As pointed out in this article, https://engelsbergideas.com/reviews/the-second-world-war-had-its-poets-too/, the poets of the First World War are better known than those of World War II. I am, however, familiar with several of the poets (Keith Douglas for example) mentioned in this article. I shall certainly be adding this book to my books to be read list.
Today I am a guest on Ester Chilton’s blog. In my guest post I talk about what caused me to write my poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”. To read my article pleas follow this link to Esther Chilton’s blog https://estherchilton.co.uk/2025/06/13/guest-writer-spot-172/?jetpack_skip_subscription_popup. Please do leave any comments you may have on Esther’s blog.
It is humid.
The forecast predicts thunder.
I long for cooling rain
And wonder
Whether the great Thor
Will roar
Or will the weather forecast
Be wrong again!
When a man of the world said, “Rose,
The wise young woman knows
That all men they are full of sin!”,
That girl gave a grin,
As she went in search of her clothes …!
There once was a man named Ron
Who liked to go on and on!
A girl called Lin
Said, “forgive my sin!”,
As she brained Ron with a scone!
(The word “scone” is often pronounced as “scon” depending on which part of the UK one comes from).
As I shopped in the supermarket earlier today, one of the assistants read the poem printed on my t-shirt:
“I found
Blossom on the ground;
Which brought
To mind the thought,
We all,
As the blossom, fall”.
“Do you like poetry?”, I asked.
“Yes. If it rhymes”, she replied.
I was delighted that the lady liked rhyming poetry. And my pleasure was compounded by the fact that the poem in question was composed by me. (“Fallen Blossom” is included in my collection, “More Poetic Meanderings” More Poetic Meanderings: Amazon.co.uk: Morris, K, Morris, K: 9798388968302: Books).
The above conversation with the shop assistant caused me to ponder on why so many people (including myself) enjoy rhyming poetry.
As a child I learned many nursery rhymes, some of which I can still recite by heart. For example, whilst in the pub enjoying a few drinks with a friend, the nursery rhyme “There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe” There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe – Wikipedia, popped into my mind and I quoted it to my friend.
On the one hand, the rhyme can be seen as a bit of fun designed to make children laugh. It’s catchy nature lends itself to easy recollection by the reader. However, on the other hand, the poem speaks of child cruelty, (the beating of children with a shoe would today rightly have Social Services banging on the door and taking the abused children into care)!
The above rhyme is not therefore simply a charming piece of poetry. It is also (and perhaps primarily) a critique of child neglect. Not withstanding it’s dark messages “There was an Old Woman” remains memorable, as do such rhymes as “Hey Diddle Diddle” Hey Diddle Diddle – Wikipedia, a much more cheerful and light hearted rhyme, which I can still recite from memory.
I do not know how many children growing up in today’s society are exposed to the joy of nursery rhymes. However, it is my view (admittedly unscientific) that exposure to rhyme at a young age has the capacity to instil in people a life-long love of poetry and, in particular of rhyming poetry.
It is fashionable in some circles today to dismiss rhyming poetry as being “old hat” and to laud free verse. Whilst I have no beef with free verse, my instinctual preference is for poetry that rhymes. Whilst at school I recollect reading the “Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, The Highwayman | The Poetry Foundation. The rhythm of the poem enchanted me at the time and continues to do so to this very day.
I will finish with my own poem, “On the Death of a Writer” which contains elements of rhyme:
The rain is falling again.
“The garden smells fresh
And a solitary blackbird sings.
I heard of your death.
Your book remains unread.
You had others to write
And now are dead.
Each man has his plans,
Literary or otherwise.
But none knows
When his eyes may close.
The clock ticks as I write.
The scent of wet earth
Enters the house.
Tonight, I will close my eyes
And tomorrow write …”
(“Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Through-Some-thoughts-death-ebook/dp/B0F8TWMZJD).
Whilst walking through a very dark park
I met with a vampire named Mark.
When I began to pray
He said, “it’s a play!”,
But the werewolves howled in that park …!
I enjoy the sunshine
In early summertime
As I pass by tombs,
Stark and white
In the bright light.
I love the wild rain
And how it sound
Wraps me round
Calming my overheated brain.
Civilisation is an intricate clock.
But all clocks stop.
The dance ends my friend.
Listen to the rain
And watch the sun set.
An interesting short piece on how to write a sonnet How to: Write a Sonnet • Poetry School. I have attended courses at the Poetry School and can recommend them.
My unbalanced clock
Will still tick tock.
The pendulum swings.
But no Cuckoo sings
And the clock’s
Music has stopped.
K Morris - Poet 