Half-remembered faces,
Some forgotten,
Lost at the bottom
Of his mind.
Some were graces
And left
Traces
Behind.
He fancied himself bereft
But his heart
was never cleft.
Although,a few do,
Its true,
Live on,in art.
A young lady with looks most glorious
Said, “I like it fast and furious!”,
So we went on the Big Dipper
Where she revealed herself as a stripper,
Which the judge he found quite curious!
A young lady named White
Enters my bedroom every night,
In a state of undress,
And my prudish wife Bess,
Always turns out the light!
An interesting post, on the site Interesting Literature, regarding “Stream of Consciousness”. The article defines “Stream of Consciousness” as follows:
“Put simply, ‘stream of consciousness’ describes a literary style in which the various thoughts and impressions of a character are relayed
to us in a way that captures the suddenness, spontaneity, and often inconsequentiality of those thoughts and impressions. Usually, the syntax will reflect
this, and it will either break down into fragmentation or, in some extreme cases, punctuation will be largely absent”. (See https://interestingliterature.com/2020/02/what-is-stream-of-consciousness-introduction/).
The author traces the origin of “Stream of Consciousness” from 19th-century psychology and philosophy, through to the 20th-century author James Joyce’s “Ulysses”.
Back in 2016, I composed “Composed Mor or Less in Realtime While Sitting in a Liverpool Garden”. At the time of composition, I thought of my poem as being (in part at least) a “Stream of Consciousness” composition. However, having read the above article on Interesting Literature, I think that it is, perhaps better described as an “Interior Monalogue”, rather than as a “Stream of Consciousness” piece of writing. To read my poem please follow this link, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/05/30/composed-more-or-less-in-realtime-while-sitting-in-a-garden/.
When a young lady named White
Knocked at my door after midnight,
And said, with a grin,
“May I please come in?”,
I wished that girl good night.
Why do I spurn
This mud, and dust
To which I must
Return?
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
My friend, who owned a goat,
Wrote a poem of great note.
But the very next day,
I’m so sorry to say,
He drowned whilst riding that goat!
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.
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/.
K Morris - Poet 