A poem written by me some time back.
Are we just our geans
Means
To a meaningless conclusion,
A confusion of arms, legs and bed?
The head
Is often overruled
By the fool
Lust.
Into eternity we thrust
Desperately hoping to leave one of our kind
Behind
Ere our dalliance ends in dust.
Some find it easy to write about death
And readers raise
A glass in praise
Of their art.
Larkin feared the loss of breath
And, in Aubade
Played out his fears.
Whilst others hide inside
Their art
The fear that lurks within their heart.
When I found a young lady named Lin
Hiding in my kitchen bin
I said, with a sigh,
“I’m an open minded guy,
But to hide in my bin is a sin!”.
You called him, who does lack
The capacity to answer back
A “parasite”.
Whilst its undoubtedly true
That you have a right
To your point of view,
I do wonder what use are you
To society But, out of propriety
Of course I didn’t say that . . .
When a young lady of an ancient profession
Said, “sir, I must make a shocking confession,
Do you know
A bishop Jo?”,
I replied, “dear madam, please show some discretion!”.
Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or maybe
They can not be said
Meaningfully by me.
As does nearly always happen
My train stopped, dead
At Clapham
(Though not for its proper, brief
Stay). We did not pull away.
What can be said
About grief
(Not experienced by me)?
Perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry.
When, that evening I came back
The track at Clapham
Was clear.
We made good time.
Though a drear
Thought did cross my mind,
But I find
That some things can not easily be said
In rhyme
By me, as I sit here, warm
Thinking of the ajacent platform
And how our train stopped, dead,
But, perhaps some things should not be said
In poetry,
Or at least by me.
A young man whose name is Lee
Has a degree in philosophy.
He is extremely clever
And married to Heather,
And he serves a mean cream tea!
I met a girl in
A sequin
Top. Being blind
I find
That I notice the tactile.
And sequins,
Being tactile
I can not deny,
That I
Thought on sins.
Yesterday, I was traveling up on the escalators at London Victoria underground station with my guide dog Trigger, when the following incident took place:
Man a couple of steps above me, speaking directly to Trigger,
“I know you are a working guide dog so I wont disturb you”.
Me, “thank you”.
Man, (looking directly at Trigger, “I wont distract you”, at which Trigger wags his tail and becomes rather distracted!
The above incident is, on one level comical. The comedy arising from the man in question doing precisely what he said he wouldn’t do, namely distract my working guide dog! However the actions of this gentleman where potentially dangerous and (not to put too fine a point on it, stupid)!
Guide dogs are trained to assist visually impaired people to navigate safely around streets, roads etc. They do wonderful work. However they are, when all is said and done dogs, who love attention and who can, when given it, become distracted.
I am very happy (when Trigger is not working) for him to receive strokes and cuddles (provided the person giving the attention has asked first). I rarely refuse a request to pet Trigger. However it is my absolute right to give such a refusal and the stupidity (albeit unintentional) of the gentleman in question had the potential to put my safety (and that of others) in danger. For example had Trigger pulled forward to reach the gentleman I might have fallen putting myself and those behind me, on the escalator at risk.
Fortunately the overwhelming majority of people behave responsibly around guide dogs. I only wish that everyone did so.
Kevin
The binmen
Make
A lot of noise when
They take
The rubbish away
At 6:20 am.
My alarm ushers in
Another day
Of virtue and sin.
But what does it matter my friend
When all men
Are bound for the dustbin
In the end?
K Morris - Poet 