There was a young man named Glass
Who appeared on a rather remarkable podcast.
There being absolutely no sound
It was very profound,
And the critics all raved about Glass!
There Was A Young Man Named Glass
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Tag Archives: poets
Poet Kevin Morris to appear on the Magic Happens Now podcast with Annette Rochelle Aben
I am delighted to announce that I shall be interviewed, by Annette Rochelle Aben for the Tell Me a Story podcast, at 5 pm on Friday 7 June, https://themagichappensnow.com/tell-me-a-story-with-annette-rochelle-aben/.
Once the podcast goes live I shall, of course post a link to it here. My thanks to Annette for her kindness in agreeing to interview me.
Kevin
Instagram Poets
Having recently started an Instagram to promote my poetry, I was interested to read this article on Instagram poets, https://mashable.com/article/instagram-poetry-democratise-genre/?europe=true.
According to the article, Instagram has led to a significant growth in the number of young people reading poetry online thereby democratising the world of poetry. While some poets confine themselves to Instagram, others have graduated to bookstores.
Instagram poets are viewed by some literary critics as debasing/commercialising the poetic craft, while other people see the utilisation of Instagram by poets as a means of giving a voice to minorities.
I, personally view Instagram as one means of promoting my poetry. I began by posting on this site (kmorrispoet.com), moved on to ebooks and (later) print, and I’m now on Instagram. Any means of communication can, of course be used to post pap, however Instagram (or any other medium) can also be utilised to promote work of genuine literary merit. To me anything which implants in readers a love of poetry can only be a good thing.
You can find my Instagram here, https://www.instagram.com/kmorrispoet/
When I Said To My Friend Lou
When I said, to my friend Lou,
(Who is fond of the stiletto shoe),
“You are rather witty,
Though not very pretty”,
She threw at me her shoe!
Jaz
As I listened to jaz
I felt a pang
As a young woman sang,
For I thought on the last time
I heard the jaz
In this place, with you,
So wrote a rhyme
As it was all I could do.
As I Walked Through The Graveyard Last Night
As I walked through the graveyard last night
I met a young woman in white.
As she arose from her grave
With a ghoul called Dave
I said, “do you fancy a drink tonight?”
—
As I walked through the graveyard last night
I saw a young woman in white.
As she arose from her grave
I said, “my soul I must save!”,
Then I ran like the clappers last night!
A Poet Named Mark
There once was a poet named Mark
Whose verse was extremely dark,
So they sent him to sea
On a rotten old tree,
Where he was eaten by a shark!
—
I know a young man named Mark
Whose verse is extremely dark.
He sails the great sea
On a rotten old tree,
And plays upon his harp!
How Convenient To Have A Graveyard So Close To My Home
How convenient to have a graveyard
So close to my home.
‘Twill not be hard
As, when I die
There will not be far to go
For my bones
But, you know
The place has remained undisturbed
By burials for many a year.
I am perturbed
And shed a tear
As I do not know
Where I shall go
When I die.
Perhaps my ashes will, in a pub find a place
And the drinker, with his or her flushed face
Will look at me and say,
“He used to drink this way.
Another beer
Here barman, for I feel suddenly queer
And must drink
Else I shall think
On dust
And he, who has into the grave been thrust!”.
I dislike
The idea of fire
And my desire
Is for burial. Yet the night
Will come down all the same
So why should I care
Whether I am consumed by flame
Or end up underground?
For the truth profound
Is that I will not be there
To know or care.
When Men Reach The Stars
When men
Reach the stars
And girls lose their bras
At the click of a mouse.
And men
Can be
Whatever they wish to be
In the virtual house,
I wonder will we
Be happy
Or free.
They Say That 2 Is Company
They say
That 2 is company
While 3
Is a crowd.
A few are loud
And will with honesty proclaim
(Without fear of shame)
That they
Like 3.
But I beg thee
Do not ask me
To explain
For I may
Lie, or simply not say . . .
K Morris - Poet 