Alone
I beautify
My home
With flowers
Who’s powers
Are as I.
Flowers
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Tag Archives: the natural world
Dark Imaginings
When I heard
A bird
In a tree
Sing to me
In a park,
I thought that the dark
Imaginings I see,
May not come to be
Standing Under This Rain Drenched Tree
Standing under this rain drenched tree
I hear the breeze
That rustles the leaves
Whisper to me.
Then, a sneeze,
Brings me back to reality.
Walking Home from the Supermarket
Walking home from the supermarket
I heard
A bird
And thought
I could not have bought
That in store.
On this Windy Day
On this windy day
In April
I can not say
Whether the flowers I pass
On this woodland path
Will stay
For another day.
I think
That they
Are the same as those
I saw before,
Although I can not say
For sure
Whether it be so.
I suppose
That both I and they
Will see the rain’s tears
In future years,
But this I can not say
For sure.
The Kiss of Morn
The kiss of morn
Does come
As the waking sun
Does gently warm
The waiting lawn.
The dawn dew
Does soak through
Her summer dress,
That the rising sun
Does so softly warm
And with eagerness, caress.
On the empty woodland path
On the empty
Woodland path
The birds sing,
But not for me
This spring.
As I pass
Along this desolate path
I laugh
At the idea
That the birds I hear
Could sing
For me in spring.
Bud
Sometimes I would
That the bud
Could stay
That way.
In spring
Birds sing
And buds, for an hour,
Flower.
Thrown Away
In a vase you stay.
Soon you will be thrown away
In a bin.
How can I atone for the sin
Of removing you from nature’s embrace
To this urban place?
I sentimentalise its true
For you never knew
Nature’s embrace,
But doctored grew
In a place
Of glass
Where people pass
And say
“Customers will pay
Good money for that rose
But, I suppose
This other lot should be thrown away”.
‘Tis man who should count the cost
Of nature’s lost
Embrace
As we on keyboards clack
For we lack
The will
To stand still
And listen to the bird,
For the word
heard is “progress”, symbolised by
Doctored flowers, that in a vase, die.
Of Churchyards and Owls
Walking through the churchyard, as dusk fell, I heard the note of my old friend the owl. On reaching home I closed my bedroom window for it was a chilly evening. However, despite my double-glazing, the cold cry of the owl penetrated into my modern flat.
Ever since moving to the Upper Norwood area in late 1997, I have always been conscious of the owl. Sometimes he disappears for protracted periods but, as sure as eggs are eggs “the fatal bellman” reappears.
Hearing the owl reminds me of my poem which is, appropriately enough entitled “Owl”,
K Morris - Poet 