There was a young man called Mark
Who wrote a poem about the dark.
It was late at night
And he haden’t much light,
So his poem was bleak and stark.
There Was A Young Man Called Mark
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To My Dog Trigger, Who Lay On My Book
Trigger is my fourth guide dog, and I am pleased to report that he is still as bouncy as ever.
You lay on my book.
Perhaps you mistook
It for a bone
And discovering your mistake, left it alone!
You creased it’s pages.
Oh the ages
I took
To write that book!
You lay on my book
But look
I have many more,
And ‘twas entirely my fault for
I should not have left it on the floor!
Dogs have such short lives
While the poet’s work survives
Long after master and friend
Have come to their end.
You lay on my book,
My faithful old mutt.
Of Statues And Poems
On 23 November 2016, I wrote my poem “Rhodes”, https://newauthoronline.com/2016/11/23/rhodes/. The poem was inspired by the controversy surrounding the campaign by the Rhodes Must Fall organisation to have the statue of Cecil Rhodes removed from Oriel College Oxford.
I spent much of yesterday evening (26 March), recording and uploading a number of my poems to Youtube, including the “Rhodes” poem. I was assisted in this task by a friend who voiced disagreement with the views expressed in the “Rhodes” poem. Our discussion was friendly but our views on the issue of “Rhodes” where diametrically opposed, with my friend being a passionat advocate for the removal of the Rhodes statue while my opinion remains as expressed in the above poem.
This article on Cecil Rhodes in Standpoint Magazine makes for interesting reading and does, broadly speaking, accord with my view of this complex and interesting character, (http://www.standpointmag.co.uk/node/6388/full).
There Was A Young Man Called Drew
There was a young man called Drew
Who did my poem misconstrue.
He thought that it concerned a dog
That owned a man named Hogg,
But it was all about my shoe!
K Morris reading his poem ‘There are no pockets in a shroud’.
Me reading my poem ‘There are no pockets in a shroud’.
K Morris reads his poem ‘The writers’ pen’
Me reading my poem ‘The writer’s pen’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The delight of snow’
Me reading my poem ‘The delight of snow’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘The crooked tree’
Me reading my poem ‘The crooked tree’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘This rhyme is out of time’.
Me reading my poem ‘This rhyme is out of time’.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Rhodes’
Me reading my poem ‘Rhodes’.
