I leave the pub behind
And find
In the song of birds
The truth not heard
In the words
Of men
Who prate and hate.
So I listen to birds
And purifying rain
For there is no hate
In birds or rain.
Birds and Men
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Tag Archives: the natural world
The Church and the Tree
Touching this tall old tree
I wonder what feels real to me:
This church of cold stone
Where people go to show their religiosity,
Or this rough bark
Warm from the spring sun.
It is the bark
That calls to my heart
And this gentle sun.
I Love the Wood
I long for the wet woods
Where the rainy breeze
Is full of flowers and leaves
And the damp earth
Speaks of death and rebirth.
I love the wood
When birds sing after rain.
I will surely die,
And Mother Nature will remain.
But we are forever part
Of nature’s great heart.
Her vital cycle of birth,
Death and good earth.
A Garden in Early Spring
In early spring
A flock of pigeons takes flight.
A blackbird sings.
I could decide to go inside
As the temperature has dropped.
Yet, the blackbird has not stopped
His song, which brings delight.
So I stay as the day
Moves, imperceptibly, towards the night.
The Tinkle of Windchimes
The tinkle of windchimes
And birdsong heard in my mum’s garden
Brought into my mind
Life’s great beauty, and thoughts of mortality.
In the Hospital Garden, in Early Spring
In early spring,
In the hospital garden
No birds sing.
Or perhaps its me
With my thoughts of mortality
Who fails to hear
When they sing to men.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris.
Twilight
Just a single, solitary, call,
From a bird heard in the hospital garden
As the twilight
Was swallowed by night.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
Birds Heard on a Hospital Ward
I heard birds in the hospital.
I thought their calls
Came to me through solid walls.
But the doctor said
The birds I heard where recorded sound.
Yet it was profound
For when I am dead
There will be no sound to hear
Of birds or friend’s words.
I cast no shadow on the ward
So will walk in sunshine
While there is time.
Prams
I see babies in prams pass me by.
The seasons merge into 1
And I sigh for what is going fast,
And may already be gone.
The sound of carefree children touches me.
I must grope for hope
When women give birth on warming earth
To children who will not see
The season’s cycle as it should be.
Mating Season
I heard foxes in the night
There screams of delight
Mingled with wild wind and rain
As I lay alone
Listening for the owl’s lonely cry.
K Morris - Poet 