We dance in a ring
In spring
When the roses bloom
And little think on winter’s tomb.
We cavort
In the summer sun
With unstaid maid
And give but little thought
To how the deer does run
Towards the setting sun.
In autumn, when leaves fall
We recall
Life’s joys and gall
Ere winter makes a bed
For lover’s head.
There was a young lady named Lou
Who wrote a poem about you.
It was extremely salacious
And very vexacious,
But there was nothing I could do!
There was a young poet called Kevin
Who said “I may not get to heaven.
But I shall write
Throughout the night,
And get drunk by half-past seven”!
“Excuse me, can I pray for you?”
“Yeah, do what you like”!
There I was, on my way home earlier this evening, when a random stranger accosted me (and I responded), in the manner set-out above.
Some may interpret my reply as brusque, perhaps even rude. However I am blind and a guide dog user and my gut instinct screamed “this man is a religious zealot who believes that by praying for me he will, with god’s assistance, help me in regaining my eyesight”.
I don’t have a problem with religion. If religious belief gives a person a sense of wellbeing and (hopefully) makes them live a good life, then I am all in favour of religion.
I also believe that if religion helps believers to cope with the death of a loved one (due to their belief that the person who has passed away has gone to a better place), then I have no right to disabuse them of that conception, as to do so would be cruel.
Furthermore, as a child/teenager, I derived tremendous pleasure from the traditions associated with religion, including the singing of hymns and the sense of peace I gained from being in the school chapel.
I would describe myself as an agnostic (rather than an atheist), so have no anti-religion axe to grind.
No, what I object to is people (religious or otherwise) ramming their ideas down the throats of others.
Indeed I have experienced equal annoyance when being brow beaten by atheists who insist in disparaging people of religious belief.
If you don’t like religion you are, of course perfectly entitled to your point of view, but please don’t corner me in the pub and ram your dogma (which is equally as unpleasant as that of the religious zealot) down my throat as, quite frankly I wish to enjoy a quiet pint without being lectured by a saloon bar bore.
The above should not be taken as indicating an unwillingness on my part to engage in friendly debate on religion or, indeed any other subject. I enjoy discussion with open minded individuals.
What I object to is having a particular view rammed down my throat by those who are not prepared to listen to counter arguments.
I defend the right of people to hold inflexible views on religion or any other topic. However I also stand up for my absolute right not to be asailed by zealots, religious or otherwise.
Of an evening late
Oft times I would wait
For a click clack
To relieve my lack.
In the street below
Feet would come and go.
Heels would approach
And broach …
Or in the dark
Car park
A door would bang,
Which rhymes with twang.
Looking back, I recall
Bang
And twang
And fall.
There was a young lady named Gay
Who said “every dog has its day”.
Her dog heaved a sigh
And said “I wonder why,
That can not be today?”
There is an equalitie in the grave
Where the brave,
The coward, the rich and the poor
All must bow down,, to death’s all conquering law.
In the beds of the living,
There may be mutual giving
And equalitie,
But love may not always be free
Long forgotten lists
And secret trysts.
Girl’s wrists
Naked, save for cheap jewels,
So often left behind
For fools
To find.
Inexpensive scent
Grossly overdone.
It is fun
To repent
Over the fact
Of an act
And say, “come future days,
I shall mend my ways”.
The moralist gabs
About heels
And midnight deals
As the stiletto stabs
Again, and perchance leaves a mark
On Lothario’s fickle heart.
There was a young materialist named Ted
Who remarked “when we are dead, we are dead”.
He went to Hell
Where the Devil does dwell,
That unfortunate young materialist named Ted!
Whispering girls, I know
not what you are saying.
Perhaps
‘Tis a kind of praying,
For your first lapse
Happened not long ago.
One cold,
Rigid as an ironing board.
The other bold.
Their desire for gold,
And his aching lust,
All must
End in dust.
K Morris - Poet 