When a single young lady called Moore
Went shopping in a store
She met a man named Dan
With a marriage plan.
They married in the church next door …
—
When a young Martian came down from Mars
In search of knickers and bras
She bought stockings too
And a high-heel shoe
Then she flew with her bags back to Mars …
I know a young man called Nile
Who owns a pet crocodile.
He married a girl named Grace,
With a very pretty face
Which made that crocodile smile …
A man may say and do
That which causes the majority to
View him as arrogant and aloof,
Yet he may, nonetheless speak truth
While many a lie
Is told by Mr nice guy …
I have recently launched a book of poetry, together with fellow South African, Kim Blades. In celebration of this achievement which I have been working on for the past five years, I have decided to host a Poetry Readathon on my blog starting on 1 December 2018 and ending on 15 January 2019.
Part 1 of the Poetry Readathon will comprise of reading and reviewing poetry books. I have selected eight books below for you to choose from if you would like to participate. You can link to my post and I will share your review on my blog and to my Facebook poetry sharing page as well as other social media.
Part 2 of the Poetry Readathon will comprise posts introducing you to some of the poetry bloggers who don’t have books but who write wonderful poetry and share it on their blogs. If you are a poetry blogger and…
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Over the last couple of days it certainly has felt as though winter is well and truly on his way.
Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
And creeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.
As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does bring.
Spring
Follows winter stern.
Buds return
And soon,
Come summer, flowers will bloom.
Autumn imperceptibly doth replace
Summer’s flushed face,
While the Fall’s slow decay
Whispers “winter is on his way”.
When a young man of Bristol
Wounded me with his pistol
It was over a girl
(Her name was Pearl)
Or maybe it was Crystal …
A man by the name of Cook
Published a very long book.
It was entitled “The Tank”
But, all it’s pages being blank
I couldn’t judge that book …
“As the demand for internet content increases steadily, AI content bots become more crucial. That’s because of the sheer demand for information and constant
updates. To stay on top of the search engine results page and remain SEO-focused, bloggers and webmasters need to produce new content consistently — and
not all of it needs to be empathetic, prose-like or high quality”.
It’s the words “and not all of it needs to be empathetic, prose-like or high quality”, (particularly those 2 words “high quality” which give me most cause for concern. This is well worth reading, (https://www.mostlyblogging.com/articoolo-writing-robots/).
There once was a lady called Rose
Who always wore lots of clothes.
In the hot summer weather
She dressed all in leather
And a rose it grew in her nose.
When a young lady of Bath
(who is always up for a laugh)
Comes round to mine
We drink fine wine
While soaking in the bath …
K Morris - Poet 