May is an ancient pagan festival which witnesses men and women dancing around the maypole.
K Morris reading his poem ‘May’.
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Tag Archives: poems
K Morris reading his poem ‘Death is Dead’.
What if we finally conquer death, and he is no more?
K Morris reading his poem ‘No Alarm’.
Going to bed at night, we assume that will be awakened by our alarm next morning. But…
K Morris reading his poem ‘Milk’.
We continue to go about our hum-drum lives while others are suffering loss.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Circles’.
The debate surrounding sex work/prostitution appears to go around in circles, with one side blaming the sex bias, and saying that they should be fined or imprisoned, while the other argues that the state/society has no business interfering in what occurs between consenting adults. Often, it seems that neither side is listening to the other, while client and sex worker continue in their age-old roles.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Owl’.
I’ve always felt an affinity with owls. My home is close to a historic park in Upper Norwood (a suburb of Greater London). From time to time, I hear the owls’ eerie cry, which brings to mind thoughts of my own mortality, coupled with the death of King Duncan in Macbeth.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Genes’.
Are we just our genes?
A CD of me reading my poetry will soon be available
I am pleased to announce that a CD featuring me reading 13 of my poems will soon be available. The poems are as follows:
1. Fire.
2. My Old Clock I Wind.
3. Leaf.
4. Leaves Blown At Night.
5. Lost.
6. Ethereal.
7. Waltz.
8. The Poet and the Workman.
9. There Was A Young Man Called Rory.
10. There Was A Young Lady Called Flair.
11. There Was A Young Lady Called Anna.
12. When.
13. Dalliance.
My thanks to Peter Brazier of Vertical Rooms for his assistance in producing the CD.
If you are interested in obtaining a copy please contact me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com, (the address is rendered thus to avoid that scourge of the internet, spammers)!
Kevin
There Was A Young Man From Eeling
There was a young man from Eeling
Who liked to dance on the ceiling.
His neighbour said,
“Your visits I dread
As you always dance on my ceiling!”.
—
There was a young man from Eeling
Who liked to dance on the ceiling.
The girl nextdoor
Said “I implore
You to come and dance on my ceiling!”.
There Was A Young Writer Called Barett
There was a young writer called Barett
Who had nought to eat but a carrot.
He said, to himself,
“I have little wealth
While my agent she drinks only claret!”
