Tag Archives: k morris poet

New Laptop

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Back in early 2011, I purchased a Sony Vio laptop (the machine on which most of my writing is done). I had, of course owned both laptops and desktop computers prior to buying the Sony. I do, however have no hesitation in stating that the Sony Vio is the most stable machine ever owned by me. This may stem in part at least from the fact that it is equipped with Windows 7 while previous machines worked utilising earlier versions of the notorious Microsoft operating System Vista. (Anyone who has had the misfortune to work with Vista will, I believe have their own tales of woe, made up of crashing operating systems due, in large measure to the amount of space taken up by Vista and the instability of the operating system).
During my visit to Liverpool, over the Christmas holiday in 2014, I knocked a cup of tea over my trusty Vio which lead to me having to replace the laptop’s keyboard (given it is a good old workhorse I was happy to pay the £60 entailed in doing so). Ironically, on returning from Liverpool (having attended the Christmas festivities in 2015), I found that the hard drive of my Vio had given up the ghost and required to be replaced. Again I paid for the machine’s repair.
All things do, however come to an end and this Christmas I received a Linova laptop as a present. Later this morning my friend Jeff is coming round to assist in setting up the new laptop. Being blind, I require assistance as Windows laptops/computers do not speak “out of the box”. My friend will ensure that the latest version of Windows 10 updates, then help in installing Job Access with Speech or JAWS (the software which converts text into speech and braille enabling visually impaired computer users to utilise Windows machines).
My Sony will, over time retire. It will, however remain as a spare machine.
I will be sorry to see this happen. It is, as I said at the start of this post, the laptop on which the lion’s share of my work has been produced. I am familiar with it’s workings an have become rather fond of it (well as much as one can become fond of a non-living object)! I am keeping my fingers crossed that the new Linova works as well as my good old Sony Vio laptop …

Limericks

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There was a young lady called Rose
Who had an accident while using a hose.
She got very wet
And said with regret,
“I can not master this hose!”

—

There was a young lady called Lin
Who owned a violin.
She played it at night,
Which was much to the delight
Of the fox who raided her bin!

—

There was a young lady called Hester
Who was a bit of a jester.
In the midst of telling a joke
The poor girl did choke,
And they buried her in Chester!

—

There was a young lady called Rose
Who lost all her clothes
While out for a walk.
When her friends did talk
She said,”that’s just the way it goes …!”

One can not “force” book sales

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Checking my Gmail spam folder, I came across a solicitation, from a book promotion service, inviting me to advertise my work on their website. The following paragraph particularly caught my attention:

“The (name of site redacted by me) specialize in making
sure that your book gets seen by readers
as well as media on major platforms to force
sales and with clear visibility”.

I am a simple soul and struggle to comprehend how one can “force” sales. As anyone with a rudimentary grasp of the English language knows, the word “force” implies coercion, compulsion etc. The use of the word “force” conjures up images of readers being frog marched to virtual check-outs and being compelled to part with their money. A virtual version of “stand and deliver” if you like. Surely this is not what the company in question mean by their employment of the word “force”.
One can not “force” another to do something against their will without the employment of blackmail, and/or the threat of (or actual utilisation of) violence. I am sure the organisation in question are not in any way advocating the use of such methods. None the less their use of the word “force” is sloppy in the extreme and does not inspire me with confidence regarding the service on offer. Consequently I wont be signing up with this outfit.

The Titanic may have sunk due to a fire in the ship’s boiler room a new documentary claims

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A documentary to be aired later today (Sunday 1 January), on channel 4, claims that the real reason for the sinking of the Titanic stemmed from a fire in the ship’s boiler room, which had been raging since it set sail from Southampton.

Had it not been for the fire the documentary claims, what could have been a relatively minor encounter with an iceberg, turned into a major disaster.

While the fire was mentioned at the enquiry into the sinking of the Titanic, according to the documentary not enough attention has been paid to it.

According to the film the ship’s owners where criminally negligent as they set sail in full knowledge of the existence of the fire in order to avoid further delays to the Titanic’s maiden voyage.

There is a fascinating exhibition featuring the Titanic at Liverpool’s Maritime museum which is, incidentally the city of my birth and a place for which I retain great affection.

For information on the documentary please see HERE.

For information on Liverpool’s connection with the Titanic please visit HERE.

Twenty-Seventeen

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The weather is drear
And none save my dog is near.
The new year
Beccons
As seconds
Are here then gone.
The clock’s hands move on
Towards twenty-seventeen.
I have no magic screen
To gaze into the future, but stupidity
And that age-old vice cupidity
Will, I venture to maintain
Continue to reign.

The human race
Has a face
Half devil and part divine.
There is a fine
Line
Between the two.
Looking through
History one finds dreams of utopia turning to hell,
Yet one can not tell
The idealist that he is wrong,
For he will answer you with the same old song,
“If everyone did such and such then all would be well”!
But we are saints with feet of clay
And the utopian’s way
Leads many to stray
Down the path to the ever lasting bonfire
Where the desire
To do good ends in the Gulag and the stamp
Of the fanatic’s boot in the concentration camp.

Small acts of kindness matter
And oft times achieve more than the chatter
Of those
Who would dragoon
Humanity into neat little rows.
And believe there is a man in the moon.