“They refused him entrance because he was a Jew.
Imagine that today”.
He didn’t say
What his view
Of the matter was
And because
It was
Not my affair
I left them there
To talk
And took a walk
In God’s fresh air
There was a young squire
Who had a burning desire
For his family’s pretty maid,
But the girl being staid
Refused to light his fire!
Last night, while visiting a neighbour, the lights failed. Indeed it soon became apparent that the electricity supply had gone down in the 2 blocks of flats which constitute the development in which I live. My immediate neighbour, and the lady who lives opposite to her, panicked a little and lamented the fact that none of us possessed torches. Fortunately the lights came back on in a matter of minutes and the power supply has remained steady since yesterday evening’s temporary blip.
The above incident reminded me of my poem “The Dark”:
“Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits”.
One day the dark will take us all.
As far back as I can remember, I have had a fascination with time. The hypnotic swing of the pendulum on an old-fashioned clock and the steady tick tock of the mechanism, entrances me.
My interest in time can be seen in several of my poems, including this one which is simply entitled “Time”
“Time” can be found in “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind” http://moyhill.com/lost/.
There was a young man named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
It was a terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
So I did his pretty widow wed!
—
There was a young chef named Ed
Who told me that he was dead.
‘Twas a most terrible mishap
For such a nice chap,
And just how will I get fed!
There was a young man named Locke
Who did old Father Time cruely mock.
Time smiled a sad smile
And said “in a while
You will receive a rather rude shock”.
Earlier this evening, I listened to “A Thunderstorm In Town”, a short story by Lucy Ribchester, which was inspired by Thomas Hardy’s poem of the same name. Ribchester’s story is an interesting and, for me unexpected take on Hardy’s poem.
You can listen to the poem (and the story) by following this link http://www.bbcmundo.com/programmes/b09pjmjj
Eyes I can not see
Look back at me.
A man can be
Without sight
Yet penetrate the darkest night
If he chooses.
But oft times he loses
Courage and says “let it be
For I do not wish to see
What has become of me”.
At other times he sighs
For his inner eyes
Perceive
That within himself, which causes him to grieve.
I do not need to see your eyes
To know the lies
That hide behind
For I find
That mine
Are as thine.
A good article on The Imaginative Conservative, entitled “Why You Should Read and Write Poetry”, http://www.theimaginativeconservative.org/2018/01/read-write-poetry-dwight-longenecker.html
There was a young man named Matt
Who owned an extremely small flat.
The place was so small
That it was really no flat at all
And he rented it to a cat!
K Morris - Poet 