A perfect pare.
So ripe and fair.
To have you there
A perfect pair.
No one to stare
Where
The perfect pare hangs
Within easy reach of hands
That desire
To quench a fire.
The love of fruit
Is At the root
Of the fall from grace.
A place
Called Paradise, where Eve ate the apple.
The sunlight no longer dapples
Eden’s Lawns
where innocent fawns
Where wont to Play.
Or so the moralists say.
All this will pass away
But I have fruit today …
A moralist gazed upon a flower soft
And with delicacy coughed.
“’Tis most unseemly” said he
“To see
The bee
Make free
With thee.
Thou has forsook
The holy book.
Think on hell
And mark it well
Lest in torment you dwell”.
The flower spake
“Oh moralist forsake
This obsession
With the repression
Of girl and lad.
Wouldst thou have the whole world sad?
Can not you be glad
At the joy
Of maid and boy?
The moralist shook his grey head
And said
“Thou should dread hell’s fire
For desire
Is sin.
Satan enters in
And God destroys
Those who wallow in lustful joys.
The flower said, “breathe in my scent
And relent
Of strictures severe.
Come you near
And touch my throbbing heart.
Let me teach you love’s art.
Give me your hands,
And we will travel to undiscovered lands”.
The moralist did relent
And partook of the flower’s scent.
The heavens where not rent
And the sky’s great tent
Failed to fall.
Only the nightingale’s call
Filled the spring air
Where the lovers dallied without a care.
Feet that dance
Awhile,
Perchance
Provide surcease
A kind of peace.
But romance Is not my style.
The painted smile
May for a time beguile.
A fleeting kiss.
A kind of bliss
But romance is not my style.
Lovers may dally
In verdant valley
While
I love’s cost tally.
But romance is not my style.
Would that I could resile
The made up face
The silk
And lace.
But romance is not my style.
Sometimes the words won’t come
And my thoughts run
Confused
Away.
I lose
The sense of what I want to say.
My muse
Doth refuse
To play
Today.
Oh how thin
Is the divide betwixt virtue and sin.
A rake’s grin
Or a smile
That beguiles
Girls who flirt
In skirts
Short.
Ought?
Ought not?
Passion hot.
Cool reflection
May lead to dejection.
There is no rejection
When the coin does spin
And what some call sin
Enters in.
Yesterday evening (Tuesday 22 March) saw me with fellow poet, Toby Wheeler at Poetry Unplugged (http://poetrysociety.org.uk/event/poetry-unplugged-2/2016-03-29/). Poetry Unplugged is a weekly event, hosted by the Poetry Café, affording poets the opportunity to read their work. Yesterday evening was my first time reading at Poetry Unplugged, however I was not alone in this as a number of other “virgins” (the label applied by the host to we first timers)! Also read their work.
Those wishing to read had to register between 6-7 pm, with the open mic session starting at 7:30. There where 34 readers and given the significant interest in participating each poet was allowed a slot of 4 minutes duration. I think this was entirely fair as it afforded all those wishing to participate an opportunity to do so.
I read the following poems from my recently released collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”:
“Lost”
“Leaves Blown at Night”
And “Raining”.
In addition I read my poem “Midnight”, which appears in my collection of poetry and prose, “Dalliance”.
The atmosphere in the Poetry Café was warm and friendly with everyone wishing to read being given a fair crack of the whip. It was great to be introduced to the voices of so many unfamiliar poets and hear my friend and fellow poet, Toby Wheeler read his work.
If you are interested in attending Poetry Unplugged, either as a reader or a member of the audience please see the above link for details (you don’t need to book. Those wishing to read should sign-up between 6-7 pm, prior to reading commencing at 7:30 pm).
—
For details of my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” please visit http://moyhill.com/lost/. For details of “Dalliance” please go to http://amzn.com/B00QQVJC7E.
As announced on 9 March, I will be reading at the Poetry Café, 22 Betterton Street, Covent Garden, London, on Tuesday 22 March.
Poems will be taken from my recently released collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, which is available in print and electronic formats (http://moyhill.com/lost/).
If you are in the vicinity of Covent Garden, it would be wonderful to see you at the Poetry Café. Kevin
Sinking into bliss.
A kiss.
A silver penny
So many
Shine
On women and wine.
As Dowson searches, for love divine.
Pale lost lilies.
Sillies
Weak
No words they speak
Will make him cease
In his search for peace.
Dowson died young.
No joy his lovings brung.
The same old song sung
Once more.
The hoare
Frost froze the poet, to the core.
—
Ernest Christopher Dowson was one of the Decadent or Catholic poets. Born in 1867 and dying in 1900 the poet spent a life full of wine, women and song, often seeking solace in the arms of the world’s oldest profession.
The reference to “Lilies” refers to Dowson’s fine poem, “Cynara” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Dowson).
I am pleased to announce that my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” is now available in print. To read reviews of “Lost” or to purchase my book please visit the following link http://moyhill.com/lost/. “Lost” is also available as a Kindle download and can be found here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01AF5EPVY/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_S9p7wb0FBTR8W.
A reviewer writes as follows:
“This is the 3rd collection of poems I’ve read by K. Morris, and with that comes a little weight. Obviously, I must like this writer’s work to continue
reading it, but surely there must be an expiry date for such great writing; one day I am sure to find a book by K. Morris that I do not enjoy.
Well, frankly, that day is not today.
Honestly, I think K. Morris may be a fountain of constant inspiration and depth – his writing is beautiful, and never fails to touch my heart whether crafted
for humour or profound meaning. I cannot imagine the day that I don’t enjoy his work.
If you enjoy reading poetry, then this collection of poems is the one for you. If you’ve never really read poetry before, but you want to start, K. Morris
is a great poet to begin with. I mean, you should always begin with the greats, shouldn’t you?
This collection contains a range of poems from joyous to sorrowful, humorous to harrowing. I cannot express enough how strongly I feel that you – yes,
you, reading this right now – should delve into K. Morris world, and his writing.
Overall, and very obviously, I really enjoyed this collection, and I highly recommend you pick up a copy.
(Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from K Morris in exchange for an honest review. I would like to send a big thank you and congratulations to
K Morris for this collection, and its brilliance”.) .
For the above review please go to http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R3NHWVT18B7EK6/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B01AF5EPVY.
Kevin
Birds sing.
The air on this spring
Evening carries scents unknown
As I stroll home
Alone.
That scent, is it hay?
All this will pass away.
Yet I am content to breathe this sweet air
And, for a time, forget my care.
Beauty with sadness lives
And gives
A melancholy delight
To me, as I walk home, on this spring night.
K Morris - Poet 