Cold hands.
Man stands
Gazing into the abyss
Of bliss.
The rain drums.
2016 comes
Ever near.
The new year.
Think?
Lost in drink.
The link
Is broken
The door no longer open
To admit the old.
The young and bold
Hold
The future, or so they say
And the old year ebbs away.
Girl’s long scented hair
For a moment there.
Then she is gone
And I continue on.
—
As a visually impaired guide dog owner, I frequently accept (and sometimes request) assistance from the public when crossing busy roads. The above was sparked by the young woman who assisted me in crossing the road earlier today.
I would like to wish all my readers a very happy new year. Wherever you are in the world, may you find contentment in 2016.
Very best wishes
Kevin
A wonderful poem and one of my all time favourites. Kevin
A brief summary and analysis of a classic Thomas Hardy poem
Thomas Hardy’s novels often overshadow his poetry, although a handful of poems from his vast poetic output remain popular in verse anthologies. One such case is ‘The Darkling Thrush’, which was first published on 29 December 1900. Poised on the cusp of a new year (and even, depending on your view of the matter, a new century), Hardy reflects in this poem on the events of the nineteenth century, his own feelings about the future, and his attitude to nature. Here is ‘The Darkling Thrush’, followed by a brief analysis of its features.
The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate,
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
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“Russian Women Online”,
I am fine
As I am
without your spam!
Go away
I will not pay.
Whatever you say
About beautiful women.
My money I will not be binning.
I will save my hard earned cash.
There you go, into the trash!
Today I will not be sinning.
Goodbye Russian women!
—
The above was prompted by an email received in my spam folder today (29 December 2015). I can not for the life of me think why Gmail placed this missive in junk mail …!
Today I visited the ruins of Allerton Towers, in the company of my mum, her partner and the 2 dogs. On returning to my mum’s home and feeling curious regarding the ruined mansion, I Googled Allerton Towers and came across this ghost story pertaining to “The Grey Lady”, who is reputed to haunt the old house and grounds, (http://www.slemen.com/allertontower.html). I am sorry to say we saw only dogs and their owners during our walk, no “Grey Lady” did we spy. The above story does, none the less make for interesting reading.
Kevin
On seeing the stormy sky
The poet thinks “man must die”.
He sees the young girl bloom
And says “she is destined for the tomb”.
Oh let us gather wild flowers
And not waste our powers
Trapped in ivory towers.
Beware the scholar’s domed head
For we are soon dead.
May our spirit fly
Ere we die
And are lost in endless sky.
An interesting article in The Guardian regarding the publication of a new critical edition of Hitler’s Mein Kampf (My Struggle). The copyright pertaining to Mein Kampf (held by the Bavarian government) runs out at the end of the year (hitherto it was prohibited to produce new editions of Hitler’s book), however anyone conducting a rudimentary internet search could find Mein Kampf in it’s entirety with unofficial editions being strewn across the web.
The decition to produce a new critical edition has split the Jewish community. Some argue that the publication of a scholarly edition is the best way of countering anti-Semitism, while others contend that the work remains dangerous and should not be republished in any form.
For the article please visit http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/dec/26/hitler-main-kampf-wary-welcome-british-jews
Leaves blown at night.
Delight
Sorrow.
This moment we borrow
And think of a tomorrow
That may never come.
We run
Perchance have fun
Then, ‘Tis done.
—
Walking my dog at around 4:30 on a blustery December evening, I was conscious of the fallen leaves blowing around me. This gave rise to the above poem.
Kevin
K Morris - Poet 