Monthly Archives: July 2018

Lucifer Came

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Lucifer came for a potentate bold.

He said “you have had power and wealth untold,

Now you must render me your immortal soul”.

The potentate sighed,

And made reply,

“My soul it died,

you will find nothing inside.

It perished long ago,

And vanished like the summer snow.

Once I had ideals,

and yearned to build utopia in green fields.

I have waded in much blood,

And sacrificed the weak for the common good.

My soul you had long ago.

I take your hand,

Now let us go”.

—

When writing the above poem, I had in mind the famous quote of Lord Acton:
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

“The Potentate” can be found in my collection entitled “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, http://moyhill.com/lost/. “Lost” can also be found in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01AF5EPVY/

There Was A Young Man Called Mick

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There was a young man called Mick
Who carried a very big stick.
At dead of night
We had a fight
And Mick he lost his stick!

There was a young man called Mick
Who carried a very big stick.
A policewoman named Jane
Said “It gives me great pain
To confiscate that stick!”.

A new poetry book and a lovely poem by Balroop Singh

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robbiesinspiration's avatarRobbie's inspiration

Michael and I are very excited to have Balroop Singh visiting us today to talk about her lovely new poetry book, Timeless Echoes, and share one of her delightful poems.

Timeless Echoes by [Singh, Balroop ]

The blurb

Certain desires and thoughts remain within our heart, we can’t express them, we wait for the right time, which never comes till they make inroads out of our most guarded fortresses to spill on to the pages of our choice. This collection is an echo of that love, which remained obscure, those yearnings that were suppressed, the regrets that we refuse to acknowledge. Many poems seem personal because they are written in first person but they have been inspired from the people around me – friends and acquaintances who shared their stories with me.

Some secrets have to remain buried because they are ours
We do share them but only with the stars
The tears that guarded…

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There Was A Young Lady Called Ling

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There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Joined our date
In the midst of the budding spring.

There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Whacked me with a plate.
Oh love, tis a painful thing!

the 4th of July Is …

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4 July is, of course best known for being American Independence Day. But enough of such trivia, for any school child can inform you that today is the day when America broke away from the United Kingdom!

Of far more importance to me than the above, is the fact that, on 4 July 2011, I became the proud owner of my 4th guide dog, Trigger, a beautiful brindle Labrador/retriever cross. Trigger goes everywhere with me, whether that be into restaurants, the office or the pub. I hasten to add that, in the case of the latter, I strongly dislike pubs and it is my four-legged friend who drags me into such dens of iniquity on an all to frequent basis …!

Joking apart, Trigger does a wonderful job and safely conducts me through busy London streets.

Given today’s date, I wanted to share 2 poems about Trigger. The first is entitled “The Hungry Hound”, while the second is called “To My Dog Trigger, Who Lay On My Book”.

—

“I am Trigger.
My stomach is bigger
Than you think.
Your lunch will be gone in the blink
Of an Eye.
Then away I fly.
Should you ask “who stole my lunch?” I reply
“Nnot I
But, dear reader, I lie …!..
I have been known to eat plastic.
My reach is elastic.
You think your food Safe?
My friend brace
Yourself for a shock
For I will gobble the lot!
Be it ever so hot!”.

—

You lay on my book.
Perhaps you mistook
It for a bone
And discovering your mistake, left it alone!

You creased it’s pages.
Oh the ages
I took
To write that book!

You lay on my book
But look
I have many more,
And ‘twas entirely my fault for
I should not have left it on the floor!

Dogs have such short lives
While the poet’s work survives
Long after master and friend
Have come to their end.
You lay on my book,
My faithful old mutt”.

The Lost Soul

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A wiff
Of cheap scent
On bedclothes
For him to sniff
When she goes.

How easy it is to repent
Of the money spent
But, he knows
That when the wine flows
The weak
Will seek
For a she of a certain profession.

Had he belief
He would make his confession
To the priest who knows
Where the lost soul goes
To find a temporary relief
On the Siren’s reef.