She was a party girl
Her head in a whirl
Of boys
And expensive toys.
She offered
“No strings fun”
In exchange for money proffered
By those who would
(if they only could)
outrun
The solemn tick tock
Of the ever present clock.
She was gone one day,
Who can say
Where?
Few care
To know.
The man of the world shrugs.
“Drugs.
Best not go
There.
She had naturally blonde hair
I think.
Will you take another drink?”
The chimes
Are out of tune with the times.
Which way will the pendulum swing?
And what will the future bring?
The tick tock
Of a balanced clock
Is long since gone
But the mechanism grinds on.
The clock may be repaired
And it’s owners spared
The eratic pendulum’s swing
That no balance does bring.
A steady chime
To tell the time
And the singing of a blackbird
Must once more be heard.
To celebrate National Poetry Day, (which took place on 28 September), BBC local radio commissioned 12 poets from across England to write a poem incorporating a local word. To be frank some of these poems left me cold. I was, however rather taken with “Twittens”. To read the 12 poems please visit http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/4jjwQBspBn4NLRyB53d0dnJ/national-poetry-day-free-the-word.
Below are 2 poems which are taken from my collection of poetry and prose, “Dalliance”, which was published in 2014. The first poem is entitled “Fire” and the second “Midnight”.
—
“I have felt the fire’s power;
It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.
I have watched the embers dying fast;
Looked into the future and gazed into the past.
I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul”.
—
“Midnight, black as pitch.
No scheming demon, ghost, nor witch.
Only the darkness, which in the human heart resides, manifests itself in cruelty and pride”.
—
There was a young lady called Lou
Who fell into a vat of glue.
A handsome young doctor named Shane
Said “I share all your pain
For I am in love with you!”.
I heard
An Autumn bird
Sing to me
From a tree,
As I took
A short-cut
Through the grounds
Of the doctor’s surgery.
Being a guide dog owner brings with it many advantages, (the companionship of a wonderful brindle Labrador/retriever and a highly effective mobility tool being 2 of the most obvious).
During my social and working life I am asked many questions regarding how guide dogs work, most of which are perfectly reasonable. I always answer such queries as its important that people understand the vital role played by guide dogs in enhancing the independence of visually impaired people. I am however sometimes flabbergasted by the daft questions put to me.
I have lost count of the number of occasions when a question along the following lines has been asked, “so does your dog go to work with you?”
I recently came across a variant on the above query. An acquaintance, being aware that I was traveling to Liverpool to visit my mum asked, “so does Trigger (my guide dog) go to Liverpool with you?”
I am known for my dry (some would say sarcastic) sense of humour. Consequently I am highly tempted to reply along the following lines, “no, he will stay in London for the 7 days I shall be in Liverpool. Don’t worry I shall leave him enough food and water to cover my absence. I am, however a little concerned that my home might be rather messy on my return …!”.
I do, however bite my sharp tongue and respond that the whole purpose of a guide dog is to act as a mobility tool. Consequently Trigger goes everywhere with me (the UK Equalities Act makes it an offence for a provider of goods or services to discriminate against a person for a reason related to their disability.
As a guide (or other assistance animal) is necessary to the independence of many disabled people, the Act makes it an offence for restaurants and other establishments to refuse to admit a disabled person when accompanied by their working assistance animal).
I shall continue to smile and patiently explain about the role of guide dogs when confronted by silly questions while, all the time furiously biting my sarcastic tongue …
There was a young man named Meek
Who’s view of the world was bleak.
When I bought him a beer
He said “the world is so drear,
I shall drink for the rest of the week!”
There was a young authoress named Leigh
Who said “my writing shall survive me”.
She died one midnight drear
(Twas the middle of the year),
And was buried by critics three!
The heels are gone
Yet her scent lingers on.
Delicate fingers
Strummed a tune
That was over all too soon.
There were 2 heads
Laid upon my bed,
Now there is but one
Yet her scent lingers on.
Perfume fades over time
Until all scent is gone
But recollection of heels and fingers
Lingers
On in rhyme.
K Morris - Poet 