Tag Archives: poetry

VR

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Is man’s destiny to slowly fade away?

to be lost in perpetual play?

The gosimer thin thread

in his head

breaks

and he takes

a step over the abyss

to wallow in bliss

where machines dream

and Alice is not who she seems.

The sun rises.

There are prizes

For the movers and shakers.

To be caught in a movie maker’s

dream,

a scene

from which there can be no escape.

As we roll with the never ending tape.

 

(The above was prompted by an article in yesterday’s Guardian, http://www.theguardian.com/business/2015/nov/07/artificial-intelligence-homo-sapiens-split-handful-gods).

Fruit

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The fruit grows within easy reach.

How simple to take a peach

Or plum.

How delightfully does temptation come.

The juice turns to gall.

Better to let the fruit fall

or be gathered by other hands.

But desire commands

us to pick

and sip.

The devil’s tune seems sweet

and once our feet

begin to dance

We have no chance

To stop

but must waltz until we drop.

MyInterviewOnSachaBlack’sWebsite

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Many thanks to Sacha Black for featuring me on her website (http://sachablack.co.uk/2015/11/06/interview-with-author-kevin-norris/#more-3193). In my interview I refer to being in the process of revising “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”. The revised edition is now available in ebook and print format.

 

Kevin

Video

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The unmonitored video tape

reveals what we can not escape.

The honeyed words we say

in the light of day

are swept away

at night

when our conscience doth delight

in stripping bare all pretence.

The fence

is down and nightmare

doth stare

Us full in the face.

The knowledge of disgrace

Causes the mind to race

In fear

As the truth stands near.

Even the fool

Knows the cassette will, one day, unspool

And lie tangled

Mmangled

Beyond repair

And the dark angel will be there.

 

Passing Through

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Walking through the leaves

I perceive

the familiar churchyard.

It is writ large

on these weathered stones

“man is skin and bones.

All we are turns to dust.

Here men are beyond lust.

They sleep fast

And do not ask

Who does pass

By

With a doleful sigh”.

No more are men buried here.

The place is near

to my home.

I am but skin and bone.

I feel the carpet warm as I write.

The morning light

Will soon dispel the remains of night

For a time at least

then eternal peace.

 

(All Saints Church is close to my home. The graveyard is long since disused although the existing graves are maintained. http://www.allsaintsuppernorwood.co.uk/).

I am

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I am the one you pass without a second glance.

I am the one who can dance

my feet

moving to a forbidden beat.

I am the work that keeps him late

While at home you wait.

I am the scent that lingers

On fingers.

I am a smile

A guilty denial.

I am the bump that grows

Fingers and toes.

I am new life.

You are his wife.

 

England On The Eve Of World War I

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Sun dappled lawns.

The vicar yawns

As Colonel Trickett

Defends his wicket.

The sound of bat on ball

mingles with a blackbird’s   call

that floats

amidst ancient oaks

and the Colonel’s son takes Lucy’s hand

as the sun sets on Angleland.