I have updated the below pages to reflect the publication of ‘Lost in the labyrinth of my mind’ and the reviews received.
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I will be spending much of this weekend preparing for my first poetry reading, which will take place on Wednesday 10 February, (http://newauthoronline.com/2016/01/29/poets-corner/). My colleague and fellow poet, Toby Wheeler has sent me a list of poems he will be reading and it now falls to yours truly to knuckle down and make my own selection! There being so many poems to choose from makes my task difficult. Where I to read all the poems I’m minded to recite the hour allotted to the reading would pass by without Toby having an opportunity to showcase his excellent poetry. Consequently I need to be ruthless as regards my selection criteria.
I intend to read poems ranging from the humorous through to the dark and brooding. I have already determined that the first poem in my latest collection, “Lost In the Labyrinth Of My Mind” which is entitled, appropriately enough “Lost will be read. I am also inclined to recite “Autumn Rain” which can be found in “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”. Turning to the humorous verse, I am minded to read my poems “She Stood Upon Her Head” and “Shall I Compare Thee”, both of which appear in “Lost In The Labyrinth”.
If all goes well, the event will be videoed and if things go swimmingly the video camera will actually work and an edited version of the reading will appear here!
(For “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind” please go to http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01AF5EPVY?keywords=Lost%20in%20the%20labyrinth%20of%20my%20mind&qid=1452670393&ref_=sr_1_1&s=digital-text&sr=1-1. For “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose” please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dalliance-collection-poetry-prose-Morris-ebook/dp/B00QQVJC7E. For a selection of Toby’s poetry please go to http://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/tobyw.
The better man hides inside.
Pride
As a snake
Does wake
And we forsake
Kindness, that like a river should flow
And lose ourselves in hate and woe.
We know what is right
And oft in the depths of night
Look into our soul.
We ssee the whole
Thing crystal clear.
All our fears
And empty tears.
Let the serpent go
For we reap what we sew.
An open heart
Can not by the devil’s art
Be made black
Only a lack
Of will
Can our soul kill
The below poem is dedicated to my guide dog Trigger, and my generous colleagues who, from time to time sacrifice their lunch to a hungry canine.
—
I am Trigger.
My stomach is bigger
Than you think.
Your lunch will be gone in the blink
Of an Eye.
Then away I fly.
Should you ask “who stole my lunch?” I reply
“Nnot I
But, dear reader, I lie …!..
I have been known to eat plastic.
My reach is elastic.
You think your food Safe?
My friend brace
Yourself for a shock
For I will gobble the lot!
Be it ever so hot!
A February wind gusts down Whitehall.
The thin flag flaps but does not fall.
I hear water lapping
And see a flag flapping
Over receeding shores
And rugged moors.
Pale
Ships sail.
Gulls wail.
Masts crack.
There is no turning back.
An old man looks out
Upon the rout.
The shouting dies.
His eyes
Fixed upon the flag, which still flies
Red, white, and blue, against the darkening skies.
Having been born and raised in Liverpool, I was interested and amused to read an article entitled, “Can Google Translate Understand A Liverpool Accent” (http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/feb/01/can-google-translate-understand-a-liverpool-accent). The experience of the Guardian columnist suggests that Google can not interpret Scouse (the unique Liverpool Dialect) employed by some Scousers. I must confess that I was unfamiliar with a number of the Scouse words, for example “jegging” (listening in to someone else’s conversation), consequently my understanding of my native city has been enhance by the above article.
Kevin
The soothing rain
Washes away pain.
My thought’s train
Quieted by the rain.
The wind blows
And my heart goes
High
Untoo the sky.
Would that I could travel with the breeze
And soar amongst the trees.
But I am to the ground tied
And must dwell amongst tears and sighs.
The fallen leaves are dead
Yet Overhead
Birds sing
Presaging spring.
Heels traverse the corridor.
So many have been here before.
Just another shadow falls
On painted walls.
A door must open
And a word be spoken
To the figure from the gloom
Who vanishes soon.
Things remain
The same.
The empty corridor
And Sadness reigning evermore.
The poet lays bare his soul
For the whole
World to see.
So who would a poet be?
Or perchance he hides in clever rhyme
How he does spend his time.
For ‘Tis no crime
To obfuscate a line.
Readers shake their heads.
The poet dreads
Lest they discover
What lies behind the cover …
The below poem was written by Jayne King. I hope to publish more of Jayne’s work in the future.
—
The birds have started to tweet,
Night is turning to day.
Yet I haven’t had a wink of sleep
The Land of Nod seems far away.
Slowly colours are emerging
From the growing light of day
Lengthy shadows, too, have formed
Why is Nod so far away?
Dawn has broken,
Unnatural sleep comes my way.
Have I become undead?
Awake at night and sleeping during the day.
(Copyright Jayne King).
K Morris - Poet 