I heard my entry phone go.
I said, “hello?”
He said, “Its Tesco”.
I replied, “its not me!”
After, I thought I ought
To have said, “its not for me”.
For I am, of course “I” or “me”.
But, you see
I was not thinking of my identity
At the time,
For my mind
Was caught up in rhyme!
On 4 December, I appeared on the World Poetry Café. During my segment, I read Ernest Dowson’s “They are Not Long” and Sir Walter Ralegh’s “Even Such is Time”. In addition, I read a number of my own poems and talked about my writing process.
To listen to the show please follow this link World Poetry Cafe Dec 4 2025 with Kevin Morris by VictorSchwartzman | Mixcloud. My bit appears approximately 20 minutes into the podcast.
My thanks to Ariadne Sawyer for hosting me on the World Poetry Café.
The Autumn dark is coming down.
One day I will drown
And leave the night
And the light.
For I am bound by dark
And will not fight
The inevitable night.
There once was an elderly writer known as Ted
Who said, “burn all my works when I’m dead!”
His young lover Divine
Said, “they’re all online!
With the picture of the vicar in our bed …!”
When a beautiful young lady from Harwich
Went and boarded a first class carriage,
And a ticket collector named Glass
Said, “this ticket is second class!”.
She said, “but I am proposing marriage …!”
I know an extremely pretty young barmaid
And many a game we have played.
When I say to her, “Bess,
Shall we play draughts or chess?”,
She winks at me does that barmaid …!
It is humid.
The forecast predicts thunder.
I long for cooling rain
And wonder
Whether the great Thor
Will roar
Or will the weather forecast
Be wrong again!
I awoke to rain today.
I will walk where water drips
From spring leaves and flowers
For time slips away
And all our little hours
Are brief as butterflies,
Who flit by without a sigh.
I’ve just met a lady called Honey
Who was dressed as the Easter bunny.
When I offered her some lettuce
She said, “that’s not my fetish!
But sir, this bunny does love money!”
On a spring day
Our shadows passed
Over the woodland grass.
We discussed logs
And how they decay.
As our dogs
Lost themselves in play
I envied them
And pitied we men.
K Morris - Poet 