We dance in a ring
In spring
When the roses bloom
And little think on winter’s tomb.
We cavort
In the summer sun
With unstaid maid
And give but little thought
To how the deer does run
Towards the setting sun.
In autumn, when leaves fall
We recall
Life’s joys and gall
Ere winter makes a bed
For lover’s head.
Summer is stinging bees
And flies on the cheese
That mother put out,
(Oh hear her shout)!
Summer is a gentle breeze
That ruffles the skirts
Of girls who tease
And flirt.
Summer is too much wine
And crossing a line
Though (at the time)
This seemed perfectly fine …
The sound of a blackbird
By me heard
As I savour Autumn’s scent,
After a day spent
In old London Town.
A myriad of leaves have fallen down
Today
(and trees too they say),
But it is all to soon
For ‘Tis only June …
—
(Note: This poem was prompted by my walk home from work, on 6 June. The evening felt Autumnal, despite it being early June).
Summer unlocks
Youthful passion.
Now ‘tis the fashion
For short frocks
And tiny socks.
Some girls barefoot go
For of a summer’s day,
They little know
That winter snow
Is on its way
I was pleased to receive the below review of my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Please note, the reviewer received a free electronic copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” in exchange for an honest review. I am grateful to JC for taking the time to read and review my book.
—
“From the very first poem, My Old Clock I Wind, the subject of this volume of poetry is known… we can stop the hands of a clock but not the hands of time.
And if there were a soundtrack to this book of poetry, it would be George Harrison’s, All Things Must Pass.
Every time I review one of Kevin’s books I am struck by the way he can take a subject matter and make it sound fresh to each poem, not one poem ever feels
like it is just filler material, each can stand on its own.
Although the main theme is of time marching on to an unknown destination, death, and decay, we must question that destination and fully embrace it if we
want to start living life to the fullest. These themes are interwoven in poems about the seasons, ecology, social media, the modern world versus the past.
A few of my favorite are Count Dracula Went Out to Dine, Feather, Twenty Seventeen, and Graveyard.
A notable mention is Daffodils; one would think there has been enough poetry about this flower but Kevin manages to place it in a new refreshing situation.
In another poem, we are invited for an Evening Walk along with Kevin’s guide dog, Trigger to Hampton Court.
I think this is a handsome volume of poetry and would make a good companion on any day no matter the weather”.
(JC’s website – https://nimbus432.wordpress.com/).
I spent a pleasant Friday evening with my friend Brian. At one point during the evening Brian mentioned the below poem, “Faith in Spring”, by Johann Ludwig Uhland (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludwig_Uhland). I must confess to having no German, nor had I heard of the poet who’s poem is reproduced below:
Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht,
Sie säuseln und wehen Tag und Nacht,
Sie schaffen an allen Enden.
O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang!
Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag,
Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag,
Das Blühen will nicht enden.
Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal:
Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Faith In Spring
The gentle winds are awakened,
They murmur and waft day and night,
They create in every corner.
Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Now, poor dear, fear not!
Now everything, everything must change.
The world becomes more beautiful with each day,
One does not know what may yet happen,
The blooming doesn’t want to end.
The farthest, deepest valley blooms:
Now, poor dear, forget the pain!
Now everything, everything must change.
As a small boy, I remember my grandfather telling me the below story, as to how the buds come to be sticky in springtime. I always assumed that he took the story from a collection of fairytales. However I have searched high and low and it would appear that he invented the tale to entertain me. However, if anyone does know the origin of the tale please do leave a comment. (I don’t remember the tale word for word so have used poetic license when retelling it).
—
In spring, a group of naughty gnomes (all unseen)
Did toadstools paint with glue
In order to catch the fairy queen.
‘Tis true
For my grandfather told me how the queen stuck fast
And, at last,
On her escape, she did say
To the gnomes “go your way
For I pardon your crime.
But, come springtime
You
Must paint the budds with your pots of glue.
Every year mind,
Or you shall find
That I am not so kind!”
So every year
Out of fear
Of what the fairy queen would do
Where they to forget,
The gnomes paint the budds with glue
(they are busy yet)!
Many thanks to Roberta Pimentel for publishing my poem, “As With The Bee To The Summer Rose”, http://robertapimentel.com/2017/02/05/as-with-the-bee-to-the-summer-rose/
The death of the year
Is near.
The last day of November
Is icey cold,
I wonder, what will December
Hold?
This freezing wind
Does rescind
Summer’s delights
As winter Makes toys
Of all our joys
The official start of winter is 1 December. However, given the extremely cold bouts we have been experiencing here in the UK, coupled with winter’s impending onset, I wanted to share with you a number of my poems with a wintry theme:
K Morris - Poet 