Religious or not
Who, on hearing the church clock
Or solemn bell
Has not had cause to pause,
And think on heaven and hell?
The fool and the wise
Get dust in their eyes.
But the wise
Heed the clock,
Whilst the fool does not
Sitting here in my gown
I remember my once brown
Hair, now white.
Fishing is delight
(And often pain).
And frequently we gain
Our wish in fish.
But oh! how quickly our desire
For a particular fish does expire.
And then we fish
For yet more fish.
But time’s great line
Hooks us all
In the end.
Dusk softly falls
. As blackbirds call
Tis a kind of poetry
As brother calls to brother.
Or, more prosaically,
Its merely territory.
But tis poetry to me.
My friend who is high in society
Said, “Kevin, I am fond of variety.
That pretty Miss Lou
Goes well with Sue!”.
I said, “there’s some merit in sobriety!”.
As I entered my fine old bedroom
I met a young lady named Moon.
I said, “my dear,
What brings you here?”.
She said, “you’re smoking a magic mushroom!”.
There was a young lady named Fay
Who began all her texts with hey!
A horse called Billy
Being old and silly,
Answered all of Fay’s texts with neigh!
She remembered my name
And what I drink.
Yet I think
That she
Will not dance
With me.
Middle age
May engage
With youth.
But the truth
Is that she
Will not dance
With me.
Yet she
Remembered my drink.
But still
I think
That she
Will not dance
With me.
A middle-aged man
With white hair.
Is that how
She remembers me?
’Tis merely vanity
That makes me care
Can anyone help Lorraine with her query? If so can you please comment on Lorraine’s (original) post rather than on my reblog of it. Many thanks. Kevin
Any of you authors out there – has anyone ever gone with the Hay House Publishing arm, Balboa Press?
I have been in conversation wit them but don’t know much about them and if it is worth it. Has anyone had experience with them, or has anyone avoided them for any reason? Thanks in advance if anyone can help.
Lorraine
I once had a friend with a sister
And no man was able to resist her.
I dated that girl,
Whose name was Pearl.
Until she swapped me for an old transistor!
I dreamed of you last night
And by the morning’s dim light
I listened to the rain
And thought of Lady Macbeth
Whose Heart
Shakespeare’s art
Made clean
In death.
