Thoughts muddy
I will forsake
And take
Refuge in my study,
Among poets who speak
Words that endure beyond a week.
I shall sit listening to birdsong.
The long
Summer days willimperceptibly turn
Into Autumn. I shall the world spurn
And yearn
For Keat’s Nightingale.
A cold wind blows
Yet onwards the suicide goes
Towards the white cliffs of Dover.
Looking over
He sees only bliss
And leaping off, falls into the abyss.
“The drinks are on me” he said.
“Indeed they are
For I found in your car
A bra
Not mine.
Oh red wine!
How kind.
You will find
It is hard to get out”, the girl said,
As she Poured her drink over his head …
Where I a mouse
That wanders through my neighbour’s house,
I could observe with care
The joys and sorrows of him and her.
Where I a fly
Who all things doth spy
I could grieve
For the love I perceive
Blossom then die.
But I am a man
And have not the art
To gaze into my neighbour’s heart,
And possessing my own cares
Meddle not in other’s affairs.
Earlier today I offered readers the chance to win a free signed print copy of my latest collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (https://newauthoronline.com/2016/06/25/your-chance-to-win-a-signed-copy-of-my-book-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind/). Thank you to everyone who shared my post. I am pleased to announce that a winner has emerged and the competition is now closed.
The answer to the question posed, is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who was born in Edinburgh in 1859 and died in 1930. The quote comes from “The Speckled Band, which can be found in “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. Holmes is speaking of Doctor Grimesby Roylott. If you haven’t read “The Speckled Band” I strongly recommend doing so, (http://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/32/the-adventures-of-sherlock-holmes/352/adventure-8-the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band/).
I am offering the chance to win a signed copy of my latest collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, ( http://moyhill.com/lost/ ).
To enter the competition please answer the following question.
What is the name of the author, born in 1859 in Edinburgh, who penned the following lines:
“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerves and he has knowledge …”.
To enter please send an email to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com putting “Competition” in the subject line.
The first person to correctly answer the question will receive a free signed (print) copy of “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”.
Good luck!
Kevin
Where I to write a poem for you
How much of it would be true?
For one may construe
Black as white.
The night
May bring delight
But come break of day
The succubus will be on her way.
He who invites the vampire in
Has, I maintain
No reason to complain
When she leaves him pale and thin.
The blood red
Wine tastes divine
And there is a fine line
Betwixt the living and the dead.
—
A succubus is a female demon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Succubus).
Thank you to Shital Shah for her poem, “TFL Limerick”. For anyone unfamiliar with London’s transport system, Transport for London (TFL) is the body with overall responsibility for the capital’s transport. You can find out more about TFL at their website here (https://tfl.gov.uk/).
Strong winds or heat,
Rain, snow or sleet.
Engineering works or strike actions,
Perhaps a leaf causing disruptions.
Whatever the reason, TfL simply can’t defeat.
*Inspired by Thursday’s weather and travel troubles. Londoners will sympathise.
The rain pours
And Thor’s
Hammer knocks
Against crumbling locks
As he our civilisation mocks.
A few, hearing the thunder
Lift their eyes in wonder
From the TV,
While fewer still, know what it is to be free.
I recall The library’s high shelves
Where I would delve
For books.
Often I forsook
My peers
To read
And on solitude feed.
All those years
Gone by.
I sigh
And wonder why
The past holds such sway.
And we humans lose ourselves in yesterday.
Oh how easy it is to perspective lack
As we gaze back
Down childhood’s track.
I remember the schoolyard’s din
And the wanting to join in.
Sometimes I ran with the crowd
Yet my nature proud
Held me apart
And I solace found in art.
I see the library now
And wonder how
The school goes on
Now that I am gone
An whether books still stand
Waiting to command
The future poet’s hand.
