There was a young man named Howl
Who kept a pet barn owl.
When the bird hooted at night
It gave him a fright
And he called it a name most foul!
Coop
One day the owl will swoop
And I shall be gone
From the coop
Leaving a few fragments of verse.
It is my
Curse
On hearing the owl’s cry
To think on when I
Shall die
Young Women
In short frocks
And with feet bare
They have no care
For clocks
That whir.
Skim Reading Is The New Normal
My thanks to my friend, Brien for drawing the below article to my attention.
“We need to cultivate a new kind of brain: a “bi-literate” reading brain capable of the deepest forms of thought in either digital or traditional mediums. A great deal hangs on it: the ability of citizens in a vibrant democracy to try on other perspectives and discern truth; the capacity of our children and grandchildren to appreciate and create beauty; and the ability in ourselves to go beyond our present glut of information to reach the knowledge and wisdom necessary to sustain a good society”.
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/25/skim-reading-new-normal-maryanne-wolf
There Was A Young Lady Called Bland
There was a young lady called Bland
Who wanted a one night stand.
I said “that’s all right”,
So she stood there all night.
That strange young lady called Bland!
There was a young lady called Bland
Who wanted a one night stand.
A holy man named Paul
Said “all men fall.
Your wish is my command!”.
Our Golden Age?
Someone or other once remarked that “all political careers end in failure”. One could, I think say the same of literary careers as all writers (irrespective of how successful or otherwise they are) die. However, in another sense some writers will live on through their words, whether they be self-published or published via traditional means. A man may moulder in the grave but his words (as well as his deeds) live on. Kevin
The early decades of the twenty-first century saw a great flowering of the literary arts, due in large part to the advent of self-publishing on the Internet. The writers called themselves Indie Authors. Many of them were members of the so-called Baby Boom generation, born between the end of the Second World War and the nineteen-sixties. With a high degree of literacy and egos inflated by the conviction that they were the first humans to experience anything worthwhile, many of them used their retirement years to write. Literary agents and publishers were overwhelmed by a flood of submissions from these eager wannabees. Mail rooms overflowed with manuscript boxes, fat brown envelopes and SASEs. Rejections issued forth, provoking incredulous disappointment. Technology came to the rescue, providing online publishing platforms that allowed the indies to elbow the weary gatekeepers aside and publish. Millions of ebooks and POD print books issued forth. Savvy…
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My guest post on Cyranny’s Cove
My thanks to Cyranny, of Cyranny’s Cove for hosting me on her blog, https://wp.me/p6RxSt-bU1
Parsimonious
The parsimonious man can
Save a good deal of money,
But he rarely gains a honey
Unless she be
As parsimonious as he!
(https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/08/29/parsimonious/).
Composed More Or Less In Realtime While Sitting In A Liverpool Garden
My poem, “Composed More Or Less In Realtime While Sitting In A Liverpool Garden”, was written while sitting in my mum’s garden in the city of Liverpool.
The poem is a stream of consciousness piece and is one of very few written by me.
To read the poem please follow this link, https://newauthoronline.com/2016/05/30/composed-more-or-less-in-realtime-while-sitting-in-a-garden/
There Was A Young Man Called Daniel
There was a young man called Daniel
Who in looks resembled his spaniel.
A young lady walking by
Said, with a sigh
“I have fallen in love with your spaniel!”.
There was a young man called Daniel
Who rather resembled his spaniel.
A young lady named Kate
Just couldn’t wait
To walk that spaniel belonging to Daniel!