I was staying in Germany, near Leipzig a few years ago in order to go to a concert in the Thomaskirke. On our way back to the hotel, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. I was inspired to write the following poem.
The Storm
A lovely day, the sun was warm It had shone on us since dawn. The heat oppressed us all the day, Even as in bed we lay.
We went to Leipzig in the heat. In Thomaskirke we took our seat To hear St John by J.S.Bach. It did not end till after dark.
When we emerged it was in rain. We rushed to find our car again. The thunder rolled across the sky, The lightning flashed, but now we’re dry.
We drove toward Chemnitz and saw O’er Dresden, flashes like the War. Was it ’45 again With bombs falling like the rain?
The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed. We thought that we were surely doomed’ It must at least be Armageddon, Such brightness in a sky so leaden.
The storm went on for several hours Showing nature’s awesome powers And even though it scared us some We were impressed. It struck us dumb.
I recently welcomed Kevin Morris to my blog where he kindly told us a bit about himself. I have read his latest poetry book, and here is my review.
Kevin writes what I call ‘real’ poetry. I don’t like the so-called free verse that most poets seem to write nowadays. Free of what? Rhyme and rhythm. Both are what make a poem. Without those, it might just as well be a piece of prose, albeit in arbitrary lines.
Kevin’s poems rhyme, by and large, and they have rhythm. The poetry in this book is beautiful, and makes you think.
As implied by the title, the poetry is both serious and amusing. I love Kevin’s limericks. They are always witty and sometimes a bit naughty.
The serious poems are lovely and have deep thoughts behind them. This is definitely a poetry book to read many times over,
Today I welcome one of my favourite poets to my blog.
Kevin Morris is a poet who writes both humorous and serious poetry. I will hand over to Kevin now, and he can explain about his poetry much better than I can.
Welcome, Kevin. Please tell us about your poetry.
I have, for as long as I can remember, been a lover of poetry. The first poem I recollect having read is Alfred Noyes’s “The Highwayman”, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43187/the-highwayman. I was (and remain)entranced by the rhythm of the poem and how it matches the beat of the horse’s feet, as the Highwayman approaches the inn:
“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door”.
I find good rhyming poetry profoundly beautiful, and much of my own work is written in rhyme. Take, for example my poem “Autumn Fly”, which appears in my forthcoming collection, “Light and Shade: Serious (and Not so Serious) poems”.
“An autumn fly Buzzes around my head. Summer is dead Yet will not die. Seasons pass. We are brittle as glass, This fly And I”.
Whilst sitting in my study, in late autumn, a fly began buzzing around my head. This brought to mind the mortality of this tiny insect and also that of man. Hence the above poem was born.
I have many happy memories of strolling through the woods with my grandfather and it was from him that I gained my love of nature. This affection for nature was, I believe encouraged further by my reading of poems such as Keats “Autumn”. Much of my own poetry touches on the theme of nature. Take, for example my poem “Rain”.
“The rain Patters amongst these leaves. I listen again And ascertain That it’s the breeze Midst these trees. Yet it sounds the same As rain”.
As with “Autumn Fly”, “Rain” came to me naturally as a rhyming poem. I could not have expressed what I wished to convey had I utilised free verse, as rhyme comes naturally to me, whilst other forms of poetic expression do not.
Whilst there exists some wonderful poetry composed in free verse, to me much free verse is poetic prose rather than true poetry. Many poems written in free verse are beautiful. However, for me their beauty resides in their poetic prose, they are not, in my opinion poetry as I understand it (I.E. with real rhyme and metre).
One can not always be serious, and section 2 of “Light and Shade” is devoted to my humorous verses. Take, for example my poem “Jane’s Sad Refrain”:
“A young lady named Jane Sang a most mournful refrain. I could repeat her song, As it wouldn’t take long, But it’s copyright of Jane!”
To conclude. Poetry is, for me about rhyme and its rhyme with which I feel most comfortable. There is, as I said, some wonderful free verse poetry out there. However, for me at least much of this (but by no means all) is poetic prose rather than poetry proper.
(“Light and Shade: Serious (and Not so Serious) Poems”, by Kevin Morris will be available in the Amazon Kindle store, and as a paperback in July 2020).
Thank you, Kevin, for telling us more about your poetry. I agree with you about free verse. It’s something I’ve thought for a long time. I have written poetry that doesn’t rhyme, but it always has rhythm. And I love the poem about Jane!
I would encourage everyone to search out your poetry books and to visit your blog.
Good luck with this latest one. I look forward to its publication.
If you have any comments to either myself, or Kevin, please enter them in the comments box. Feel free to reblog this.
March wind howls like wolves Stalking herds of antelope But I am safe inside.
Gentle breezes sigh, Making all the flowers dance, And wheat fields ripple.
The wind can destroy, Downing trees and causing Immense destruction.
I’ve tried to give different aspects of the wind in these three haiku.
Have you written any haiku? Did you find it easy or difficult to stick to the required format? I’d love to know what you wrote about and whether you posted them online.
Some time ago, I posted a poem written by my Mum. I think it’s time for another one. She only started writing them when she was getting on in years, but the family all thought they were great fun.
Everything is so much further Then it ever used to be. The little shop around the corner Seems twice as far to me.
The buses were always punctual I could go with the greatest of ease. But now they seem to be early And my legs do just as they please.
The stairs are made so much steeper I’m flat out when I get to the top Amd the print in the papers is so small That my eyes are beginning to pop.
I can’t do with the way people mumble. I only hear half of the tale. They tell me the news in a whisper, Or shout till I feel I could wail.
The dresses are made so much tighter Especially round waist and hips. And diets are all in the fashion. No goodies, like good fish and chips.
Even people are different this day and age They all seem to look so much younger. Yet people my age seem old and withdrawn And look to be dying of hunger.
I met with a friend the other day. She really looked old and withered. I’m sure I look younger than that, I thought, And I know I’m not half so bothered.
Everything is so much further Then it ever used to be. The little shop around the corner Seems twice as far to me.
The buses were always punctual I could go with the greatest of ease. But now they seem to be early And my legs do just as they please.
The stairs are made so much steeper I’m flat out when I get to the top Amd the print in the papers is so small That my eyes are beginning to pop.
I can’t do with the way people mumble. I only hear half of the tale. They tell me the news in a whisper, Or shout till I feel I could wail.
The dresses are made so much tighter Especially round waist and hips. And diets are all in the fashion. No goodies, like good fish and chips.
Even people are different this day and age They all seem to look so much younger. Yet people my age seem old and withdrawn And look to be dying of hunger.
I met with a friend the other day. She really looked old and withered. I’m sure I look younger than that, I thought, And I know I’m not half so bothered.
I looked in the mirror to see for myself. For I’m really not ready to go on the shelf. But a grey-haired old woman was looking at me. Even mirrors are not like they used to be.
If you enjoyed my Mum’s poem please leave a comment in the comments box.
Feel free to reblog. I would appreciate a link back to my blog if you feel like it.
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