You lay on my book.
Perhaps you mistook
It for a bone
And discovering your mistake, left it alone!
You creased it’s pages.
Oh the ages
I took
To write that book!
You lay on my book
But look
I have many more,
And ‘twas entirely my fault for
I should not have left it on the floor!
Dogs have such short lives
While the poet’s work survives
Long after master and friend
Have come to their end.
You lay on my book,
My faithful old mutt.
The writer makes some excellent points. It is all to easy to get caught up in social media rather than living (and enjoying) life. Kevin
When was the last time you printed the photos on your camera? How about the last time you took a picture without thinking of social media? These questions have been in my mind for a while and today I would like to share my views on it.
Social media is taking over us and we need to stop this. Sometimes letting go is just the healthiest option. Letting go for your good. A lot of us are not realising but social media is becoming an obsession, something dangerous, something it really isn’t worthy of.
Next time you go to a restaurant, try and enjoy your food without feeling the need to take a picture. Next time you go on a journey, enjoy every moment without needing to snapchat it, without needing to view your surroundings through a lens. Look at it nakedly, barely.
We need to stop distancing ourselves from reality,wake…
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This short piece speaks for itself and is worth a read, (http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/gunner/bad-poets.html).
Kevin
My books among delph
On a shelf
May live.
I hope they pleasure give
To a soul
In search of a part of the whole.
The complete truth is impossible to find,
Yet the mind
Seeks on
Long after the poet has gone
To the skies
Where truth lies …
When I go will it be in a darkened room
With cloying perfume
Hanging like a stark
question mark,
In the unmoved air?
I shall beware
The unlit stair
For I may go
Below
Lest I tread with care.
Will I leave at dawn
With only the birds to mourn?
Or perchance it will be among friends
Who, seeing my end
Will say
“Blast. A blaggard to the last!
He failed to pay, his bill ere he went away”!
I know not the day
But pray
I go with conscience clear,
Without fear
And with those to me dear
Standing near.
“His crisp white shirt.
Her short skirt.
The way they flirt
One would never know
It where so”.
“Know what?”
“That Cupid’s arrow was never shot.
She has sold
Her soul for Midas’s gold,
And the gods fortell
It won’t end well”.
A chance to share a post on Danny’s blog.
Lying there
You appear not to care.
A motion,
A building ocean.
A reaction,
Leading to a kind of satisfaction
On someone’s part
While the heart
Sighs
And inwardly dies
Thank you Sue for this wonderful opportunity to talk about Mum’s recently published book ‘My Vibrating Vertebrae: and other poems’.
Before I do though, I’d also like to thank two other special people:
My little sister, Lorna, for finding, compiling and typing all Mum’s poems she could find before sending them to me for further action. I know this was a true labour of love for her.
My lovely author friend and editor, Jo Robinson, for doing such a great job of arranging, editing and formatting Mum’s poems while maintaining Mum’s ‘Voice’ – Not the easiest of things to do, especially when not familiar with some of the Ulster / Scots terminology used by everyone in Mum’s home town, even I struggle with it sometimes and I lived there for 27 years before leaving for other lands and climes.
See details of what Author Support Services Jo offers in…
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