In the wood’s heart
There is light
And there is dark.
The poet finds
Delight
With woodland
Nymphs.
For girls
Of the mind
Are never bland.
The Poet’s Mind
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Tag Archives: the mind
Where I
Where I
To shave
You would find
My smooth skin
But what
Of mind
That lies behind
My sometimes grin?
I Dreamed that I was Dead
I dreamed that I was dead.
There was no dread,
Merely a desire
To cross the barbed wire
And escape something or somewhere,
Perhaps despair.
Pressing my hand against the barbed wire, I felt no pain.
No guards came.
I did not cross, for I new I should find
That which I had left behind
– A man locked in his own mind.
Inner Peace
Sitting here
My mind is almost clear
Of old junk.
For now the detritus has slunk
Away to hide
Inside
The maze of my calculating brain.
The stain
Of a thing overthought
Frequently leaves me overrought.
This room is still and full of peace
So why can not my mind for long cease
In it’s whirring motion?
Must I forever be tossed upon this restless ocean?
I long for a lack of motion.
Yet there is no magic potion
To achieve a quiet soul,
A goal
Pursued by men of every nation
And station.
Though ‘tis a fact both sad and true
That inner peace is gained by so few.
Swan
The restless wind
calls to the unquiet mind.
I see a swan upon a lake.
A serene
queen
she glides through the water
as some daughter
of the gods.
A man hidden in the reeds
scarcely breathes
for fear
she will notice him near.
The swan sings.
Her song brings
sweet melancholy to his soul.
The whole
scene
he dreamed
awakening to the restless wind
that calls to the unquiet mind.
Labyrinth
I hear the minotaur roar,
And see the vampire soar.
Lost in the labyrinth of my mind,
Can I a way out find,
Via Ariadne’s thread,
Or must I remain in the land of the dead?
A place where the shadows forever fall,
And no birds call.
Dreams
Snorting, their hoofs pounding, horses vast and black chase, pursue, hunt me down. Dark creatures unleashed at night to gallop through my head.
In day light the black mares are stabled where none dare go, in the dark depths of the brain. Hidden, padlocked behind steel doors they wait, patiently for darkness. Night cometh, like ghosts they glide through locked doors. No, need to wake go away, thrashing trying to escape, baring down, snorting. All the years, childhood fears, death, vengeance, nightmares, must awake.
Trapped
Boxed in, unable to escape. Dark. I feel wardrobe and door but, no exit. Trapped, I am caught, no way out. Don’t panic of course there is an exit.
Feel, this is the hall, the shape of the storage cupboard. I turn, blessed light, dim but perceptible reaches me from the living room windows. Free!
(I am blind with a small amount of residual vision which means that I can see light and dark. I am also able to distinguish shapes so, for example I can see the outline of a person but I am unable to recognise them. This morning I was in my spare room, the one in which most of my writing takes place. I know the room, as with every other part of my flat like the back of my hand, however, this morning I became disorientated. I have no idea why but perhaps it stems from the fact that I was carrying my iPad and, not wishing to drop it all of my thoughts where concentrated on preventing an accident, consequently the part of my mind which deals with orientation went into slumber mode hence the above. My spare room opens out into the hall. The door is usually open and this morning was no exception. The logical part of my brain told me that the door was open yet, for a moment I was unable to locate the exit).
K Morris - Poet 