Were we always to say what we mean,
Then the well oiled machine
Would falter
And things would alter,
For a single lapse
May lead to a collapse
Revealing the hard
Behind the façade.
Many a writer does hide
Inside
His art.
His secrets oft go to the grave,
Though the brave
Cry over art.
It is too hot.
Girls and boys
Sweat,
But have not
The energy for fleeting joys,
Let alone regret
Lately, I’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed by the latest terror attacks in the UK, which as we all know too well, are simply the latest chapters in a much longer story. Despite believing in the power of the pen to overcome the sword and in the power of the individual to change the world, or at least influence the world around them, I am starting to doubt. These attacks are so random and unpredictable and the victims ordinary people…it’s all becoming quite impossible to fathom.
For those of you who have been following my blog for some time, you’ll know that I’ve been part of a global blogging group 1000 Voices for Compassion, which started up after the attacks on Paris. However, I’d already been speaking out against terrorism following the shooting down of Malaysian Airlines Flight MH17 in the Ukraine and the Lindt Cafe Siege in Sydney. Journalists covering…
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I have just been reading of the Royals visit to Grenfell tower,
and the welcome they did receive.
I see the power
Of a non-political head of state, to represent the unity
Of the community
And grieve
That you do not perceive
The Monarchy as I do
But construe
Them as hangers-on
Who’s time is long gone.
Every week
I hear you speak
The same old guff.
I have had enough
But politeness makes me hold my tongue
For a word carelessly flung
Can cause lasting distress and bile
To often provokes a vile
Reply
Causing acquaintance to die
In a gutter of abuse.
I think you obtuse
But being wise
And somewhat to my own surprise
Hold my peace.
Often I hear
That one can take
A sow’s ear
And a silk purse make.
This appears to be the common view
So, perforce it must be true …!
Two lonely rivers met
And being single
Did their waters mingle.
They are lonely yet
I have known you for a long time:
Women,, and wine, and rhyme.
The prospect is most fine:
With women, and rhyme, and wine.
The hill does gently decline:
With women,, and rhyme, and wine.
Yet the world is surely divine:
With women, and rhyme, and wine.
—
Note: I was influenced, I believe, when composing the above poem, by Ernest Christopher Dowson’s “The Poet’s Road” which runs thus:
“Wine and woman and song,
Three things garnish our way:
Yet is day over long.
Lest we do our youth wrong,
Gather them while we may:
Wine and woman and song.
Three things render us strong,
Vine leaves, kisses and bay;
Yet is day over long.
Unto us they belong,
Us the bitter and gay,
Wine and woman and song.
We, as we pass along,
Are sad that they will not stay;
Yet is day over long.
Fruits and flowers among,
What is better than they:
Wine and woman and song?”
To live and die
As a fly,
Knowing only this wood, this sky.
Yet here am I
Once she had ideals.
Now her fate she seals
In late night deals
And slip-off heels
On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year
‘Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
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K Morris - Poet 