A butterfly flits from flower to flower.
It’s hour
‘Tis brief,
But man knows grief
Butterfly
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Tag Archives: poets
Sometimes My Heart Is Still
Sometimes my heart is still
Up here on this hill,
High above sea level.
There is no devil
Calling to me
And I hear,
Loud and clear
The bird so wild and free
Singing,
His song for a moment bringing
An end
To all I pretend
To be …
Some Thoughts On My Writing And On Poetry More Generally
I am linking to a post on “Rhyme”, in which I answer questions regarding my poetry and those writers who have exerted an influence on my work.
I appreciate that some of my readers are already familiar with this article. However, for those who are not, I hope my interview on Rhyme will be of interest to you, https://rhymepoetry.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/interview-with-kevin-morris/
Impostor
Nearly 2 am.
I am Awake when
I have no desire
For fire
(only sleep).
Yet I must keep
Alert
To avert disaster.
Though in truth
It is my bad luck
That it has already struck,
But the roof
Will not fall
And I shall recall
This impostor of a disaster
With laughter.
There Was A Young Lady Named Hocking
There was a young lady named Hocking
Who wore a single stocking.
She went down town
Her sorrows to drown.
The bishop found it shocking!
Russian Doll
I remember a Russian doll, by the fireplace.
I took it apart
But could trace
Therein no heart,
For ‘Twas only art.
With no start
Or conclusion.
‘Twas a mere confusion
Of toy
And boy.
Many A Life Is Undone In The Pursuit Of Fun
Many a life is undone
In the pursuit of fun.
We may turn and run
From the fact
Of an act
And the sun
Will continue to shine.
But, in the dark
The truth stark
Reveals that every fine
Day
Passes away
For delight
Must end in night.
There Was A Young Lady Named Simone
There was a young lady named Simone
Who lived in a haunted house alone.
In the depths of the dark
She would sing like a lark
And the ghosts would sigh and moan!
There Once Was A Snowwoman Named Moriah
There once was a snowwoman named Moriah
Who warmed herself by my fire.
She wore a coat of felt
And soon did melt.
O what a foolish desire for fire!
This Snow
This snow
Fall
Will cover all.
But I know
That the click clack
Of heel
Will reveal
The black
Tarmac underneath.
And when the snow does cease
The path to my door
Shall be covered no more.
K Morris - Poet 