Turn the pillow over
And wish upon a four leaf clover.
Cover the scent,
The pent
Up desire and loss,
Then count the cost
My friend
For all things come to an end.
—
The four-leaf clover is considered to be lucky and is rarely found in nature, unlike it’s relation, the thrhee-leaf clover, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four-leaf_clover).
Many thanks to Annette for the following review of my collection of poetry “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”:
“I am so happy to have a copy of this book. Author. Kevin Morris, has such capture of the world around him and uses his command of words to craft poetry
that stimulates the senses. One of the poems in this volume, spoke to me specifically. Autumn Breeze made me smile, as I am an autumn born, baby and that
time of year always makes me smile. Congratulations, K. Morris, on a most delightful, though provoking book that I shall read again and again”.
For the original review please visit this link, http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1737069156.
Kevin
On my way home from work yesterday evening, I passed a familiar block of flats. The evening was a pleasant one, with a warm summer sun warming me as I strolled past the familiar apartments. A ball was being kicked, it’s sound mingling with that of the birds which twittered overhead.
I could hardly believe that this self-same location had, in November 2015 prompted me to pen the below lines:
“My thoughts lost on the damp air
Going who knows where.
The sodden grass
I pass
Where children play
but not today.
No ball
or bird call.
Only the rain’s incessant fall”.
One might be tempted to construe that the difference in weather is the sole determinant of my mood. Had I written a poem yesterday evening it would, no doubt be marked by an absence of melancholy (in sharp contrast to the above lines). Doubtless the miserable state of the weather on that November day in 2015 influenced my poem. However my mood on that particular day was (for reasons which I can not now remember) one of introspection. The bleak weather combined with my state of mind, to produce “Lost” (the title of the poem quoted above).
It is interesting to speculate on how my poem may have differed had children been playing football despite the foulness of the weather. Would it have been quite so introspective in nature? Would I have written it at all? The honest response to both questions is that I don’t know. Perhaps I wouldn’t have written “Lost” or maybe a poem imbued with rather more light than darkness would have found it’s way onto my blog and (later) into my collection of poetry “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”.
External factors such as the weather, combine with the poet’s state of mind to produce poetry. Of course rain is by no means always a source of melancholy. It refreshes the earth bringing out the scent of the wonderful plants with which England is blessed. Had I been walking in a park at the time of that November shower, with the scent of autumn leaves and the last of the summer flowers filling my nostrils, I may well have written a different poem, one characterised by a less melancholic tinge. However Autumn has the power to kindle melancholy irrespective of the state of the weather. The dead leaves underfoot signify the dying of the year and one is acutely aware that winter’s iron grip will soon be felt throughout the land. So who knows how my poem would have differed (assuming I had, in fact penned one) in the event the circumstances of that November day in 2015 had been different.
(For “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” please visit http://moyhill.com/lost/)
Kevin
I am aiming to publish my latest collection of poetry, “Refractions” in the next 10-14 days. The collection derives it’s title from my poem “Refractions” which runs thus:
“The poet may redact
The light that through his poem does refract.
But the reader will therein construe
That she believes to be true”.
In the same way that light refracts, so to does poetry. What the reader sees in a poem is not (necessarily) what the poet intended him to perceive. Likewise different readers will interpret the same poem in diverse ways. The poet, for his part may obfuscate his meaning, while the whiley reader will dig deep and, perhaps get near the essence of the poem.
If anyone would like a free copy of “Refractions” in return for an honest review, please contact me via newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com (the address is rendered in this manner to defeat spammers).
Many thanks,
Kevin
A tired smile
Hides a guilty denial,
While a sheepish grin
Conceals sin,
Though not very well
For the wise can tell
What lies within
There was a young lady called Lin
Who lived in a very large bin,
Until one day
The dustmen took it away,
Which was much to her chagrin!
An old man reading Mill
Looks out over the still
Land
Where oaks as ancient institutions stand,
And hears a sound drear,
That of velvet jackboots, approaching near.
Some say
In a place far away
The gods play dice
And we humans pay the price.
How easy to blame some external force,
“Matters will take their course.
We must to fate submit
And our teeth in the face of adversity grit”.
Macbeth his dagger drew
And ran king Duncan through.
It was his own shame.
No witches where to blame.
We make our own fate,
Though oft we hate
The fact however true,
It was we alone, who ran King Duncan through.
Skin, once perfect as plastic,
Now stretches like an elastic
Band.
Once men would rush to obey her every command.
Now at the mirror she does stand
Make up in hand
Expertly hiding
The lines dividing
Youth
From the truth
Of middle-age.
Truth hides
Away
In the day
And slides
Out in dreams
When all seems
Real.
Dreams reveal
Our fears, often in a jumble,
A veritable Tumble
Of confused
Images and thought.
The truth may momentarily be caught
For the dreamer to see,
But frequently wriggles free
As he awakes
And his desire for forgetfulness slakes
In Lethe.
—
Lether means oblivion In ancient greek and was one of the 5 rivers in Hades (the Greek underworld). When the dead drank from the waters of Lethe they would forget their former lives. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lethe.
K Morris - Poet 