Monthly Archives: September 2017

Competition to win a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” by K Morris

I am giving away 1 free, signed copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”.

In order to be in with a chance of winning, please answer the following question, which novel begins as follows ”1801—-I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with”.

The Rules

1. Please email your answers to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com.
2. Please put “Competition” in the subject line of your message.
3. Please do not leave your answer in the comments below, as everyone will be able to read it!
4. The first person to email me with the correct answer wins a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind”.
5. The winner will be informed by email.
6. You may enter irrespective of your country of residence.

The book

To read reviews of “My Old Clock I Wind” and an extract, please visit http://moyhill.com/clock/.

A conker I found

A conker I found
On the ground.
Still in it’s prickly clothes,
Yet to be disclosed.

“I aught
To leave you here” I thought.
“You may, for all I know
Grow into a great tree”.

But another voice in me
Said “some other will take you away, if I leave you here on the grass
For many people here pass”.
So I took you home
As my own.

On my sill
You sit, waiting to spill
Your seed.
Was it need
Or greed
That made the virile
Sterile.
Would that I could
Get to the root
Of this drying fruit.

The Performer

I scorn
To perform
Like a circus seal.
Slippery as an eel
They are.
A girl may go far
In the ring …

“It is just a little thing
To turn a trick. Do you know
Ms so-and-so?
She was shy
And would “rather die”,
But now it comes easy as water off a duck’s back to her.
Yes people will stare
At you,
I don’t deny that this is true.
But all is fair
In love and war
And there are good tips
For girls who do tricks”.

The Crooked Tree

Whichever way the wind went
The crooked tree bent.
I spent
Much time gazing at that tree,
Which looked back at me
And seemed to say
“As sure as night follows day,
We shall bend together
With the prevailing weather”.

L’Envoi, by Rudyard Kipling

THE smoke upon your altar dies,
The flowers decay.
The Goddess of your sacrifice
Has flown away.
What profit then to sing or slay
The sacrifice from day to day ?

“We know the shrine is void,” they said,
“The Goddess flown –
“Yet wreaths are on the altar laid –
“The Altar-Stone
“Is black with fumes of sacrifice,
“Albeit She has fled our eyes.

“For, it may be, if still we sing
“And tend the shrine,
“Some deity on wandering wing
“May there incline;
“And finding all in order meet,
“Stay while we worship at her feet. ”

Reverend Spooner, Father of the Spoonerism

InterestingLiterature's avatarInteresting Literature

In this week’s Dispatches from the Secret Library, Dr Oliver Tearle delves into the life of the man immortalised by the spoonerism

Archibald Spooner (1844-1930) was a physically striking man. An albino with pink skin and white hair, he became affectionately known as the Child by students at New College, the Oxford college of which Spooner became warden in 1903. (His wife Frances became known as the Madonna, hence their collective nickname.) By all accounts, Spooner was a kindly man who insisted, in the face of indignant opposition, that the college’s war memorial should list the names of the German dead alongside the college members who had given their lives in the Great War.

But this has all been lost from the popular consciousness – if it ever resided there – and Spooner’s name and legacy have firmly centred on the ‘spoonerism’ – a word attested from The Globe

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