Skin soft as silk.
Giver of milk
But not yet
For you must get
What you need
In order to succeed
Or feed your greed.
Seed contained in a glove.
But one day a tree may shoot
From another route.
I would
That it’s fruit be good
And bathed in love.
‘Tis true
The sun
Will still run
Through heaven, when all is said and done
And the birds Will
Continue to trill
As morning doth break
On a brave act, or a profound mistake …
Reaching for the alarm that wakes
He takes
A step into the unknown.
Breakfast will, he thinks, Be followed by leaving home
For work.
No sudden jerk
Of fear,
Just the passing thought, death is always near
And one day all will
Be still
“Poetry isn’t real” you said.
I shook my head
For what the poet feels
Is real.
The words in the poet’s brain,
His whole train
Of thought
Is caught
And given life upon the page.
His poems may forever dance
And bring romance
To the paper stage.
A poem can make one laugh or cry.
So why
Can you not try
To lift your eyes from the ground,
And gaze upon something profound?
Carpet by heels worn.
Man’s heart torn
Asunder
By blades that plunder
His nightly slumber.
To and fro
The dancers go.
Ever changing,
Exchanging
Well worn words.
Love my friend, is for the birds …
The Poetry Book Society (PBS), founded by poet T. S. Eliot is to close following the withdrawal of Arts Council funding. For the Guardian article please visit (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jun/03/cuts-hit-poetry-book-society-to-close).
A fascinating piece in “The Guardian” regarding the Future Libraries Project, where authors submit a manuscript which is securely stored and only read in 100 years from now (2114). The ceremony for handing over manuscripts takes place in a Norwegian forest who’s trees will be cut down in 100 years time to make paper on which the books submitted to the project will be printed. The latest author to hand over his manuscript is David Mitchell.
For the article please visit https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/may/30/david-mitchell-buries-latest-manuscript-for-a-hundred-years
According to an article in “The Telegraph” a new generation are buying books in order to express their personality. Some of these books remain unread on shelves but, a Foyle’s representative does not see this as a problem as, sooner or later these works will be picked up by their owner and read. For the article please go to, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/29/new-generation-buying-books-to-express-their-personalities/
My dog yelps in his sleep.
Can a canine weep?
And what thoughts of joy or pain
Pass through his sleeping brain?
In an exstasy of sound and smell
You dwell.
The freshly roasted chicken, just out of reach is sheer hell
To my friend
Who’s end
Is food and play.
Your day
Will not be so long as mine,
Yet we humans whine
While you in the moment live
And give such love
To your god above
Who sits envying you your state of grace.
Would that I could change place
With you
My friend true.
“The Blackbird on the wing, so sweetly sings
And brings
Joy to we two
Who
Through
These wild flowers
Walk and talk,
Whiling away many an hour”.
But she put no store
In my words
Nor in the singing of the birds,
Which went unheard,
For the ring
She wore
Was connected to the Internet of Things.
K Morris - Poet 