The snow white ribbon in her hair
She undid
When she got there
And with reluctance slid
In
To sin.
Twas a game To him,
(He meant no harm
But he could not resist the charm
Of her ribbon pure white
On that so ordinary night).
Her ribbon she wore
Once more
As she closed the door
Leaving him behind.
But she did find,
That after that night
Her ribbon did seem, less than white.
There was a young man called Good
Who went for a walk in the wood
Where he met a girl named Louise
Who offered to please,
As she was far from good …
—
There was a young man called Good
Who fell asleep in the wood
Where a nymph named calypso
Pinched his big toe
In the depths of that deep dark wood
I received an email from Kim Blades asking that I pass on her sincere thanks to everyone who shared, commented on and liked the below guest post by Kim and Robbie Cheadle. I am, of course delightedd to convey Kim’s message. Kevin
Open a New Door is a poetic peep into the lives of the poets, Kim Blades and Robbie Cheadle, both of whom live in South Africa.
The book is divided into four categories: God bless Africa, God bless my family and friends, God bless me and God bless corporates and work. Each part is sub-divided into the good, the bad and the ugly of the two poets’ experiences, presented in rhyming verse, free-style, haiku and tanka, in each of these categories and include colourful depictions of their thoughts and emotions.
The purpose of this book of poetry is encapsulated in the following tanka and haiku poems:
What drives me to write?
To share my innermost thoughts
The answer is clear
It’s my personal attempt
To make some sense of this world.
Inspiration blossoms
Like the unfurling petals
Of the…
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We have no control
Over the sleeping head
And dread
That our soul
May be exposed to the light of day.
For dark fantasies creep
Out in sleep
And in the land
Of dreams none may command
His wandering hand.
When we awake
Our dreams we shake
Off.
Yet, sometimes we may,
In the quiet of the day
Hear the devil cough
And whisper low
“I know
Where you go
In sleep …”.
I know a young lady called Mel
Who nothing but lies does tell.
She says that when she came round to mine
That it wasn’t to dine,
But its only the truth I tell …
In September, I was honoured to appear on Chris the Story Reading Ape’s blog to talk about my love of nonsense verse, https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/2018/09/29/nonsense-verse-guest-post-by-kevin-morris/.
For some time now I have been mulling over the idea of producing a selection of my own limericks, humorous and satirical verse, (you can find links to several of such poems below). I have now decided to go-ahead with compiling such a collection and will post updates here.
—
Miss White – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/07/28/there-was-a-young-lady-called-white/
Holly – https://newauthoronline.com/2017/12/31/there-was-a-young-lady-named-holly-2/
Everyone Has their Thing – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/05/22/everyone-has-there-thing/
Lou – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/10/17/there-was-a-young-lady-called-lou-14/
There Was a Young Man Called Kirt – https://newauthoronline.com/2018/06/22/there-was-a-young-man-called-kirt/
A thought-provoking and well-written article by Sue Vincent regarding the merits and demerits of reading online and losing onself in a traditional, paper book. Being blind and unable to read print, I welcome the ability to read material online using my screen reading software (Job Access with Speech or JAWS) which converts text into speech and braille on a Windows computer. I also appreciate the text to speech facility on my Kindle and have spent many happy hours having books read aloud to me. Also, having recently purchased an Amazon Echo, I have begun (after several years of not having done so) to, once more lose myself in an audio book from Audible (I’m currently reading Austin’s “Emma”). Having said all that, I find that there is something uniquely special about losing oneself in a paper book. In my bedroom, living room and the study in which I am now writing are bookcases full of braille books from which I derive tremendous pleasure. However the bulk of braille (“The New Oxford Book of English Verse” runs to some 10 braille volumes) means that I can only own a tiny percentage of the books in that format that I would (where I to be a print reader) be able to own. Additionally only a tiny percentage of the books available in print have been transcribed into braille (including my collections of poetry “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems” and “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”). Kevin
As I scrolled down the page I became conscious that I was doing exactly the thing I was researching. My ‘normal’ concentration and attention to words, born of my lifelong love for seeing them unfold on paper, was wandering off and bouncing around.
There has been a good deal of research and publicity on how the way we read differs from book to screen. The research covers the way we gather, assimilate, remember and understand information and the results of some studies are startling, though you would have to read them all… preferably on paper, it seems… to get the full range of detail as they look at everything from empathy to engagement, from transportation, cognition, to the ability to reconstruct events.
This particular article was well crafted, engaging and interesting; the information pertinent… and yet there I was visually skimming the paragraphs, dipping in and out to extract information…
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I know a young Socialist called Claire
Who thinks inequality most unfair.
Her butler Bill
Is with her still
Which shows she really does care …
—
I met a young lady called Lou
Who swore she would be true.
But when a girl called Hocking
Lost her fine silk stocking
Lou she swore we’re through
A young man by the name of Spink
Is very fond of a drink.
But when he broke into mine
And drank my fine wine
The judge sentenced him to clink!
(Clink is another word for prison).
—
When a man by the name of Spink
Became lost in a good deal of drink
His wife called Clair,
Who is young and fair
Gave me a nod and a wink …
—
When, on the winding stair
I met a blond called Flair
My wife Anne
Grabbed a frying pan
And ended that affair!
“My November Guest”, is a beautiful poem by the American poet Robert Frost. I find the interpretation of Frost’s poem, contained in the above video a convincing one, (that the poem is, in part at least a response to the feelings of melancholy flowing from the season of autumn itself. Beauty is so often tinged with melancholy, for we know that the beautiful flower will fade and die, and that friendship dies with the friend (although, in the latter case the feelings will live on in the heart of the person who is left behind).
K Morris - Poet 