I like to write
But sometimes the rhymes won’t come.
In the morning sun
I have written of pretty flowers
Who know not hours
And clocks that tick the day away.
At times I write
Of midnight doors where young women knock
And pause for a while
(but never stop).
My verse makes readers smile
While others curse.
But I can not deny
That sometimes the rhymes
Just won’t come.
She drunk, showing me
Her nails I can not see.
I drink my brandy
And try my best to engage
With a girl half my age.
Its hard to explain
To her drunken brain
That I am unable to see.
So I sip my brandy
And imagine her fingernails
She left with her friend.
I can not pretend
That there was no attraction
At least on my part.
A passing distraction
Turns into art.
When a young lady in red
Invited me to come to bed
I said, “dear Miss Moore!
This is a furniture store!
And the manager has turned red!”
As previously mentioned here, I will be reading my poetry at Ashburton Library, Shirley Road, Croydon tomorrow, Saturday 8 November from 2-3 pm. Admission is free and refreshments will be provided. If you are in the vicinity it would be good to meet you.
Please feel free to just turn up. Or, if you wish to book please call 0207 8845175 or visit An Afternoon of Poetry with Kevin Morris | Croydon Libraries
Alexa plays
As my clock chimes
Reminding me of slower days.
When Father Time
Kept a steady pace.
Many have vanished without trace.
This rhyme
Will not save
Me from the grave
And if people should find
My poetry
It will not profit me.
Yet I must write
For the night
Will end all my poetry
A young lady who is really most cerebral
Said, “your poetry it is so very terrible!”
I said to her, Jane,
You have a great brain,
But your manners they are really most terrible!”
You left your umbrella behind
For me to find.
I remember, it had ducks.
I let you know.
But we did not go
Down that path again.
Still I remember the ducks
And she who came
To me in the rain.
I am wrapped around
In the profound
Silence of the morning.
No birds stir.
And my old clock’s
Steady tick tock
Goes unheard.
Earthly clocks measure hours.
But flowers
Know not time
Yet pervade
All our graves.
While we no not
Clocks and flowers.
On Thursday 23rd October, I appeared on the World Poetry Café. During the show, I read several of my own poems, including “On the Death of a Writer”, which appears in my most recent collection, “Passing Through; Some Thoughts on Life and Death”. In addition, I read Philip Larkin’s wonderful poem “Ambulances”.
My thanks to Ariadne, Anita and Victor for hosting me on the World Poetry Café. My segment begins approximately 21 minutes into the podcast. To listen please visit https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-oct-23-kevin-morris-and-anita-aguirre-nieveras/?utm_source=notification&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=upload_is_published&utm_content=html
When I met a beautiful young Goth
Who was suffering from a bad cough,
I felt such bliss
When we two kissed.
But that Goth gave me her cough!
K Morris - Poet 