Category Archives: uncategorised

Wanting to Know

What do you think
As we drink
the wine,
Your fingers entwined in mine?
Do I want to know
And, if so
Is It out of a genuine care
To grasp Where
you have been
Or what seen?
Do I really want you to say
What thoughts of woe
Hold sway
During your average day?

I find it is easy to be kind.
But better not to talk
Of the demons that stalk
Our head.
Let us retire
To bed
For drink is the sire
Of desire
And in love’s fire
We burn
Ere we return
To our sorrow.
Let tomorrow
Go hang.
We will play today
Though the sky has long since turned grey.

I met A Girl Who Wasn’t There (With Apologies To Hughes Mearns)

With apologies to poet Hughes Mearns, here is my rewriting of his poem, “Antigonish (I met a Man Who Wasn’t There)”. Mearn’s poem (which is in the public domain) follows on after mine. For Mearn’s original poem please visit https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/antigonish-i-met-man-who-wasnt-there.

—

Yesterday, upon the stair
I met a girl who wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there again today.
Should her Bloke find out, then there Will be hell to pay …

—

Antigonish By Hughes Mearns

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away…

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door… (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away…

Book Sale by Author Victoria (Tori) Zigler

I am pleased to publish the below announcement by my author friend, Victoria (Tori) Zigler:

tori

I’m about to celebrate being published for four years. On top of
that, the tenth anniversary of when I started blogging is coming up.
To celebrate both of these things, I’ve got the eBook versions of some
of my books on sale for a couple of weeks.

The sale started on April 20th 2016 and ends on May 7th 2016.

For details, including links and coupon codes for each book, go HERE

Young Women of Fashion

Young women of fashion
Excite the passion
Of older guys,
Who yearn to possess
The girl in the short dress,
And caress
Her perfectly formed thighs.

losing himself in those soft brown eyes,
Man tries
But rebuffed,
He acts tough,
Inwardly sighs
While inside, a little bit of him dies

Letting go

Letting go of one’s book can be difficult. Several weeks ago I was in the pub enjoying a pint with 2 friends. I had just sold a copy of my book, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” to my friend A. There it sat, in all it’s splendour within easy reach of 3 pints of beer. Just one careless elbow or a wrong move by my guide dog Trigger and my book would have been well and truly soaked! While I didn’t voice my concerns, I sat in convivial surroundings thinking “what if someone’s beer splashes all over my book?” However the book was, of course no longer mine as it’s ownership had passed from me to my friend A who is now entitled to do with it as he sees fit. While “Lost” remains mine in the sense that the creator of intellectual property/ideas retains ownership of them (unless he signs a contract signifying otherwise), once I sell and/or give away any of my books, the property in them passes to their new owner.
I guess my feeling of concern regarding that book and the 3 pints can be compared to a parent who’s child has reached the age of majority, the point at which they can leave home and enter into relationships without parental consent. Parents may worry that a particular date isn’t right. They can, however do nothing whatever about their son or daughter’s decision.
The copies of “Lost”, once sold are, forever lost to me. Doubtless their new owners will treat them with care and, I hope gain many happy hours leafing through my work. I do, however think from time to time about that book on the pub table and the 3 pints of beer …!

Dinners

So many dinners
And diverse sinners
Knowing
Where they are going
Once the bill is paid
And the maid
With winking face
Shows grace
And retires.

Not so secret desires
Observed in his eyes.
She tries
To take refuge in drink.
They think
Of the time ahead,
Of the night’s dead
Hour and bed.

Loveless

As a child she tottered on her mother’s heels.
So high
Struggling to reach the sky
Now her fate she seals
With deals
Done over the phone.

Alone
With guys
Her trade she plies.
Empty thighs
Open
And saccharin words are spoken.
But can one deceive
Those who yearn to believe?

She has his measure.
A man of pleasure.
Not bad
Just a sad
Boy
In search of a new toy.
He has No desire to destroy
But seeks for joy,
Angling with his hook of gold
For fish it is impossible to hold.

—

Gazing back
Down childhood’s track
She perceives a lack
Of love.
The light above
Is not red.
No drugs fill her head
Yet the dead
Thud
Of empty love,
Of skin against bone
Screams “Alone.
You are young.
Your chance you flung
Away
Without a care
To lie with your clothes
Heaven knows
Where.
‘Twas in work not play,
You lost yourself there”.

A strange experience have I had

On Friday evening, I popped into my favourite local, the Railway Bell for a pint or two. While there I fell into conversation with an acquaintance who mentioned my book, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/). I enquired whether he would like to see the book (I had a copy in my rucksack) and was told one was on order from his local bookshop. While I was delighted to learn that I had another customer for my work, I had to suppress a smile as the publisher holds no stock. Consequently my acquaintence’s order will find it’s way to Moyhill who will, in turn pass it on to me for fulfilment. I will then send a copy of “Lost” to the bookstore. How much simpler things would have been had my drinking companion gone direct to the horse himself!
The above does demonstrate that my book is showing up on all the correct systems, hence the bookstore being able to order it. I am, however still left feeling that I’ve been through rather a surreal experience!

Kevin

Morning Rain

Rain falling
Calling
To me as it fell
Casting it’s spell.
Drops on my window tapping.
The sound
Around
Me wrapping.

Eve
May deceive
While Adam and his mate
Learn to late
They did create
The serpent that
Under the Tree of Knowledge sat.

The constant rain
Drumming on my window pane.
The sane
Man
Can
Forgo
The forbidden fruit.
Yet his failure to withstand
The fickle hand
Of pleasure
Is at the root
Of much woe.
He doth Taste
In haste
And repent at leisure.

In the end
Only the Sane
Rain
Will remain,
As we descend
To the place where dreams that shatter
No longer matter
And lover’s inconstant chatter
Is replaced
By death’s blank face.