I would like to wish all of my readers a very happy new year. Thank you for reading, commenting and liking my poetry and other posts during 2022, and thanks also to those of you who have read my books.
I hope 2023 is a good year for you.
Very best wishes. Kevin
A very happy new year to you all. May 2021 be a much better year than the previous one!
Very best wishes. Kevin
Perhaps one ought
Not to look back.
Yet I walk
That old, familiar track.
I pass the flats,
(Once a bustling, hustling pub).
And remember idle talk
Over Sunday grub.
Having passed the flats
I retrace my tracks.
For one can not go back,
To what is long since gone.
A rhyme
Captures a moment in time
Of joy or pain,
Which will never come again.
The poet may change
His original rhyme
But past time
He can not change.
The past
Is a sleeping dog.
As, when it wakes
It barks
And frequently bites.
When a young man who liked nostalgia
Developed a very bad case of neuralgia,
He consulted a sage
From a previous age,
Who cured him of all his nostalgia!
In 2016, I published my poem, Squire and Peasant, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/05/12/squire-and-peasant/.
The above is one of the poems I am minded to read at a poetry reading on Thursday 4 July. This will be a private event (unfortunately not open to the public), hence I wanted to share this poem here in order that it may be more widely enjoyed.
Kevin
Kevin
I laugh
When they say
That you can discern
History’s path.
Each twist and turn
Of the track
Leads us back
To looking-glass
House where, be it early or late
The fire still burns, in the same old grate
And the king and queen seldom, if ever learn.
Close to the end of the woodland path,
Shortly before you join the thoroughfare,
There
I ran my hands across the tree.
It’s rough bark kindled in me
A child’s wish to an impression make
Of that tree, and to take
It away with me.
Had I crayons, perhaps I would have captured that bark
On pristine
Paper, creating a clean
Bark rubbing
Leaving the tree as before.
Yet as I stood
Close to the edge of that wood
I thought how one can neither restore
Nor rub away
Yesterday.
Our memory is like a garden, where we spend many hours
Watering fragrant flowers.
Yet sometimes we succeed
In fertilising a weed.
Indeed
We take a perverse delight in watching it grow
Much though
We deny that it is so!
Let not the weed
Seed
Say I,
But learn from it, then let it die,
For if it’s growth you do not control
It will succeed
And choke your soul.
K Morris - Poet 