Getting up in the early morning now, the world is a little darker.
As I get older, matters are ever starker.
The birds still trill
And oft times unchill
My heart,
But it is getting dark
Though the sun
Will rise as he must.
Man is dust
Dancing in beams of sunlight,
A brief delight,
Then good night.
A drowsy summer’s hum.
A bee does come
And settles
Into pettles
Soft and moist.
He has no choice
Other than to sweet nectar drink
And into bliss, sink.
I am very happy to publish guest posts on newauthoronline.com.
If you are interested in guest posting, please read the guidance linked to here prior to getting in touch, https://newauthoronline.com/guest-post-submissions/
I look forward to hosting you.
Kevin
I was delighted to receive another great review of my recently released collection of poetry, “Refractions”:
“This is another wonderful collection of poems from this author. I obviously enjoyed some more than others, as is generally the case in collections of any
sort, but all were a delight to read. The inclusion of links to articles, or comments about people or situations, that inspired some of the poems was an
interesting touch too.
Though I enjoyed all of the poems, “Ethereal” and “Train” were my favourite poems, with “Poems and Flowers” and “Nightmare” not far behind on the list
of the poems I liked best from this collection.
*Note: I was given a free copy of this book by the author, in exchange for an honest review. However, this has in no way influenced my opinion of the book,
nor the contents of this review”.
(For the review please visit, https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1741884437?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1).
Thank you to the reviewer, Victoria Zigler, for taking the time to read and review “Refractions”.
I was delighted to receive the below review for my recently released collection of poetry, “Refractions”: “To be able to capture the world with words that allow another to experience the inspiration that created the poem, is a true talent. K. Morris has such talent.
His poetry has an artistic quality that keeps you going back for more long after the first read. You would not know that he is blind, as his words show you what he sees, with his heart. His imagination, wisdom, sense of humor and appreciation for life pours out onto each page. This is Kevin’s bestwork to date!”.
For the above review please visit, HERE
To read a free sample or to purchase “Refractions” please visit https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2 (for the US) or https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01L5UC2H2 (for the UK).
Many thanks to Annette for the above review.
I am pleased to announce that my latest collection of poetry, “Refractions” is available to purchase in the Kindle store. To read a free sample of “Refractions”, or to buy the book, please visit Amazon HERE (for the UK) and HERE (for the US).
The book description for “Refractions reads as follows:
“The poet may redact
The light that through his poem does refract.
But the reader will therein construe
That she believes to be true”.
Light refracts causing confusion as to where it is going in the same
way that poems do. What the reader thinks the poet means and
what he actually does are often 2 rather different things but readers
will, none the less draw their own conclusions (eroneous or
otherwise).
(For my previous collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” please visit http://moyhill.com/lost/).
There was a young man called Bill
Who took the wrong kind of pill.
He saw a mouse
As big as a house.
It made him extremely ill!
Yesterday evening, I sat in my living room leafing through “The New Oxford Book of English Verse”. Pausing at Keats, I read several of his poems, the last one among them being “Autumn”. “Autumn” is one of those poems which refreshes the jaded soul and causes the reader to gasp in wonder at the sheer beauty of the poet’s creation.
Having read Keats, I was minded to reproduce “Autumn” on this site. However “Autumn” is well known and rather than quote a much loved and well known poem, I have chosen instead to share Ernest Christopher Dowson’s poem, “Autumnal”:
“PALE amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer’s loss
Seems little, dear! on days like these!
Let misty autumn be our part!
The twilight of the year is sweet:
Where shadow and the darkness meet
Our love, a twilight of the heart
Eludes a little time’s deceit.
Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream.
Beyond the pearled horizons lie
Winter and night: awaiting these
We garner this poor hour of ease,
Until love turn from us and die
Beneath the drear November trees”.
Waiting for the lightning to rend
These troubled skies and send
A bolt to tear apart
This artificial heart.
In a recent article in The Daily Mail, entitled “Forget the Age of Plenty, We Were Happier in the 1700’s” (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3756368/Forget-age-plenty-happier-1700s-Briton-s-content-life-era-slums-gin-mothers-workhouses-today.html), it is reported that research shows the 18th century was the period in which people were happiest, despite the grinding poverty in which much of the population lived.
The above article reminded me of a comment made by a reviewer of my collection of poetry “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” that “ There is a feeling of nostalgia in some poems, e.g. “Modernity”, (https://emmalee1.wordpress.com/2016/05/11/lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-k-morris/). The poem is reproduced below in order that my readers may judge for themselves:
“Give me something real
Not this plastic I feel.
Give me books in cloth boards
That I may not be bored.
Give me a chime
To measure time.
Give me solid wood
To caress and love.
Give me objects that last
A link to the past.
The world moves fast
Vast
Nothingness beccons.
Enumerable seconds
engaged
In rage
Against the gleam
Of the machine
That haunts my dream”.
(For “Modernity” and the other poems in “Lost in The Labyrinth of My Mind” please visit http://moyhill.com/lost/.
K Morris - Poet 