The chatter
Of girls who clatter
By
On stillettos high,
Giggling about their latest guy.
Pointy heels delight,
Excite
And tear apart
A young man’s heart.
Girls once dreamed of mansions in the Cheshire countryside
But time’s tide
Runs on.
Youth is almost gone
And dreams turn to the waking nightmare
Of the needle-strewn stair
In a tower block too high
For you or I
But a mother and a screaming baby live there,
While you and I pretend to care.
It isn’t just a byproduct of the digital publishing age. From the time that book publishing became available to the masses instead of just royalty and the super rich, countless people have asserted that they have a book in them, all they need do is write it.
Many give as reasons that they have something to say or just have a need to express themselves. However, if you look at the sales figures for books over the last couple of centuries, the largest majority fall into the category of good old fashioned storytelling.
Storytelling pre-dates the printed page. As long as there has been civilisation, teaching as well as entertainment through storytelling has been a common method among peoples all over the planet for conveying information or enjoyment from one generation to the next. In our modern world, both are often accomplished through books.
If you write non-fiction books, it…
View original post 1,031 more words
There was a young DJ called Weeks,
Who said “the broadcaster speaks!”.
He addressed the invisible crowd,
In a voice firm and loud,
But his listeners heard only squeaks!.
Look into my heart,
Do you possess the art
To reveal
That which I would conceal?
Like an eel
I am hard to grasp.
‘Tis perhaps
An impossible task,
So tell me my friend can you reveal
That which I would conceal?
From time to time, a line of poetry pops into my head. I can’t shake off the words of the poet and remain a little restless until the author of said lines has been discovered by me.
Recently the following lines kept running around in my mind
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
A quick Google search reveals that the above beautiful words where penned by John Keats and appear in his Ode on a Grecian Urn
The internet is often attacked for “dumbing down” literature in that it fosters a desire for instant gratification (the wish for easily digestable bite-sized entertainment in the form of stories, poems etc).
There is, in my opinion an element of truth in this criticism. However the internet does, at it’s best open up almost instantaneous access to the world of literature and, in the case of the lines sighted above, enabled me to quickly ascertain their origin.
Kevin
It is said that “every man has his price”.
We decry vice,
For the nice
Guy or gal
Shal
Not get caught
Doing what they ought
Not to do.
But who
Save the saint
In narratives quaint
Can with honesty say
There has never been a day
(An admission truly shocking),
When temptation came aknocking.
Some may not fall
Yet recall
The devil on their shoulder
Who whispered “you are getting older.
Only the fool
Adheres to the rule
That keeps him poor”.
That door
They may refuse to open,
Yet the devil’s words are spoken
And every word
is heard
By man and child.
Many, like Wilde,
Do persist
And resist
Anything accept temptation.
There was a young man called Paul
Who wrote on the classroom wall.
His teacher Matt
Objected to that,
So he scrawled all over Paul!
If we reduce
It to the bare bone,
Man stands alone,
His purpose to produce.
He is a mere factor of production.
What a reduction
Of you and me
To a robot who can not be free.
The dull
Texts that Marx and Bentham wrote
Are full
Of such stuff.
I have had enough
Of the dreary theory
Produced by long dead sages.
Weighty pages
Read
By those who live too much in their own head
And try to force the world to conform
By reform
Or worse!
My verse
Will not halt the curse
Of those who too much water drink
And in think
Tanks construe
Ideas of varying hue
Which, no doubt, they believe to be true,
Then foist them on me and you.
In this post I discuss to what extent my visual impairment (I am registered blind) impacts on my writing. My thanks to Sue Vincent for kindly hosting my article. Kevin
Silhouette. Image by Nick Verron, who is also partially sighted.
At approximately 18-months-old, I lost the majority of my eyesight due to a blood clot on the brain. While I can distinguish light and dark and discern the outline of objects, I am unable to see detail. So, for example, if a friend were to pass by me I would see an outline and only be aware that it was a friend when they spoke.
I began writing poetry in 2012 and at that time the idea that my visual impairment might impact on the kind of poems I wrote never occurred to me. However, given that several people have commented on my poor vision and how this may impact on my writing, I thought it would form an interesting basis for a post and I am grateful to Sue for agreeing to publish my article.
On Thursday 26…
View original post 1,102 more words
There was a young man called Di
Who’s poetry made the critics cry.
His verse was so sad,
It drove them half mad.
They truly wished to die!
