I stood aside, allowing him to pass,
Along the woodland path.
“Thank you” he said.
I
Dordled,
Allowing
Him
To
Get
Well
Ahead.
I seek the company of men
When in the mood
For repartee,
But why do they intrude
On sky,
And tree
And me?
Soon baubles and toys
Will intrude, while the day’s noise
Will wrap me in petty care
Yet, on awakening there
Where
The birds, as they always are
Drowning out lorry and car.
This wet tree.
These birds,
This rain
And me.
I am, For a moment, free.
A bird in my garden sang.
A pang
(I no not why)
Into my heart sprang.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that I will die,
Though birds will still sing
Be it winter or spring,
And bring
A melancholy joy
To girl and boy.
The tears start
When nature’s beauty overpowers.
Countless hours
Has many a poet spent,
His efforts bent
On personifying mother nature,
The creator,
Who has no heart
Yet lives and breathes
Through his art.
The scent of leaves
Temporarily relieves
My introspection.
There can be no excuse
For dejection
When Autumn is here to seduce
Me with her heady scent.
I repent
Of fruitless hours spent
Over keyboards
While the squirrel hoards
Nuts in the nearby park
And the clear, sharp bark
Of a fox
Says “a pox
On your writing.
You ought in the outdoors to be delighting.
Take a walk in yonder wood
For the air
There is good
And Autumn fair
Is warmed by a gentle sun.
Soon winter will come.
Have done
With melancholy thought
For time, once passed can not be caught
And every second is dearly bought”.
Will Autumn come as it should
With strong winds to shake the wood?
Thus far I have found
Only a few conkers on the ground.
Most, being small
I let lie where they did fall,
But three with me now
Are sitting, far removed from mighty bough.
I wonder, will they be discovered when I am gone?
What a strange question to ponder on!
I have seen no acorns yet,
The oak’s fruit that stirs regret.
Memories of a time long since past
When I would wonder the forest vast
With my grandfather kind
Seeking acorns to find.
Autumn is here
Yet the time of year
Seems wrong.
The sun’s rays strong
Have harried the woods too long
and I, like nature am bemused
About the reason
For this confusion in the season.
The wind came yesterday
Blowing useless thoughts away.
And the trees they whispered to me,
Speaking of what it is to be free
A drowsy summer’s hum.
A bee does come
And settles
Into pettles
Soft and moist.
He has no choice
Other than to sweet nectar drink
And into bliss, sink.
The forest peaceful lies
Under English skies.
The rain will come
Ere the sun
Casts it’s rays,
As in bygone days
On pools
Where schools
Of fish splash
And seeing the herron, dash
For cover
Lest he discover
Their woodland joy
And with a stab precise, their life destroy.
I Seek for grace,
In nature’s ever changing face.
Yesterday
the sheeting rain chased empty thought away.
This morning, The wind purifies,
Birds sing in sunny skies.
At times, my spirit flies
Or goes asighing with the breeze.
Would
That I could
Soar high up in the trees
And be lost among the leaves.
K Morris - Poet 