Walking home
The birds
Are content.
And me
For a while.
Content
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Tag Archives: the natural world
In The Middle Of This Wood
In the middle of this wood
I should
Be able to forget my care.
Fresh air
Is there
And the sun is high
In the cloudless sky
Yet I …
A plane flies by,
Then another one.
Perfect silence has gone.
For modernity we yearn
Then turn
Away.
When each day
Is full
Of dull
“Opportunities” to try …
I cry
Out for the old.
One can not hold
On to the past
But when the future is vast
Supermarket aisles
(where there are no denials
And one is free
To be
Anything or anyone),
I wonder where meaning has gone.
I linger here
As thoughts drear
Contend with birdsong.
I shall go ere long
Back to the street
Where a myriad feet
Have been,
But have they seen?
The pig does merely eat and drink.
Sometimes I think
That he
Has the advantage over me.
The Commons Debate
The Commons debate
Matters of weight.
While in spring
Flowers pleasure bring
Why This Disdain For The Rain?
Why this disdain
For the rain?
Tis the sense
That all our expense
Is vain
While the rain
Will remain.
K Morris Reading His Poem “Trees”
Me reading my poem “Trees”:
On Reading A Book About Poetic Craft
Birds
Render words
About poetic craft
Dull.
Am I daft
To seek
For knowledge in a book
When I could upon nature look
And hear the birds speak?
Rain
“Rain” was written some 4 years ago and does not currently appear in any of my books. Below is a recording of me reading the poem,
Were I To Walk Barefoot
Were I to walk barefoot
In these leaves
On this cold
Sunny day,
People would say
“He is mad”.
Yet I should be glad
To be free
As the windblown tree
“The Sigh That Heaves The Grasses” By A E Housman
The sigh that heaves the grasses
Whence thou wilt never rise
Is of the air that passes
And knows not if it sighs.
The diamond tears adorning
Thy low mound on the lea,
Those are the tears of morning,
That weeps, but not for thee.
—
I like the unsentimental nature of this poem. As with much of Housman’s verse, there is no sentimentality here. Some poets attribute human qualaties to the natural world. Not so Housman. In “The Sigh That Heaves The Grasses”, the forces of nature: (the air and the dew), have no awareness of themselves, nor of the dead who sleeps in the “low mound on the lea” The morning dew resembles human tears shed for the dead, but it is not (and can not) be so, for the dew is not human.
Butterfly
A butterfly flits from flower to flower.
It’s hour
‘Tis brief,
But man knows grief
K Morris - Poet 