Walking through fallen leaves
In the familiar churchyard
The poet sees
The hard
Fact that all
Leaves fall.
Fallen Churchyard Leaves
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Tag Archives: the natural world
5 Degrees
5 degrees.
Wet trees
Drip yesterday’s rain.
The autumn came
Bringing acorns
And precious rain
To woodland lawns.
On Hearing Birdsong
On hearing birdsong
I am glad
That I am here
To hear
Their sad, glad song.
We die
And our love
Dies with us.
No, it lives on
When we are gone
In those we love.
And the birds
Sing on
With no care
For where
We have gone.
Eternity
On my walks
I often find
That inner talk
Distracts my mind.
Then, the breeze
Rustles Autumn leaves
Reminding me
Of eternity.
Nature
We may try to deny
That Mother Nature is there.
But the bur
On our clothes.
The prick of the rose.
And twigs in our hair.
Show what we know,
That nature is there.
There is Part of the Park
There is part
Of the park
Mysterious and dark
Where wind sings
Always to me.
And I
Am free.
My Poem “A Summer Butterfly” Included on the World Poetry Reading Series for 21 July
I am pleased to announce that my poem A Summer Butterfly has been included on the World Poetry Reading Series for 21 July. A Summer Butterfly is read by Ariadne Sawyer and can be found approximately 6 minutes into the podcast https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-for-july-21-2022/.
I listened to the show using Google Chrome. However, other browsers should also work. You don’t need an account on Mixcloud in order to listen.
You can find a transcript of my poem here https://kmorrispoet.com/2022/07/05/a-summer-butterfly/.
A Summer Butterfly
A butterfly
On a
Sunny day
Flew by
My Labrador.
A snap of jaw.
And our summer chat
Of this and that.
All things must die
As the summer butterfly.
Death’s jaws will close
On man and rose.
You and I
Are but butterflies
Who love and laugh
And then must pass.
Spider
She did remark,
In the corner of his room
A spider spinning.
In his dark art, a thought,
A poet caught
Of average room
And spider spinning.
Birds in the Early Morning
When, at 6 am, I
Walked in the woods nearby,
Expecting to hear the birds,
(As I have often heard
Them sing in early morn).
Few birds I heard
For as I slept
The dawn
She crept
Softly by.
K Morris - Poet 