Numerous connections.
Disections
Of selves.
The goblin delves deep.
I wonder
Do only elves weep?
Goblins and Elves
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Monthly Archives: June 2017
A Connection
A connection
With no fear of acceptance
Or rejection.
As there is nothing to accept
Or reject
Save for that
Of which we shall not speak
Dante Among the Machines: Margaret Oliphant’s ‘The Land of Darkness’
A fascinating look at distopian literature. I haven’t read any of the books mentioned here (other than “The Time Machine”).
In this week’s Dispatches from the Secret Library, Dr Oliver Tearle considers a curious dystopian story by Queen Victoria’s favourite novelist
The terms ‘dystopian’ and ‘ecology’ both gained currency in the mid-nineteenth century, although ‘dystopia’ has been traced back even earlier. The Victorian era witnessed the emergence of a new genre of science fiction, dystopian literature, which would produce several classic novels of the twentieth century. Victorian writers used this new genre to fashion responses to the dramatic social and technological changes they were living through, chiefly the discovery of Darwinian evolution and the rise of industrialisation in the period. The changing landscape of Victorian Britain played an important part in how authors of early dystopian works addressed questions about what we now call ‘the environment’: in both Richard Jefferies’ After London (1885) and H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine (1895), the crowded smoggy metropolis of contemporary London…
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This Internet Thing
“This internet thing
Can only immorality bring.
I mean,
Imagine the scene
Where Jack can be Jill
(and almost certainly will),
For who can see behind the screen
Of this new fangled computer machine?”
In my day we had top shelf magazines
And watched scenes
On video
(on second thoughts best not go
There)!
Anyway I swear
That society is going to pot,
(have you got
Any by the way? …)”.
Update to my About page
I have updated my “About” page to include details of my recently published collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”.
Links to all of my published works can be found here, https://newauthoronline.com/about/.
Kevin
There Was A Young Man From Kent
There was a young man from Kent
Who all his money spent,
On women and booze,
And expensive shoes.
But he gave them up for Lent!
The Value of Poetry
Do say
How much would you pay
For a book of 92 pages
(It took me ages
And many rewrites,
Oft late into the night
To get my poetry right!)
Do you care, dear reader how I toiled
Over the midnight oil
To produce this slim volume?
Which will grace your room
(or maybe not, its true
For it all depends on one’s point of view)!
Many a man will his sorrows drown
In a night on the town,
And choose
To Spend his cash
In a manner most rash,
And will selfishly refuse
To pay for a poet’s booze …!
There Was A Young Lady Called Claire
There was a young lady called Claire
Who point blank refused to swear.
She met a man named Dan,
Who had an extremely naughty plan,
Which nearly made Claire swear!
Sugar
From time to time the newspapers and other media carry stories regarding so-called “sugar dating”. “Sugar Dating” entails a man (usually called a “Sugar Daddy”) providing ongoing financial support to a young woman (a “Sugar Babe”) in return for companionship and (almost always) the provision of sexual services. Frequently such articles glamorise “Sugar Dating”, while the more level headed among us see the practice for what it is (a form of prostitution).
The below poem makes no comment on the ethics of selling sex/prostitution. It does, however conflate “Sugar Dating” with prostitution/sex work.
As a point of information I have no interest in what consenting adults do in private (whether that be in the context of a loving relationship, a casual fling or paid sex). I do, however dislike the hypocrisy of pretending that there exists a difference between so-called “Sugar Dating” and sex work, hence this poem.
Sugar so sweet
Looks down on girls who, on ill shod feet
Patrol the cold and lonely street.
She turns up her delicate nose
At those who in cheap clothes
Under street lamps pose.
Sugar loves fine wines
And in expensive restaurants dines
With her darling Honey
Who spends his money
As though there were no tomorrow,
Thereby concealing some inner sorrow?
Sugar so sweet
And the girl on the street
Engage in the same profession.
Discretion
Is sugar’s middle name
But, in the end they are both the same.
—
I shall go and listen to the rain
I shall go
And listen to the rain
Pattering on my window pane,
For I know
Not when it will end
And silence descend
K Morris - Poet 