These fallen leaves
On the cold January ground
Send a message profound.
I am bound
To be as these leaves
And fertilize the ground.
Ground
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Tag Archives: seasonal poetry
December Poetry
In honour of December, I am posting a poem from my collection More Poetic Meanderings, entitled In Early December:
“In early December
November’s leaves still adorn
The woodland lawn.
Man’s pattern is made
In light and shade
And the gardener’s rake
Rakes all leaves”.
More Poetic Meanderings is available in Kindle and paperback from Amazon and can be found here, https://www.amazon.co.uk/More-Poetic-Meanderings-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B0BZT9G139/
You can access a recording of me reading More Poetic Meanderings on Soundcloud here, https://soundcloud.com/kevin-stephen-morris/poet-kevin-morris-reading-from-his-collection-more-poetic-meanderings-part-1
Minus 3
It will be minus 3 tonight.
The light
Dies fast in winter.
There is a splinter
Of ice in my heart
With which I make art.
True, sometimes the sun breaks through.
But for now I rhyme
Of wintertime.
Spring will bring birdsong
But winter’s splinter is forever part
Of my poet’s heart.
Though birdsong does not last long
It may live on
When I am gone
In a rhyme of my wintertime.
On an Autumn Day
On an autumn day
I heard the sound
Of children at play.
My brown
Has gone grey.
Leaves fall
And the ground
Takes all
Our leaves away.
Obsession
Why do I
Obsess over fallen leaves?
Should I lie
And try to pretend
There is no end?
Trees do not grieve
For fallen leaves.
Nor will I,
For all must die.
Yet I see
A poignant beauty
In these bare trees
And Autumn leaves.
Autumn
In her rush
A young woman’s heels
Cruelly crush leaves.
The ageing poet sees
Autumn has come.
He feels girl’s heels
Carelessly kick away
The once green leaves
Of his May.
Earth
These autumn leaves
Remind me
Of my mortality.
Winter’s knife
Chops down life.
And trees
In spring bring
Forth leaves
And I recall
We all
Are of earth
And turf.
Grief
Sometimes my belief
Is that grief
Conquers all.
Then I recall
The air
In late August
Carrying hay
And coming Autumn.
Such sweet air
Carries no despair.
On a Quiet Sunday
On a quiet Sunday
In Spring
I heard the clock’s
Tick tock.
It said, “this day
Of spring
Is full of sunshine.
Girls without socks
Play. But sunshine
Does not stay.
And all rhyme
Has it’s time”.
An Autumn Day (1 November 2022)
Damp leaves in cold park.
Autumn days are growing dark.
The wind whistled
In the churchyard.
Then the rain came again.
K Morris - Poet 