It is a will-o’-the-wisp, followed by the frightened or blind,
Who themselves bind
To the delusion, that the mist does not forever close
Over mouth and nose.
There are few posies for the departed,
Just an idea started
In the mind
Of those who would salvation find
In a deep freeze,
Designed to please
The ego
Of people who fear to go
Down that dark track
From whence none come back
In order to save time, I often employ the facility to respond to posts (including comments left on my own site) using email. This morning, while responding by email, I have noticed that my comments are not being delivered. I’ve received the following automated response from WordPress in all instances:
“We ran into a problem with your recent comment reply by email. Specifically, we weren’t able to find your comment in the email.
We’ll do our best to get this fixed up. In the meantime, you may want to comment directly on the post”.
In all cases, my comment clearly appeared in the body of the email. While I have gone to all posts in question and commented directly on them, this is time consuming and it occurs to me that others may be having the same problem? Am I the only one plagued by WordPress gremlins this morning? Any feedback gratefully received!
Many thanks,
Kevin
A study shows that those who swear often are frequently highly intelligent:
“The overall finding of this set of studies, that taboo fluency is positively correlated with other measures of verbal
fluency, undermines the [normal] view of swearing”. (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-3949986/Is-swearing-sign-intelligence-People-curse-larger-vocabulary-don-t.html).
I am no plaster saint and will use the odd expletive from time to time. It is, however almost always under my breath and not something of which I am proud. In my (admittedly unscientific experience) those who employ profanity in their everyday interactions with others do, almost invariably possess a limited vocabulary which accounts for their inability to communicate without utilising swear words. In short I am unconvinced by the findings of this research.
As a mannequin in a shop window, at which people stare,
She stands in the glare
Of the bedroom light.
Once, such things did excite.
Now all is null
Or on occasions, he
Takes a dull,
Almost professional interest in yet another she.
Gazing at the girl, in her birthday suit
He thinks on the route
Cause of his obsession with mannequins.
Loneliness or sins?
Where begins
A man’s cursed traverse
Of the path to the ever lasting bonfire
Where desire
Ends in mechanical sport
With a mannequin bought
Out of boredom.
He knows there is no true joy in hoardom
For him or her.
Still, in despair
He takes a half-hearted pleasure there.
Shall we speak as though we will go on forever?
I saw a feather
Borne on a summer’s breeze.
It did please
Me
To see
So carefree
A thing
Dance on the balmy air.
The breeze became a gale,
Then came the hail.
The feather
Was by the tempest tossed,
And forever
Lost
In that passing storm.
A man, alone, in a room, listening to a distant bird.
Not a word
Of his overheard.
The neighbours are friendly enough, not prying
Or spying.
Liberty’s flower
Blooms an hour
But he has heard tell
It may be dying.
There was a young man called Jack
Whose view of the world was black.
When they asked him “why?”
He said, with a sigh,
“because I always take the flak …!”
There was a young lady called Gale
Who wrote to her lover in braille.
He said with a look most perplexed,
“Really, I’m vext,
For my fingers,can not read braille …!”
The gods have left Mount
Olympus. Zeus grits his teeth
At the lack of belief,
While Venus haggles over a discount
On second hand clothes.
And Heaven only knows
Where the world goes.
The click clack of stilettos.
Girls from ghettos
Feet are lost
In carpets they could never afford,
While a discreet board
Shows the cost
Of most things.
The lift bell pings.
What goes up must go down.
The receptionist, eyes lost in her book
Gives a slight frown.
Why bother to look?
For of course
A nod is as good as a wink
To a blind horse.
K Morris - Poet 