Would
That I could
Find Chrysanthemums in bud.
For those in bloom
Are gone to soon.
I remember the sweet scent
Of the chrysanthemums that bloomed
In my grandfather’s garden.
Entombed,
They are long since spent.
“The daffodils are out in Saint James’s Park”
My colleague did remark.
Today
The wind blusters
Through Wordsworth’s spritely clusters,
And I wonder how long will the chancers stay.
There was a young leader called Lee
Who shouted “all you people follow me!”.
He ran straight ahead,
Then stopped dead,
On account of hitting a tree!
I am delighted to report that 2 of my poems where featured on the World Poetry Reading Series, a weekly programme hosted by Vancouver Co-Op Radio. The show was broadcast on Thursday 9 March. I am grateful to Ariadne Sawyer for kindly including my poetry. To listen to the programme please visit http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=11601. On Thursday 29 January the World Poetry Reading Series featured an interview with me, during which I read several of my poems. For my previous appearance on Vancouver Co-Op Radio please visit http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=11413.
This week I shall begin the process of pulling together many of my poems, with a view to producing a new collection of poetry.
My poems lie scattered as leaves on a forest floor, in no particular order throughout my blog.
Many will appear “as is”, however others require to be edited by me, while all of my poems will be proofread prior to their publication in book form.
Proofreading is, for me, about spotting typographical errors such as spelling mistakes and the use of a comma where a colon or no punctuation should properly be. It is not about the proof reader/editor re-writing my work, for however good a proof reader/editor is (and there are many excellent proof readers/editors out there), my work is my work and the only person who will make changes to it (other than correcting typographical errors) is me.
While I am engaged in this project, I shall post less frequently as the work entailed in producing a poetry collection is both time consuming and laborious in nature.
I will, however take breaks from the task in hand and post on newauthoronline.com from time to time.
Kevin
What is this thing
Called progress? I asked a girl, who stood alone,
But her phone
Did ring
And technology (the king)
Who rules all
Led her to answer that call.
What is progress? I asked a teenager sitting at his laptop.
He answered me not
For he was engaged in the plot
Of a game in his bedroom
Which he played long into the gloom.
What is progress? I asked the statistician.
She gave me rhemes of data to analyse
Which led me to pedition.
What is progress? I asked my dog as he lay in the sun
He did an answer lack
But rolled on his back
Just for fun.
There was a young man called Nile
Who kept a pet crocodile.
The creature dreamed
Until, it seemed
He was back in the river Nile.
Someone said
A magpie
Killed a blackbird, stone dead
And that is why
He dislikes the magpie.
We laud it over the magpie for he is our inferior.
And we humans, being superior
Do good to one another
For who will
Kill
His brother?
There was a young lady called Leigh
Who climbed a very tall tree.
She yelled, with a frown
“Help me get down!”,
But I was lost at sea!
Another ghost.
Another mocking toast,
How the hands of the clock do turn,
Never to return
To the point before
That particular door
Was unhinged by me.
I see
A procession of sweet ghouls
That call on fools
To follow
Them to the place where the hollow
Slink
Along
And The song of love is told
By the chink
Of gold.
K Morris - Poet 