Why do I spurn
This mud, and dust
To which I must
Return?
Why Do I Spurn
Leave a reply
Category Archives: musings
The Woods Are Not Far
The woods are not far
Away
From car
And dust.
Here I would stay
Amongst these trees
Where the wind’s gust
Will blow,
Whilst the glow
From the shop’s empty, glass,
Must pass
Remembrance
She
Fell.
Then, come the day, they
Listened to Adele.
The CD
Was relatively cheap.
Now, when he
Hears Adele,
He
Thinks on a girl who fell
And the comparatively low price,
Of that CD.
The Origin of the Word Computer
Being visually impaired, all of my writing takes place on my laptop, using Job Access with Speech (JAWS) software, which converts text into speech and braille enabling me to use a standard Windows computer or laptop. (For anyone interested in finding out more about JAWS,please visit this link, https://www.freedomscientific.com/products/software/jaws/
Given my reliance on computers for writing, reading the news and carrying out other tasks, I was fascinated by a recent post on Interesting Literature concerning the origin of the word “computer”. The word computer is much older than the 20th century, as you will find if you read this interesting article, https://interestingliterature.com/2020/02/origin-word-computer-etymology/.
When A Young Lady Named Beth
When a young lady named Beth
Said, “you are obsessed with death”,
I spoke of cooking oil
And of Shakespeare’s mortal coil,
Which bored poor Beth to death!
If Imagination Were A Crime
If imagination were a crime
And you could read between a rhyme,
How many poets would be flayed
For games played
In the confines
Of their minds?
But, no
That is not quite so,
For their words caper
On virgin paper.
And when
The pen
Scratches
The reader thinks he catches
A glimpse of the sin,
Within.
Gabriela M Awarded Author of the Year 2019 by Spillwords Press
Gabriela M, a writer whose work I admire, has been awarded Author of the Year 2019 by Spillwords Press. You can read Gabriela’s interview here, https://spillwords.com/author-of-the-year-2019-interview/.
If I Write a Sad Poem Today
If I write a sad
Poem today
People will say
He is sad.
If I compose a glad
Poem today
They will, likewise
Say,
He is feeling glad.
But they
Can not see my eyes.
Rose
His passion grows.
She exposes.
The poet composes.
But, in his heart
He knows
That art
Is not a rose.
Pan’s Pipe
Pan plays on his pipe
To the delight
Of woodland nymphs.
Who have, long since
Ceased to see,
In his ageing pipe,
Beyond the delight
Of his poetry.
K Morris - Poet 