The below first appeared here on 15th August 2015:
“The passage of time muddles the brain, I don’t recall your name.
Perhaps Marie or Melisa, no matter its all the same.
Though some would consider it shocking, it meant absolutely nothing,
You kept on your stockings,
I feared my neighbours knocking.
It signified everything and nothing,
A girl in suspenders and stockings”.
There was a young man named More.
Who was extremely poor.
He wed an elderly billionaire
By the name of Claire.
It was her wealth he did adore!
In this special guest post, Lyubov Dali offers an analysis of Zamyatin’s We and Huxley’s Brave New World in light of their striking dystopian visions
What is freedom to you? Is it an ability to choose what degree to pursue, where to live, what to have for dinner, or is it that hip Pharrell tune? Would limiting these freedoms make you unhappy? More importantly, are you likely to ever be persuaded to volunteer your freedom, aspirations, identity to be sacrificed for the greater social good? Now before you dismiss us as lunatics, you might be surprised to learn that there were literally hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people who not so long ago willingly sacrificed their freedoms for the promise of a better society. Can it happen to us?
Brace yourself to hear not one, but two such stories: one of a society whose existence was shaped by…
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It is frequently said
That one should not speak ill of the dead.
It is a notion most quaint
That in death, a devil becomes a saint,
Yet we cross ourselves and say
“He has passed away.
May god have mercy on his soul”.
While inwardly we smile
For well we know
Where his soul did go …
I visited my doctor yesterday. He began with a series of questions regarding my lifestyle:
“Do you smoke?” he asked.
“No” I replied truthfully.
“Do you drink?” he said.
“Yes, I’ll have a large red wine, please” I replied.
Thursday 28th September is National Poetry Day here in the United Kingdom. To find out about National Poetry Day, including the events taking place, please visit https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk/.
I do not care
For this must
And dust
That thickens
The air.
The scent sickens
Me,
Yet I must
Agree
(as is so often foretold),
That we end our days in dust
And mould.
He delighted
In unrequited love.
A kiss uninvited
(With no desire by a girl to return)
May go unspurned
Where advantage To her is concerned.
For a facsimile is easily made
And homage to Mammon paid.
—
Note: I am aware that the word “unspurned” does not appear in the dictionary. I have, none the less chosen to use it, and by so doing (possibly) coined a new word.
There was a young lady named Moll
Who lurked online as a troll.
She got arrested one day
By a policewoman called May,
Which the online community thought quite droll!
Sitting in this autum garden I
Hear aircraft from the nearby
Airport. The breeze
Rustles in the trees,
Then modernity’s din
Muscles in yet again,
As another plane
Flies by
Competing with the wind’s sigh.
K Morris - Poet 