“CHILDREN as young as five are calling a helpline to be read bedtime stories because their alcoholic parents are too drunk to tuck them in at night”,
http://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/769135/Children-call-helplines-for-bedtimes-stories.
This is just so incredibly sad.
Christopher Slater raises an interesting issue in this article entitled “Do you judge writers?” (https://ryanlanz.com/2017/02/16/do-you-judge-writers/)
My own view is that while it is difficult not to judge writers (their morals or lack of them), one should, so far as is humanly possible avoid doing so. A great writer remains so even if he (or she) was/is a terrible parent to their children or held/holds views with which most liberal (with a small l) individuals would disagree.
In this article for the Telegraph A N Wilson mentions the poet, Philip Larkin’s wish (expressed in his correspondence) to join the far-right National Front and Eliot’s anti-Semitism (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/personal-view/3588935/World-of-books.html)
Wilson argues that we need to separate the author’s artistic creations from their views. This is a perspective with which I concur absolutely. We don’t have to share an author’s views to admire their work and if we only read those who concur with our perspectives our lives and the world in general would be a very arid place.
Count Dracula went out to dine.
“Red wine?”
The waitress said.
Dracula shook his head.
“No thank you my dear. Your neck is most fine
And the glint of that necklace against your skin
Temps me into sin.
Come near
And let me whisper in your dainty ear
Words of desire
From a vampire
To you,
My love most true”.
“Sir,
That gentleman over there
He with the coat of fur,
Who howls at the moon,
Will require my attention soon.
The Werewolf has his need
And must also feed”.
“Oh waitress most divine
I shall make do with wine.
But please, just one kiss from those lips so red”
The count said.
“I can recommend the steak.
Would you care to partake?
The chef (though a ghoul
And a bit of a fool
Can make
A rare old stake.
Why Count, must you really go?
And just when I was enjoying our conversation so …”.
I saw a great tent.
In I went
And found therein
Every man’s particular sin.
There I met
A girl called regret
Who did smile
And for a while
Invited men to forget
All pain.
Returning again and again
They Forged their own chain.
I shook my head
As the gambler said
“This time I shall win”,
For I saw the bookie grin
Drinkers from far and near
Revelled in wine and beer.
They drank and drank
As the sun rose and sank.
“Cheers.
More beers
Here, barmaid for we are soon dead”.
Someone said.
As he spoke
That tent disappeared in sulphur and smoke.
The poet in his ivory tower
Has not the power
To change
This deranged
Place
Where the lunatic’s face
Flushed with belief
Brings the world to grief.
Those who think themselves sane
Cudgel their brain
And impose dreams
(which they call schemes)
For the improvement of man.
When dreams fail
The believers wail
“We will get it right next time”.
Or, for shame
They blame
The poor
Gardener who asks nothing more
Than to be left alone to cultivate his garden.
The poet begs pardon
To be excused,
With an amused smile,
For there can be no denial
That time spent in rhyme
Keeps him safe from humanity’s grime.
There was a young man called Musk
Who said “all flesh is but dust”.
His girlfriend Lina,
Who was a fanatical cleaner,
Swept him up with the dust.
Waiting at the zebra crossing
I heard a disco in a box.
I crossed
And the beat
Ceased.
“Holmes!” I cried,
I have tried
To deduce who took
My book.
I gave it to a girl, that she might read
And by so doing her mind feed.
She works in a store,
And would, I thought handle it with care,
But, on my return I discovered it was no longer there.
I fear it will be seen no more
And is forever lost somewhere in that store”.
My dear Watson, someone took
Your book,
While it was left lying around
By a shop girl, in a well known store.
I agree you will see it no more.
It is a problem too profound
For the great detective to solve.
Therefore resolve
To neither a borrower nor a lender be,
Else you will see
Another book
Get took
By the light fingered kind.
But quieten your mind
For it was in all likelihood
Taken by one who thought your poetry good!”
Amazon has recently added the ability to publish a paperback on KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing). To learn more please visit the following link, https://kdp.amazon.com/help?topicId=AH8RA6CMVRN8Y&ref_=pe_2983330_227202760_kdp_BS_D_pgs
There was a young Transhumanist called Mia
Who said, “eternal life draws very near”.
As she grew older
The devil on her shoulder
Whispered “maybe, but it is not yet here”.
—
