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Remembrance

In honour of those who gave their lives for freedom, I am reproducing below my poem “Poppy”, which first appeared here on 4 November 2016. This year I was able to purchase a poppy to remember the dead.

To those who died that you and me
Might live free.
To those who gave their sweet breath for King and Countrie.
I regret that yesterday
I had no cash to pay
For a poppy deep red
To remember the dead.

I will not know the stench
Of trench
Nor the wrench
Of fear
And pain as spear
Drains the life away.

What can the poet say
Who has never known
The touch of steel against bone?
We die alone
But most will peaceful go
And will not know
The whoa
Of comrades lost,
Nor count the cost
Of bloody strife.
They will not give their life
That others (you and me)
May live free.

Having only my debit card I regret to say
That I could not buy
A blood red
Poppy to remember the dead
As I wended my way
To my nine to five job yesterday.

Poems Inspired By The Great North Wood

Great North Wood, London, UK

Several of my poems have been inspired by the Great North Wood, one of the remnents of which is some 2-3 minutes walk from my home, http://www.wildlondon.org.uk/great-north-wood. I have spent many hours walking my dogs in Spa Woods, which form part of The Lawns, https://www.croydon.gov.uk/leisure/parksandopenspaces/parksatoz/the-lawns.

This afternoon I came across several volunteers from The Great North Wood/The Friends of Spa Woods engaged in conservation. A bonfire was going and invasive plants (laurel introduced in the Victorian era) was in the process of being removed to prevent it from stifling the growth of native flora.

The wonderful thing about The Lawns is that it was left to the local community and it is maintained by volunteers, who do excellent work to ensure that it remains a real oasis, which can be enjoyed by dog walkers and anyone in search of a little peace and tranquillity.

Below are examples of those poems of mine which have been influenced by my proximity to (and connection with) The Great North Wood:

The Path Through The Woods – https://newauthoronline.com/2017/04/03/k-morris-reading-his-poem-the-path-through-the-woods/
Wood In The Rain – https://rhymepoetry.wordpress.com/2017/05/21/wood-in-the-rain/
Owl – https://newauthoronline.com/2016/07/17/owl-2/
An Owl Hunting – https://newauthoronline.com/2016/03/31/an-owl-hunting/

Schopenhauer

While on the way to the shops yesterday, I met an acquaintance. As one does in such situations, we passed the time of day. During our conversation my companion thanked me for the print copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, that I had given him. He had he said read it 3 times and intended to read it again. My poetry was, in his view bleak and reminded him of Schopenhauer.

I must confess to never having read Shopenhauer, but the words of my acquaintance kindled in me a desire to read up on the philosopher. For anyone interested in learning more about Arthur Schopenhauer I recommend the above article as a good starting point.

As to whether my poetry does, in any sense chime with the ideas expressed by the German philosopher, I feel unable to comment other than to state unequivocally that I repudiate in the strongest possible terms the anti-Semitic views attributed to Shopenhauer.

Anti-semitism is vile and led to the extermination of approximately 6 million Jews (men, women and children). Sadly there remain those on the far-right of politics who continue to propagate the lie that there was no “Final Solution”. Such denials are dangerous and those who propagate them contribute to the curse of anti-semitism.

Kevin

I Don’t Understand

I don’t understand those who wish that the sun would always shine,
For life is varied, and I pray that it will remain so.
When others complain
I shall go
Out in the rain
And feel alive
As they into buildings dive.

Some say the winter is drear
And huddle near
Fires that suck The oxygen away.
I can not stay
Indoors
On a cold winter’s day
But must ramble about on the moors
Or take a walk in an urban park
For the dark will come
And blot out the sun.
I am dust.

Gaunt Angel

The angel of passion haunted this place.
Many a grace
In the form of lass
Did pass
Through the ever open
Door.
Trite words where spoken,
(Most returned no more).

Now an angel gaunt
Does haunt
This place.
I can not see her face
Yet she does in secret flaunt
Her wares,
A payment just for man’s affairs.

Poems For November 5th

November 5th is Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night here in the UK. Below are 2 of my poems with a fireworks/Bonfire Night element to them. The first is entitled “Catherine Wheel” and the second “The Dark”.

Both poems can be found in my collection, “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/).

Sometimes I feel
Like a Catherine wheel,
My words as sparks,
Lighting the dark.
But who in December
Remembers
The fifth of November?

Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what
I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits …