A good article in “Spiked”, by Joe Nutt, entitled “What is the point of poetry?” I agree with the thrust of this piece and, in particular with the concluding sentences,
“In the great and even not so great outdoors, I notice much more. Poetry has been, and is, a way for me to understand my life better, and because of that, I believe those closest to me benefit, too. Because I share the world with flesh and blood living beings, not with cables, screens and keyboards”.
For the article please visit http://www.spiked-online.com/newsite/article/what-is-the-point-of-poetry/20778#.WmMqfIinzIV.
Author Archives: K Morris Poet
There Was A Young Lady Named Sally
There was a young lady named Sally
Who said “I shall your sins tally”.
I made reply “and I yours,
But behind firmly closed doors
Who knows how we dilly and dally! …
To a Poem is a Bott the Stranger
I have know knowledge of coding. Consequently parts of this very interesting post had me scratching my head. However the long and the short of it appears to be that coding bots can produce poetry of a kind. Perhaps the deeper philosophical question centres around not whether coding bots can write poetry, but whether they will ever be able to comprehend what they write and (even more profoundly) whether comprehension equates to feeling. A beautiful scene reduces many to tears of joy (the delight of melancoly) and poets reflect this in their verse. Likewise the beauty of the singing of the thrush in Thomas Hardy’s “The Darkling Thrush” leads the poet to muse on how the bird can produce such wonderful music when all around the landscape is desolate, as is the poet’s mood. Kevin
There Was A Young Labrador Named Muff
There was a young Labrador named Muff
Who’s knowledge of grammar was extremely rough.
He thought correct spelling a pain
And said “I will always maintain
That all one needs is a woof!”.
With A Click Of Heel
With a click of heel
And a flick
Of her hair.
She passes, light as air.
As she wriggles her hips
He trips
Over each word.
He may be absurd
But an eel
Is not immortal
An Anoying Young Man Named Guy
An annoying young man named Guy
Said “this music makes me want to die!”.
So they turned it up real loud
And someone brought him a shroud,
But Guy he refused to die!
Visitation
I dreamed of poetry yesternight
And awoke to the delight
Of your clear, cold cry.
And I
Was left wondering why
Each visitation you make
Does my complacency shake.
I was not long awake
Yet your cold, clear cry
Will with me stay
Until my dying day.
Youtube Vlogger Accuses Dublin Hotel Of Bullying Her
From time to time, I come across posts encouraging bloggers to request “freebies” in return for either reviewing the product/service in question, or providing free publicity for said product and/or service.
A Youtube Vlogger, Elle Darby, approached a Dublin hotel asking for a free stay for her and her partner, over Valentine’s weekend, in return for providing the hotel with free exposure on her Youtube and Instagram. The hotelier, Paul Stenson was not impressed and informed Ms Darby of his displeasure in no uncertain terms. The exchange has now gone viral with a good deal of abuse being heaped on the vlogger’s head.
Whatever the rights and wrongs of Ms Darby’s offer (and Mr Stenson’s response) abuse is wholly unacceptable and it is highly regrettable that Ms Darby has been attacked in such a personal manner by some who have commented on the story.
You can read more about the incident here, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5283551/YouTube-vlogger-accuses-Dublin-hotel-bullying-her.html.
My Review of “The Tattooist of Auschwitz” by Heather Morris

My Review of “The Tattooist of Auschwitz ” by Heather Morris
Kudos to Heather Morris, Author of “The Tattooist of Auschwitz” for combining the Historical Fiction and Fiction genres. From the Goodreads Blurb”, “The “Tattooist of Auschwitz” is based on the true story of Lale and Gita Sokolov two Slovakian Jews who survived Auschwitz and eventually made their home in Australia.”
In this novel, Heather Morris portrays Lale as a charming, and enterprising individual. To save his family, Lale volunteers to leave with the German Gestapo, believing that his family will be safe. Of course, Lale realizes when he is in a crowded Cattle Car, he suspects that this is the beginning of a devastating time. Lale does reach out and helps calm some other men. In Auschwitz, Lale somehow finds himself becoming The Tattooist, having to tattoo the numbers on his fellow prisoners. There he meets Gita, a young…
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The Wind Is Blowing
The wind is blowing
And soon I will be going
Outside.
Or perhaps I should hide
In here
As the weather is drear
And the prospect of writing
Is somewhat inviting.