A slim volume
Lost in a room
Full of books
Must gather dust,
Although, perchance
Words dance
For one who looks.
A Slim Volume
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On Hearing Of The Death Of A Former Colleague
The business of work stopped
When the sickle chopped
For you
Who
Knew
When
To wield a pen.
But you
Could laugh too.
How silent is the office now
That your paperwork is done.
The serious and the fun
All must
Blend
In the end
In dust,
And in the memories of we who live on
After you are gone.
Packages
They come in garish bows,
In pretty wrapping
Or tied up with string.
He who hears a tapping
Or the doorbell’s ring
Knows that he must, without fail
Pay cash on the nail
Else his bow
Will go.
(The phrase “cash on the nail” means immediate payment).
Honey
Desiring to taste
We unwrap
In haste,
And snap!
Goes the honey trap …
A Reader Writes
I was delighted to receive the following comments, in an email entitled “A Poem That I Love”, from Lorraine Lewis, regarding my collection of poems “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”:
“Kevin,
We just downloaded your book into a PDF Reader.
Wow!
What a lovely book. Thank you Kevin. I just wanted to tell you that I LOVE the piem, “ ‘Ere We Die.” It is just what we have been talking about.
Your poetry is brilliant. I like it because it is not long and drawn out, and over wordy, but gives just something to think about. It is lovely. Thank you so much Kevin.
Lorraine”.
My thanks to Lorraine for granting me permission to reproduce her comments verbatim. Lorraine blogs at BlindWilderness (https://blindwilderness.wordpress.com).
You can find “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind” here http://moyhill.com/lost/, and here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01AF5EPVY
Why Did I My Window Close?
Why did I my window close?
The wind blows.
I
Will die
So why
Be shy
Of this fresh air
That takes away my care?
I awoke
To crows.
Nature spoke
Once more. Who knows
Why man goes
On as before?
A Man Resigns
Dr Philip Lee, the Justice Minister in Britain’s Conservative government, resigned yesterday over the government’s handling of the Brexit issue. Dr Lee said:
“Dr Lee added: ‘Sometimes when a majority of people want something that is against the good of society, government and parliament have a responsibility to protect us.
‘This was the case for the death penalty, where for decades politicians went against the majority view and refused to restore it.
‘Now I believe it has got to be the case for the Brexit process”.’ (See http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5834013/Blow-justice-minister-QUITS-Brexit.html).
It is a brave man who stands up and says that the people are not always right, that government’s should not blindly follow “the will of the people” (my words and not those of Dr Lee) and that politicians should, sometimes protect people from the consequences of their ill judged decisions. I believe that Dr Lee is right and I applaud him for having the courage to resign on a matter of principle.
The issue of whether the UK should leave the European Union is too complicated to be put to the UK electorate, yet this is what was done. The debate surrounding the referendum saw a great deal of what where (quite frankly) lies, for example the claim by leading supporters of the Leave campaign that exiting the EU would mean far more investment in the NHS, and in the sound and fury of this ”tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing” the truth and common sense was lost.
Dr Lee has been criticised for his decision to resign on the grounds that 53 percent of his constituents voted to leave the EU. Yet if a person does, in all conscience believe that his constituents are wrong, is he not correct to go with his own inner conscience rather than with “the will of the majority”? I believe that he is, for the man of conscience can not live with himself if he allow the views of the majority to trump what he, in his heart knows to be right.
“I laud the mass
For to do otherwise is considered crass.
One can not have the brass
Neck to deny
The truth that justice in the majority does lie.
Who am I
To raise
My voice in praise
Of the view
That the few
Sometimes best construe
What is just and true?”
(“My Old Clock I Wind And Other Poems” by K Morris).
Fantasies
We strive
To achieve
Our ideal
Fantasy, and grieve
For a girl’s heel
Is a fragile thing.
String
Will fray.
And our play
Looses it shine
For once “mine”
We soon come to see
The pedestrian she,
Who retrieves her socks
As the clock
Mocks
There Was A Young Lady Called Divine
There was a young lady called Divine
Who drank nothing but wine.
This was perfectly okay
Though I’m sorry to say
That she stole the communion wine!
Bingo Wings by Emily Roberts
My thanks to Emily Roberts for her kind permission to reproduce her poem “Bingo Wings”. This poem is copyright and may not be reproduced without the explicit written permission of Emily Roberts:
Bingo Wings
People with Bingo Wings are of low birth.
PAUSE
Am I looking for a job or am I just looking for a safe space?
Is my coffee routine the only routine I’ve got left?
I want a new look, …I dream of a…re-style, or shall I just shave
My hair off, like I’m being pruned.
We pull our hair out in wads…but we cannot get divorced from our haircuts…
Unique haircuts… Unique heads.
Sideburns to die for.
Groomed to within an inch of our lives.
But we don’t get paid for our style, or lack of it.
And it’s better not to be trapped in a room chasing a carrot,
I’ve grown into a curtain twitcher because people annoy me so much…
I’d recycle my brain if I could.
But we don’t want implants…
We don’t have implants we have great looking hair.
Even if we’re having a bad hair day.
I’m too old to recognized by anyone now…
People learn to get out of my gaze.
You must have special skills to face ‘us’
I cry on my own shoulder…armpit tears…slow release…
Maybe we’re only safe in the Bingo Hall.
Work was my place of worship, I could go home and be important if I was on a payroll…
And it’s nice to be conscious of being paid.
But now I’m looking for a new sort of confinement…
I want to be recognised as a rat in my own rat race…
I’m a product of the locker-room..
But the hairdryers there aren’t built for humans.
And running yourself ragged is not a therapeutic space
IT is not friendly to me,
I can’t keep up with my diary, or appointments.
I’m victimised by voluntary organisations
There are paid heads and unpaid heads
I’ll lose mine looking for the phone.
Vanished by social media.
Living or emailing, that is the question?
I’m better off staying in my own community…Anything to make me feel less upside-down.
After we’ve been sick we get to fill in a questionnaire.
I walk on the sick side…always.
I am more suited to knitting than work.
Knitting is a rebirthing project.
It also ties me up in knots.
Too jerky to work.
Too jerky to live.
Unfit to knit.
Knitting patterns give me the flight or fight syndrome.
And I’ll lose my head looking for the phone…
I’m unfit for that as well.
An unfit phone holder.
We are brutalised people.
We need support in the Wilderness.
We’re not good at shoes…
No, we’re on our hooves….
Our feet are on shifting sands and
Broken horses can’t sing or play ukuleles.
We’re too loud, we put people off.
We’re going to stay loud until the end…
We can raise our status by being sick.
Let’s do a Sick Walk
It helps to throw things out.
But then again, we can all have muscle imbalances.
And dodgy knees.
And the coffee shop can be an office too.
We are all in the desert.
There are very few safe spaces for us to be.
I’m a shadow of my former self, a male silhouette.
I’ve learnt not to look to closely at people or they run away.
I walk on the sick side.
I need a break from the toilet…
And dealing with my derrier…
I’m a strong purveyor of trapped wind and
I’d recycle my arse if I could.
But It’s bigger than a recycling box.
I’ve a cleaner like a cattle prodd and sitting is not a pleasure,
A page cannot be faced unless it’s in fright.
I spend a lot of time being head shy.
But now I’ve found support in the wilderness with ‘People Like Us’
I just dust the sick from my Bingo Wings and smile.
Cauliflower Ears
I cannot move jobs or gyms because I’ll leave a bad odour.
But I’ve got allies, and I can choose which allies I want…
O.C.D rings lots of bells with me.
I work out too much but I don’t deserve the dirty looks,
At least I’m not locked in the locker room.
Though it feels like I m wearing a ‘do not disturb sign.
Though I like the décor, it makes it feel more like an office.
And I’m not going to be sick in it today.
The doctor has disowned me.
Disowned my cauliflower ears..
I only go I want to play a health lottery.
It’s a waste of my energy going to a social groups…
On the other hand, I live my life for groups,
Groups of baked potatoes.
Because I heave around detritus like carrying my office on my back.
I can chart my life with detritus.
I live most of my life in exile or madness, but I’m funny, not angry and it’s not a good idea to open the windows round here.
Being heard encourages me a lot and it’s nice to know that I’ve got rid of the curry I had yesterday.
Proximity to the toilet encourages me to make new plans.
I’ve got news pants that can cover a lot of bases,
I can even wear them straight to the gym for a life of fixation and being sick…
I won’t question you about why you’re here on the Bank Holiday, if you don’t question me…
It’s just good that another person is here, to keep the place open…
Shall we go to the recovery café next
And learn to be a meaningful fly on the wall…
Summer is not good for my brain,
It gets furred up like a kettle..
Just call me ‘FurryKettleFace
And all kinds of people have made a contribution to my head.
What’s goose for the gander is goose for the head.
And I’m not alone,
I have allies,
But still my life is sewn up by the locker-room.
I’m only fit for elementary occupations.
And the cleaner is my ‘Overlord’.
All my leave is unpaid.
But I’m funny, not angry,
As I carry my tattiness around in this Dogtown
K Morris - Poet 