Tag Archives: k morris poet

“Not Our Kind: the Problem of Book Reviewing Through Tribal Identification”

https://freebeacon.com/culture/not-our-kind/.

The above article is worth a read and is self-explanatory. As for the poem which sparked the article (which is linked to from within the piece), from a personal perspective the literary work is not particularly to my taste. However the attacks on the poet, Anders Carlson-Wee), which are detailed in the article, appear to me to constitute a gross over reaction to what he wrote and I must confess to being somewhat surprised by the fulsome apology of the periodical which published it.

The poet subsequently apologised for the poem and was (again” criticised for saying that the comments received where “eye-opening”, the criticism being predicated on the fact that blind people can not see and, therefore the language being construed as “ableist”. As someone who is registered blind I have no problem with the use of terms such as “eye-opening”. Indeed I have used this term myself and also frequently say to friends or acquaintances “see you around”, by which I mean not that I will (literally) see them, but that our paths will cross again.

Ultimately any work of literature should be judged on its literary merits not whether it offends a particular community and/or individual. Writers should not be constantly thinking could what I am writing possibly cause offense? If we go down that road we risk a stilted literary environment in which I don’t wish to live.

Wednesday Humour

A beautiful young lady from France
Asked me whether I wished to dance.
As we started to waltz
I said, “are you false?”
She replied, “shush, just enjoy the dance!”.

—

When a naughty young lady called Samantha
Went to school with her panther
The teacher looked black
And said, “take it straight back,
I have no room for your panther!”.

Halloween Humour

There was a young lady called Lin
Who grew a giant pumpkin.
On the night of Halloween
I have often seen
The Devil dance and grin!

—

There was a young lady called Lin
Who grew a giant pumpkin.
On the night of Halloween
Or so I glean
She lit that giant pumpkin.

—

There was a young lady called Lin
Who committed a most terrible sin.
Twas in the depths of the dark
When, with her brother Mark
She stole my prize pumpkin!

When A Sporty Young Lady Called Samantha

When a sporty young lady called Samantha
Went for a ride on a panther,
The creature, having a stomach ache
Said, “I shall not partake
Of any lunch today Samantha”.

Artificial Grass

I heard an ad for artificial grass
And flowers too
To adorn the gardens of me and you.

What need for what is true
When one can make a pass
At a girl who’s silicon filled bust
engenders lust?

Into the future we thrust
Both lad and lass.
But the artificial grass
Must also pass.

There Was A Young Lady Called Holly

There was a young lady called Holly
Who’s favourite word was golly.
At her boarding school
She broke every rule
Along with her best friend Molly!

—

There was a young lady called Holly
Who’s favourite word was golly.
At her boarding school
She played the fool
Along with a cat named Molly!

—

There was a young lady called Holly
Who wrote poetry far from jolly.
Being rather posh
She said golly and gosh,
And she lived in an ancient folly.

Out of Place

I would
That this forest,
This little wood
In which I trace
The seasons slow pace
Could remain
The same.

Spring
Summer, autumn and winter does bring
A natural order to this changing thing
Which alters not, save in accordance with nature’s law.

The woodland floor
Is now with leaves strewn
But soon
Winter’s chill
Will
Lay an icey hand
Upon this land.

Yet it is not as before
As the forest floor
Is strewn with leaves in summers overly hot
For man has forgot
The natural order of things
And his action brings
The leaves too early down.

The town
It flows towards the countryside.
The urban tide
May rise
And sweep
That which I would keep
Away.

The planners say
“The people must have somewhere to stay.
We must build a little on the greenbelt
Where once the owl dwelt
In solitude.
We can not exclude
The young who need their own home”.

The squire has long since gone
And progress marches on.
There is nothing to hold
Dear but gold
And we are told
That we should “embrace
This marketplace
In all things, while the stupid left speak of an equality
Which can never be
For in this world of tears, we can not be
Both equal and free.

Sometimes I look back with nostalgia to the squire
And half desire
Him to rise
From his grave
And the country save
From this tide
Of progress
Where left and right contend
Over who can best defend
This sterile world of high tech screens,
While country scenes
Are lost, save in dreams.