Skin soft as silk.
Giver of milk
But not yet
For you must get
What you need
In order to succeed
Or feed your greed.
Seed contained in a glove.
But one day a tree may shoot
From another route.
I would
That it’s fruit be good
And bathed in love.
‘Tis true
The sun
Will still run
Through heaven, when all is said and done
And the birds Will
Continue to trill
As morning doth break
On a brave act, or a profound mistake …
Rain and birds
Together heard.
Their sound
Profound
Mingles, in joy beyond words.
Reaching for the alarm that wakes
He takes
A step into the unknown.
Breakfast will, he thinks, Be followed by leaving home
For work.
No sudden jerk
Of fear,
Just the passing thought, death is always near
And one day all will
Be still
A serpent with a smooth tongue
Did feel
The heel
Of a girl’s shoe
As through
The grass
It slithered.
The girl quivered
But knew not she had been stung
By one who lives among
Rakes in suits
Who’s boots
Will trample a maiden’s heart.
She had not the art
To comprehend
The depths to which man will descend
Nor how he does attain his fell ends.
Carpet by heels worn.
Man’s heart torn
Asunder
By blades that plunder
His nightly slumber.
To and fro
The dancers go.
Ever changing,
Exchanging
Well worn words.
Love my friend, is for the birds …
The Poetry Book Society (PBS), founded by poet T. S. Eliot is to close following the withdrawal of Arts Council funding. For the Guardian article please visit (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jun/03/cuts-hit-poetry-book-society-to-close).
I will be attending the Y-Tuesday poetry reading event on Tuesday 7 June, at 7:45 pm where I will be reading some of my poetry. If you are in the vicinity please do pop in to hear me and other poets reading our work. For details of Y-Tuesday events please visit (https://www.facebook.com/ytuesday.poetry).
Kevin
A fascinating piece in “The Guardian” regarding the Future Libraries Project, where authors submit a manuscript which is securely stored and only read in 100 years from now (2114). The ceremony for handing over manuscripts takes place in a Norwegian forest who’s trees will be cut down in 100 years time to make paper on which the books submitted to the project will be printed. The latest author to hand over his manuscript is David Mitchell.
For the article please visit https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/may/30/david-mitchell-buries-latest-manuscript-for-a-hundred-years
The wind blows today.
It will go away
In time leaving me refreshed,
Yet my soul can not for long rest.
Children lark about
And shout.
I doubt
My brain
Which runs like an express train
Will
For long be still.
Listening to the leaves
I perceive
A need to write.
There is delight, in the wind chimes which on occasion sound,
Speaking of things more profound
Than I who am tied to this shifting ground.
The wind has dropped now
And I wonder how
My poem will be understood
By those who would
Try
To find meaning in words that erratically fly,
From one who sits listening to a barking dog, who cares not
A jot
For what
I have to say
On this sunny, wind swept day.
K Morris - Poet 