My New Year Resolution

A bit late to be talking about this, I know, but the only thing I resolved to do was to write a poem a day. So far, I’ve managed it.

I’m posting today’s poem for you to see. I hope you like it.

I have no idea what prompted me to write this one!

The Local Dog Show.

Big dogs, small dogs,

Running after ball dogs.

Black dogs, white dogs,

Ready for a fight dogs.

Tall dogs, short dogs, 

And all kinds of sports dogs.

Good dogs, bad dogs,

Happy and sad dogs.

Short dogs, tall dogs,

Won’t come when you call dogs.

Skinny dogs, fat dogs,

This one and that dog.

All shapes and sizes

Hope to win some prizes.

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Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.

They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.

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The Littlest Christmas Tree

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

As it gets nearer to Christmas, Christmas trees are going up everywhere. Yes, I know some have been up since November! Here’s a poem about one.

The other trees looked oh so tall

To he, who was so very small.

And now it is the time of year

When everyone is filled with cheer.

Some men came for the tallest tree.

They took him with them, full of glee.

He was going into town.

In Market Square he’d wear a crown.

The littlest tree watched on as folk

Bought others. He was full of hope

That soon he would be picked to go

To a home where he’d put on a show.

But people passed him by and said,

“That one’s too small. Take another instead.”

His branches drooped. He was so sad,

Until a man came, with a lad.

Most other trees had long been sold.

The little tree stood in the cold.

“Look, there’s a small one,” said the lad

As he turned towards his dad

.

“It will just fit in our hall.

We can’t have one that is too tall.”

And so they came with spade and dug

Around his roots, all in the mud.

The littlest tree went home with them.

The lights and baubles gleamed like a gem.

He was so happy in that home

With all the love around him shown.

But Christmas passes soon away.

Then there came that dreaded day.

They took away the lights and balls.

“What happens now?” was all his thoughts.

He saw the tall trees passing by

On lorries, going off to die.

Their needles withering and brown

On their proud branches, drooping down.

Fear now filled the littlest tree.

“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”

But then the Dad came with a spade.

“I’ll not throw that for which we’ve paid.”

He dug a deep hole for the roots

And tamped it down with his big boots.

“We’ll let him grow, and then next year

We’ll bring him in again. Don’t fear.

And so the littlest tree was glad

That he’d been bought by this kind dad.

For now he has naught to fear.

He’s decorated every year.

I hope you enjoyed reading my poem.

If you would like to read more of my poetry, I have a poetry book recently published. It’s called Miscellaneous Thoughts and can be bought from your favourite store by clicking here where you can buy it from your favourite store. Or click on the book cover in the sidebar.

Autumn in Sussex. A Poem

I’m currently away in Southern Spain for a week and so I’m reblogging a poem I wrote some time ago. I hope you enjoy it.

The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.

Spring’s little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.

Now autumn’s bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.

The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.

The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.

And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.

We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.

But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain it lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.

This poem is in the poetry book I submitted to my publisher some time ago. I’m still waiting to hear if and when the book will be published. I’ll let you know when it becomes available.

Before I Fade… #Poetry

A beautiful poem by Anita Dawes. Pop over to read it.

Click here to go to her website to read it in full.

Spring. A Poem

Dandelions, like gold, cover the meadows.

Newborn lambs frolic in fields.

New leaves on the trees are casting their shadows

And winter’s cold grip quickly yields.

At the edges of woodland the primroses glow

And cowslips their scent fills the air.

Anemones dance when the breezes do blow

And birds sing with never a care.

Then bluebells and campions come into bloom

Their colour the blue of the sea.

The cuckoo, that herald of spring, will come soon,

His call echoing over the lea.

The song of the blackbird is like molten gold.

His notes are so pure and so clear.

Hearing him seems to banish the cold

And brings joy to all those who hear.

Robin is nesting, and other birds too,

The hedgehog is active once more.

The young of the deer and the badger and shrew

Play their games as in old days of yore.

The sun climbs higher and higher each day

Giving more of his heat and his light.

It sparkles like stars fallen into the bay.

All smile at the beautiful sight.

Hope and excitement come with each spring morn.

What blessings will come with this day?

New starts can begin once again with each dawn

And send us all hopeful away.

I’ve submitted a book of poetry, including this one, to my publisher. I am currently waiting to hear if they’ve accepted it. I’ll keep you posted about it.

If you like my poem, please leave a comment in the comments box. Even if you didn’t, you can still leave a comment.

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Maria and her husband, Jack, have moved into an old cottage. They want to furnish it with period furniture and buy a medieval table.

That’s when the mystery begins. Strange sounds in the night. Have they bought a haunted house? But a medium tells them it is not a ‘lost spirit’, but something else she does not recognise.

What is it that is causing them to lose sleep? The answer is more unexpected than anyone thought.

Love’s Sting

Today I’m posting a poem by my friend, Kevin Morris. Kevin writes rhyming poetry, and I love them.

Sometimes I have seen
The night light gleam
On angels whose wings
Have been clipped
By lustful lips,
Meaning love’s sting
Is not their thing.

Here is a link to Kevin’s website so you can read more of his poetry.

A New Book of Poetry by Kevin Morris

I am not a fan of modern poetry. I’ve said this before. I’m not saying many of these poems are not poetic, and beautiful in many ways, I just can’t recognise them as poetry. To me, poetry should have at least rhythm, if not rhyme. (And as someone who has written poetry, it is much more difficult to deal with rhythm and/or rhyme.) Many of these modern poems, or Free Verse, would not be recognised as poetry if they were not in lines. (In many cases, seemingly random line breaks.)

My friend, Kevin Morris, writes poetry that I recognise as poetry. He writes humorous verse along with other more philosophical ones, and they rhyme and have rhythm.

He has been featured, reading his own poetry, on Canadian Radio on more than one occasion.

He showcases some of his poetry on his blog. (address below).

I am delighted to announce to you all that Kevin has a new book of poetry out. It is called Leaving, and Other Poems.

Here is an example of one of the poems from his latest collection.

Blackbird

I see the sun shine,

Think on the divine

And the tick tock

Of the ever-present clock.

I hear the blackbird,

Who has heard

Nought of clock

And my fleeting word.

(Blackbird can be found in Leaving and Other Poems, which is available from Amazon in Kindle and paperback, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09R8NG6WQ/).

Connect with Kevin on the following sites:

Links:

Blog: https://kmorrispoet.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/drewdog2060_

The review below was of Further Selected Poems of K. Morris, also available on Amazon, as Leaving and Other Poems is only just out and it has not got any Amazon reviews yet.

Hannah Symonds

5.0 out of 5 stars

Funny yet thought provoking

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 29 March 2021

Here we have some funny but also thought provoking poems and limericks. I have to say I do prefer the limericks that are in this book as they are very amusing. My favourite poem in the book is Sparrows in the tree as we get a lot of sparrows in our garden, they are very common in the UK. Now every time I see a sparrow I will be thinking of this poem. My favourite limerick in here is There once was a turkey called Paul, just from the title alone you know it is going to be funny. I laughed my socks off on this limerick. Thank you once again to Kevin who has written some truly fantastic verses.

And a bit about Kevin.

Kevin was born in the city of Liverpool on 6th January 1969. Having attended The Royal School for the Blind and St. Vincent’s School for the Blind in Liverpool, he went on to read History and Politics at the University College of Swansea.

Having graduated with a BA (Joint Honours), and an MA in Political Theory, Kevin moved to London where he now lives and works.

Being visually impaired, Kevin uses screen reading software called Job Access with Speech (JAWS) which converts text into speech and braille, enabling him to use a Windows laptop.

Much of Kevin’s poetry is written in his home, which overlooks a historic park in Upper Norwood/Crystal Palace, a suburb of Greater London.

 Have you read any of Kevin’s poetry? Let me know in the comments box.

How about a free, exclusive story? You can get one, by me, by clicking on the link below.

Maria and her husband, Jack, have moved into an old cottage. They want to furnish it with period furniture and buy a medieval table.

That’s when the mystery begins. Strange sounds in the night. Have they bought a haunted house? But a medium tells them it is not a ‘lost spirit’, but something else she does not recognise.

What is it that is causing them to lose sleep? The answer is more unexpected than anyone thought.

Send me my free, exclusive story.

By clicking on the link, you will join my quarterly newsletter. But don’t worry, you can unsubscribe at any time, including as soon as you have downloaded the story, if you wish.

I won’t spam you, either. You will only get a newsletter every 3 months, but I might occasionally send you a present, or some exciting news, like a new release.

Winter. A poem

As it is now well into the winter season, here is a poem to celebrate it.

Winter

Everything dead.

Nothing moves.

The skies of lead

Press down on the roofs.

The icicles hang

Like teeth in the maw.

Each one a fang

In a wolf’s jaw.

The wind with his knife

Cuts through to the bone.

Soon snow will arrive

And the swallows have flown.

The trees that were green

Are now turned to white,

And everything’s seen

In a glowing bright light.

But look what I’ve found!

A tiny green shoot

Pushing up through the ground.

A snowdrop, no doubt.

It tells of the spring

Not so far away,

And how it will bring

All the flowers of May.

I hope you enjoyed reading my poem. I would love to hear what you think of it.

Do you enjoy poetry? Many people don’t, and poetry books, it is said, don’t sell very well, but I find that some of my most popular posts are my poems.

Please leave your comments in the comments box.

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My Welsh Holiday

In September I went to Pembrokeshire in South Wales for a week’s holiday. Now Wales is not noted for wall to wall sunshine, but this year it decided to be exceptional. Glorious sunshine. Shorts and tee-shirt weather.

Because I’ve written poems about Scotland and England, I decided to write one about Wales, and to share it with you all. I hope you enjoy it.

Croeso y Cymru

Land of the dragon,

And King Arthur’s court.

Land of Myrddin

Where Magic was wrought.

Land of the Druids,

Land of the bards.

Land of mystery

Her secret she guards.

Land of song

In chapel and pub.

Land of mountains

Soaring above.

Land of beaches

Next to the sea.

Children playing,

Laughter and glee.

Land of deep valleys

Known as Cwm.

Land of coal mines

In underground gloom.

Land of the last gold

In Britain is found,

The Romans dug it

From deep underground.

Land of Eisteddfod,

Of singing and dance.

In Llangollen’s valley

The whole world does prance.

Land of the Celts.

Land of the sheep.

On her green hillsides

The lambs they do bleat.

Land of the raven.

Land of the kite.

High soaring above

In graceful flight.

Land of steel.

Land of slate,

Dug from the mountains

Our roofs for to make.

Land of a language

With beauteous sound.

But try to pronounce it

Your tongue will be bound.

Land of the daffodil

Land of the leek.

Symbols of Welshness

For those who do seek.

Land of green hills,

Of valleys and dales.

Croeso y Cymru.

Welcome to Wales.

I would love to know what you think of this poem. Please post your comments in the comments box.

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Autumn in Sussex. A Poem

As it’s now Autumn, officially, I thought I’d post a poem about that season. I think I’ve already posted it previously, but I’ve new followers who haven’t seen it before.

So here it is.

The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.

Spring’s little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.

Now autumn’s bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.

The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.

The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.

And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.

We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.

But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain it lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.