There was a young boy called Ed
Who wrote a story about his ted.
His mother did remark,
“It is getting dark,
And you and ted must go to bed!”
(Ted or teddy, is frequently used as a shortened form of teddy bear, particularly by young children).
Many thanks to Sally for featuring a recent review of my collection of poetry “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” on her blog. Kevin
The sun shone this evening as I strolled from my office in Whitehall to Embankment tube.
The roads seemed empty apart from the presence of police vehicles, who’s sirens joined with the noise of the helicopter to disturb the tranquillity of the evening.
No one appeared to be manning the “Evening Standard” stall outside Embankment station, which seemed odd given the events of the day.
“Watch out for card clash”, the automated announcement said as we commuters filed along, in a more or less orderly fashion.
I passed part of my journey home, from Victoria to Gipsy Hill, in conversation with a lady. We spoke about my guide dog, Trigger.
Just another daily commute then, when I reached the pub, the horror of the day replayed again on television.
—
My place of work is in Whitehall, some little distance from Parliament where the terrorist atrocity occurred this afternoon. I am unharmed and (fortunately) none of my colleagues or friends where affected by today’s incident. However the shock remains with me.
A thrumming in the wire.
Rising desire
By commuters to enter
The tube’s centre.
Wrapped in the tunnel’s dark embrace
We race
Towards our destination.
A brief anticipation,
Then we disgorge at our station.
On checking my email this morning, I was delighted to learn that my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” (http://moyhill.com/lost/) has received a great review.
To read the review please visit (https://laurenwalsburg.com/2017/03/21/review-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-by-k-morris/).
As with Ernest Dowson, Keats died at far to young an age.
The best poems by Keats
John Keats (1795-1821) died when he was just twenty-five years old, but he left behind a substantial body of work, considering he died so young. Nevertheless, a number of his poems immediately suggest themselves as being among the ‘best’ of his work. In this post, we’ve selected what we think are the top ten best Keats poems.
‘Ode to Psyche’. The earliest of Keats’s 1819 odes, ‘Ode to Psyche’ is about the Greek embodiment of the soul and mind, Psyche. Keats declares that he will be Psyche’s ‘priest’ and build a temple to her in his mind. Although this is probably the least-admired of Keats’s classic odes (though ‘Ode on Indolence’ would rival it), it’s a fine paean to poetic creativity and the power of the imagination.
View original post 739 more words
There was a young man called Matt
Who said “poetry is old hat”.
His brother Jim
Disagreed with him.
It ended in a spat!
This is an extremely good cause. I have happy memories of being read to by my grandfather. I particularly remember The Famous 5, The Secret 7 and many fairytales. I wish this project the very best of luck. Kevin
I would like to reach out to kid lit authors and book bloggers to get quality books into the hands of deserving kids.
Throughout the month of March, I am collecting new children’s books to benefit children of incarcerated parents. Authors, I hope you will consider donating signed copies of your books. Book bloggers, please help us by sharing this information with your readers.
I am a children’s author, teacher, and mom who is passionate about children’s literacy and the power of children’s books. When I learned nearly 2/3 of children, living in poverty, DO NOT own books, I was moved to act. I founded the literacy initiative, Picture Book Pass it On, to raise awareness for literacy issues and get books to kids in need.
Three years ago, the Picture Book Pass it On initiative grew to include a month-long book drive called MARCHing Books to Kids.
View original post 424 more words
Would
That I could
Find Chrysanthemums in bud.
For those in bloom
Are gone to soon.
I remember the sweet scent
Of the chrysanthemums that bloomed
In my grandfather’s garden.
Entombed,
They are long since spent.
I expressed a view, contrary to your own.
Now I am alone
Thinking on the old adage that one ought
Not to talk,
About religion, politics and sport.
