Tag Archives: poets

Nightmares

In nightmares
The dark
Stares
Within our heart.
And, when
Good men
Awake
They take
A look inside
Their heart.
And decide
“Is that fantasy
The whole,
Or a mere fractionality
Of me?
‘Tis fortunate none can see
Into my soul.
And the lies
Behind my eyes.

When an Ill-Begotten Young Man Named Cotton

When an ill-begotten young man named Cotton
Said, “many a girl’s name I’ve forgotten.
And now I’m drunk
As the proverbial skunk”.
I said, “sir, you are absolutely rotten!”.

My Forthcoming Poetry Collection

On 21 August 2019, I published my “Selected Poems, (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/). The book encompasses poems composed by me between 2013-2019, and is available in both a Kindle and paperback edition.

I am delighted to announce that I shall be releasing a further collection of my poetry in June/July 2020.

As a taster, I have included below my poem “Dead Stop”, which appears in the forthcoming collection:

“Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or maybe
They can not be said
Meaningfully by me.

As does nearly always happen
My train stopped, dead
At Clapham
(Though not for its proper, brief
Stay). We did not pull away.
What can be said
About grief
(Not experienced by me)?
Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry.

When, that evening I came back
The track
At Clapham
Was clear.
We made good time.
Though a drear
Thought did cross my mind,
But I find
That some things can not easily be said
In rhyme
By me, as I sit here, warm
Thinking of the ajacent platform
And how our train stopped, dead,
But, perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or at least by me”.

At present my collection is untitled. Therefore, in the time between now and it’s publication I need to come up with a meaningful title for my book!

I will, of course keep you updated on the books progress here.

Kevin

There Once was a Kindly Old Squire

There once was a kindly old squire
Who, on seeing his young housemaid Mariah
Go down on her knees
To shell beans and peas,
Went down to assist young miss Mariah.

There Once Was a Man Named Poe

There once was a man named Poe
Whose work I happen to know.
A naughty young lady named Lee
Swears solemly that she knows me.
But I’ve never met Lee or Poe!

“And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.” ― Virginia Woolf, “The Waves” – a Guest Post by Veronica Sizova

“And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.”

― Virginia Woolf, “The Waves”

I was delighted when Veronica did me the honour of accepting my invitation to appear on my website, as I am a huge fan of Veronica’s writing.

Veronica Sizova

Veronica Sizova

It is a pleasure to meet you, lovely readers of K. Morris! I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Kevin. It is a great honour to be featured on the blog of such an excellent poet! His creative writing is an infinite source of inspiration and a beam of positivity in these uncertain times.

My name is Veronica Sizova, and today I am going to tell you how an eighteen-year-old girl has found her destiny in literature.

As soon as I’ve learned to read, the dream of becoming a writer encompassed my naive imagination. When I’ve opened a book of poetry for the first time, I was utterly spellbound by the power of words – the freedom of poetic expression, its infinite possibilities and irresistible charms have conquered my heart once and forever. My gloomy hometown, Yekaterinburg, an industrial city in the middle of Russia, is far from lyrical. Nevertheless, I have tried to find beauty even in its stern, wintry spirit.

The call for liberation from the confinement of an authoritarian Motherland has ignited my desire to study abroad. Two years ago, I got an incredibly lucky opportunity to attend a Canadian high school. This extraordinary experience not only enriched my cultural awareness but also inspired me to start writing in English. As unbelievable as it may sound, I have finally found my own voice – in an unfamiliar country, among people from different backgrounds.

The first poem I wrote in English was inspired by Bob Dylan’s timeless song, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” Its lyrics capture the essence of tragedy with brilliant simplicity, and I was aiming to achieve a similar effect. Hopefully, this ode to the loss of a loved one will resonate with your soul.

I’m knocking on your Heaven’s Door

As restlessly, as reckless waves –

Remember – when they reached the shore –

You have succumbed to Death’s embrace.

The sun reflected in your eyes:

Its blinding, fatal afterglow –

A witness to the heart’s demise –

Took your ethereal, light soul…

This tiny door contains the world,

Replacing millions of words;

Shakespeare is writing there in gold –

The clouds are parchment, stars – the chords.

Please, let me in – the flames will rush,

Spilling themselves – my tears of love –

But there’s no lustre left so lush –

The earthly beacons aren’t enough!

I keep on calling through the mist;

Wings rustle softly with the tide,

As if an angel holds my wrist

And whispers: “Let me be your guide!”

I will stay by this Heavenly Door,

As the billions of centuries pass –

“Dearest, give me the keys,” I implore,

Still lamenting your final caress…

As the feeble thread sets us apart,

The Creator is honing his knife –

“Live or not to?” He asks every heart

While exclaiming – “How precious is life!”

I’m knocking on your Heaven’s door

For the myriads of desolate days:

No one answers me anymore,

Since you saw the oncoming waves…

Thank you for taking the time to appreciate my work – every new reader is a balm to the writer’s soul!

You can find more creative writing on my website: https://thewavesofpoetry.wordpress.com/

If you share my passion for capturing the fleeting moments, feel free to explore the Instagram profile: https://www.instagram.com/veronica_bloomsbury/

I hope to get in touch with you soon!