I can not capture this sense of dissociation
Reflected in campfires
Of shop windows that blaze.
Walking home
I remember Rome
And see wolves waiting
For the camp’s lights to go out
I can not capture this sense of dissociation
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Tag Archives: poets
Advice from poet Wendy Cope on poetry writing
A Guardian article in which poet Wendy Cope offers some excellent advice on writing poetry, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2008/sep/21/poetry.writing.wendycope.
Wendy stresses the importance of the poet being well read (in the sense of having read a wide variety of poetry, in different styles, by a diversity of poets). She also says that poets should practice writing all variaties of poetry in order to hone their craft. For example a poet who feels most comfortable using free verse, should also practice writing in rhyme.
I shook my head when I read of the man who presented Cope with a copy of his own poetry and stated that he didn’t read other poets as he didn’t wish to be influenced by them. What can one say to such a person? …
Eighteen
“I began when I was young” she said.
“How old where you?”
(Will she tell him what is true?).
“Come to bed”
She says
Avoiding his gaze.
She removes her dress
And relieves his stress.
Its all a bit of a haze.
“Maybe sixteen when I started”.
Now, at eighteen,
She considers it obscene
That she began at such a tender age.
He can not hold her gaze
Starting Work On A New Poetry Collection
In June 2017, I published “My Old Clock I Wind And Other Poems”. My collection has received some great reviews and I am delighted that the book is available in electronic, paperback, braille and (most recently) audio format.
I have many unpublished poems lurking in various places, mainly (but not exclusively) in the My Documents folder on my trusty old laptop! The time has come to remove the virtual cobwebs, perform requisite editing and, in due course publish a further collection.
The above task will, I know be highly rewarding but also time consuming. I shall, of course keep you updated on my progress via this blog.
(“My Old Clock I Wind” is available in ebook and paperback from Moyhill Publishing, http://moyhill.com/clock/.
It can also be found in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0735JBVBG.
For the audio version please visit https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Arts-Entertainment/My-Old-Clock-I-Wind-and-Other-Poems-Audiobook/B077VYT3X6?ref=a_a_search_c3_lProduct_1_1&pf_rd_p=c6e316b8-14da-418d-8f91-b3cad83c5183&pf_rd_r=GNF53RPHAAHBXWSFCGHP&.
For the braille edition please contact The Royal National Institute Of Blind People, quoting order number 25870603. You can call RNIB on 0303 123 9999 or visit RNIB’s Library, http://www.rniblibrary.com/iguana/www.main.cls?p=b3ba52c6-5bac-4699-afb9-0dfb99409462&v=c1f4a42f-ad5f-4c9d-bed5-105fe0d1b35f.
When entering the library, click on “Search” and enter “morris k my old clock I wind and other poems”. Hit search and my book should be displayed).
Trees Creak
Trees
Creak
In the breeze.
Make no mistake
Something will break
Whether it be
The tree
Or me
Oscar and Housman
Oscar turned pale
And languished in Reading Gaol
For “the love that dare not speak it’s name”.
It was society’s shame
That he found no peace
And died soon after his release.
Housman remained buttoned up
And took
Pains to hide
Inside his verse.
The poet wrote of lads dying young.
Neither he nor Oscar swung
For their “crime”,
And we are left with the rhyme
Of “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”
And a poet who hid his “curse”
Within his verse.
“My Madonna” by Robert W. Service
In “My Madonna”, by Robert W. Service, the narrator describes how he “hailed” a prostitute “from the street” and painted her portrait. Having added a halo to the original painting, the poet/narrator sells the portrait, which now hangs in a church” Where you and all may see”.
It is merely my interpretation, but the line “ And I sold her and took my fee”, suggests to me a connection between the subject of the painting (a prostitute) and the poet (over and above the obvious fact that he painted her portrait). Both are selling something. In the case of the “Madonna” this is sex, while the poet is selling the prostitute’s painting and, in a sense the girl herself.
You can find the poem here, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46644/my-madonna
Catching up with an old friend
On the evening of Thursday 8 February, I caught up with my friend, and fellow poet Toby Wheeler. Over a couple of pints we discussed poetry and put the world to rights. Well we certainly did the former but, on reflection the latter is open to debate.
You can find examples of Toby’s poetry here, https://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/tobyw.
Slavery Museum
Walking around the Museum of Slavery, in Liverpool
I come face-to-face with the cruel
Past
Where ships crossed the ocean vast
With their human cargo.
Many a negro
Slave
Paid for beautiful properties to be built
By Liverpool merchants who gave
Generously to charity
To set themselves free
From guilt.
Its true
That slavery isn’t new.
It was practiced in Greek and Roman time,
Yet the crime
Of the transatlantic slave trade
Has made
More of a mark
Perhaps because those of lighter skin
Committed the sin
Of taking those of dark
Complexion
From their native land,
Which was a rejection
Of the truth that beneath the skin
We are one in nature
(Or god the creator),
Depending on your view
Of what is true.
Our love died long ago
And I know
Not what Happened to you.
But I remember walking through
That place
Just Two lovers of different race …
(http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/ism/).
(https://lovelycurses.com/2018/02/01/black-poetry-writing-month-traveling-through-time-slavery/).
The Monster’s Son
The monster’s son
Hates what he may become.
Half buried childhood scenes
Torment in dreams.
Fear
Stalks near
And the monster’s son
Sheds a tear
For what he may become.
K Morris - Poet 