Category Archives: musings

Literature Today is inviting submissions on the theme of pandemic

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Literature Today is inviting submissions on the theme of pandemic. For further details please see below:

Dear Author,
We are inviting submissions for September 2020 issue of ‘Literature Today’. The theme of our September 2020 issue is ‘Pandemic’. You can send us poems, short stories, memoirs and one act plays. The issue will be published in hard copy (Paperback) and digital copy .

For detailed submission guidelines and link of previous issues please visit: https://literaturetodayjournal.blogspot.com/

Writ On A Most Ancient Grave

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On a most ancient grave
Is writ,
“Here lies the great Dave.
His wit
Was razor-sharp.
Yet, for all his art,
He ended in this grave!”.

Perchance I Shall Thumb My Nose

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Will government do the hokey cokey and close
The pubs (which only reopened on 4 July)?
Scientists cry,
“We maintain, that the pubs must close again!”.
And the electorate thumb their nose
At politicians,
As the country goes
To pedition.

And I think
Of a dry
Autumn to come.
So will enjoy a drink
In the hot summer sun.
And rhyme
‘Ere time
Is called, and the pubs are closed.

And, perchance
I shall thumb my nose
At those
Who would destroy
The dance
Of joy.

The Dissolute Poet

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I have awoken
Following a night
Of dissolute fruit.
And spoken
Words most polite
Enquiring whether she
Prefers coffee,
Or tea.

She has put on her party shoe,
And I have thought
On is, and ought,
And on what some lonely men do.
We have said goodbye. And I
Have been left with Dowson’s poetry,
And the thought of is, and ought,
And what a man should be.

Despair

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An angel came.
He knew not
Her true name.
Or perhaps he forgot.

She left him forsaken
With his money all taken.
The scent of despair
Hung in the air.

Another girl’s stilettoed feet
Are heard on the stair.
He asks her her name,
And she answers, “Despair”.

August Is Hot As Lust

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August is hot as lust.
I was born in January
And in me you see
The soul of winter.

I have a splinter
Of ice in my heart.
My poetic art
Is January. and hot August.

No man can outrun the sun.
But birds sing
In the spring.
And winter’s splinter is my art.

A 5 star review of my book “Light and Shade: Serious (and Not so Serious) Poems

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I was delighted to receive the following review, entitled “Excellent thought-provoking poetry”, for my collection of poetry “Light and Shade; Serious (and Not so Serious) Poems”:

“Kevin writes what I call ‘real’ poetry. I don’t like the so-called free verse that most poets seem to write
nowadays. Free of what? Rhyme and rhythm. Both are what make a poem. Without those, it might just as well be a piece of prose, albeit in arbitrary lines …”.

(To read the review in it’s entirety please visit https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/customer-reviews/R30SPC39XDZUXE/ref=cm_cr_dp_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B08B4X3GVX).

Time

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Time passes
In women
And glasses.
“What is sinning?”
The religious ask.
“Does it exist?”,
I reply.

Theologians persist,
“All this will pass”.
While poets smile
And compose a rhyme
To many a pretty lass,
And time
Which does so quickly pass.