.
I am pleased to announce that I have now received the completed recording.
Once approved by me “My Old Clock I Wind” will be available to purchase as an audio download from audible.co.uk and audible.com. I will, of course post links here once “My Old Clock” goes live.
In the meantime, “My Old Clock” can be purchased, in ebook and paperback formats from the publisher, http://moyhill.com/clock/, or from Amazon, (ebook only), https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0735JBVBG.
—
“I can hear the wind laughing outside
At our human pride.
The Tide
Of time moves on
And we are gone
With the wind
That will rescind
All
These scribbles on the wall”.
(“Wind” is copyright K Morris and can be found in “My Old Clock I Wind”).
There was a young man named Night
Who was of the Conservative right.
He married a Socialist bold
And I am told
That they argued politics every night!
You are content
For the nurse
May prevent
The worst
For a while.
The smile
Of an unknown friend
Under the white sheet
Is passing sweet.
Yet in the end
The nurse
On swift feet
Can not stay the dread traverse
Of yonder hearse.
There was a young man named Max
Who evaded much of his tax.
When the taxman came
He hid in shame,
And his accountant played on the sax!
—
There was a young man named Max
Who evaded much of his tax.
When the taxman came
He hid in shame,
And his wife ran away with the tax!
In my youth
To tell truth
Every girl appeared to me
To be
A spark to ignite.
My flame burned bright
And I would take delight
In puppy dreams.
Now it seems
That I have too much
As I at nought but phantoms clutch.
I have delighted
In desire
Unrequited
And received a kind of satisfaction
Through what the vulgar term “action”.
Their fire
Is often cold, although
A few I know
Make a show
Of pretending it is not so.
Yesterday evening, I took down Robert Frost’s “A Boy’s Will” from my bookshelves and spent a delightful hour or so leafing through it. “A Boy’s Will” contains many wonderful poems, one of my favourites being “A Late Walk” which can be found here, http://www.bartleby.com/117/5.html. If you are unfamiliar with the work of Frost, I highly recommend reading “A Boy’s Will”.
Walking through the churchyard
I heard
you talking.
Your word
Was gentle then,
A breeze
Whispering amongst the leaves,
But when
You In anger blow
The wise know
That your breath
Augurs death,
For we reap what we sow.
There was an elderly man named Locke
Who owned a grandfather clock.
Dead on nine
He would dine
To the chimes of that grandfather clock
Give me a wealthy patron to support my rhyme
That I may please
And gently tease.
But a thought most sad
Drives me mad
For I was born in the modern time!
Shal I compose jingles
To sell pringles?
Or advertise singles
Clubs
Where couples in bath tubs …
No, late at night
I shall continue to write
In rhyme
Until come my time …
K Morris - Poet 