In the restaurant its just the waiter and I,
While outside the window Vehicles speed by.
“There are a lot of beautiful women outside today”,
He remarks by way
Of conversation.
I drink
My wine and think
About this nation
On who’s empire the sun would never set.
Kipling may regret,
Yet
The sun continues to shine
And there is curry and wine,
While in the street
Multiracial feet
Hurry
Along,
Beating out a more or less harmonious song.
There was a middle-aged man called More
Who was a saloon bar bore.
He asked the barmaid,
“How long have I stayed?”
She gave a very loud snore!
Should I explain
Or leave those who gather the grain
To glean
What I mean?
I am no expert
But hope my words divert
And cause readers to think
As they from poetry’s fountain drink.
There was a ghost called Frank,
Who liked his chains to clank
In a manner most foul,
(Which caused the dogs to howl)!
And his stare was cold and blank.
—
A disreputable old ghost called Frank
Liked his chains to clank.
He stole a young lady’s towel,
In a manner most foul
As she lazed on the river bank.
An interesting expression
Is “the world’s oldest profession”.
Many a confession
Has the priest heard.
Mums the word.
He knows the flesh is weak
And will not speak
Of the desire
Burning in peasant and squire,
For discretion
Is his profession.
I was pleased to receive the below review of my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Please note, the reviewer received a free electronic copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” in exchange for an honest review. I am grateful to JC for taking the time to read and review my book.
—
“From the very first poem, My Old Clock I Wind, the subject of this volume of poetry is known… we can stop the hands of a clock but not the hands of time.
And if there were a soundtrack to this book of poetry, it would be George Harrison’s, All Things Must Pass.
Every time I review one of Kevin’s books I am struck by the way he can take a subject matter and make it sound fresh to each poem, not one poem ever feels
like it is just filler material, each can stand on its own.
Although the main theme is of time marching on to an unknown destination, death, and decay, we must question that destination and fully embrace it if we
want to start living life to the fullest. These themes are interwoven in poems about the seasons, ecology, social media, the modern world versus the past.
A few of my favorite are Count Dracula Went Out to Dine, Feather, Twenty Seventeen, and Graveyard.
A notable mention is Daffodils; one would think there has been enough poetry about this flower but Kevin manages to place it in a new refreshing situation.
In another poem, we are invited for an Evening Walk along with Kevin’s guide dog, Trigger to Hampton Court.
I think this is a handsome volume of poetry and would make a good companion on any day no matter the weather”.
(JC’s website – https://nimbus432.wordpress.com/).
A workman shouts to his mate.
An ordered state
With everything
Working as it should.
I enter the nearby wood
Where birds sing,
My dog and I revelling in the spring.
Idly I ponder
Whether the robot will come
And eclipse yonder
Workman’s sun.
On 4 April, I published a post entitled “Is there any benefit in studying creative writing?”, (https://newauthoronline.com/2017/04/04/is-there-any-benefit-in-studying-creative-writing/).
In that article I expressed scepticism as to whether studying creative writing can produce people who can, actually write poetry and prose. In my view creative writing courses may help to develop talent. They can not, however turn those who possess no talent for writing into people who can produce meaningful poetry or prose.
My previous post on this subject generated a very interesting debate which, at times got somewhat heated. The comments received caused me to carry out further research on the subject of creative writing. In the course of this research I came across the following article, in “The Guardian”, in which (the newspaper reports), creative writing Professor Hanif Kureishi questions the validity of creative writing. Unsurprisingly the article created considerable debate, both for and against the perspective attributed to Kureishi. Both the article (and the comments following on from it) are well worth reading. For the article please visit: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/mar/04/creative-writing-courses-waste-of-time-hanif-kureishi.
Many thanks to Annette Rochelle Aben for the below short story, which is copyright Annette Rochelle Aben.
—
I Loved You, Tom
So, like many a love affair, it really had no chance of happening. Oh, I noticed you, but the thought of TRYING to LIKE you was simply abhorrent! There was so much about you I couldn’t accept. You left a bad taste in my mouth and your natural scent, well let’s just say that I’d rather have smelled burnt popcorn. Yet my parents did everything from strongly suggesting to playing the “we know what’s best for you” card as though the guilt alone would get me to love you! They were, after all, completely befuddled that I was the only one in the family to NOT sing your praises. Over the years, I found I could take you in small quantities, and I began to find that I could enjoy you, given the right circumstances. Of course , I still had my issues getting to know the real you, the raw side of you, holding my ground for what seemed like forever, until something inside me shifted.
Can’t explain it, and I will never fully understand how, but one day I found myself out of my comfort zone and gave you an honest-to-goodness second chance. It was as though a whole new world opened for me. I was no longer that family member who rejected you, or tossed you aside. How could I have ever refused to enjoy myself when you were around? Eagerly, I began to include you in my daily life. People who had known me forever were confused. After all, I had been adamant about my feelings. Could it be possible that my tastes had changed? So many people told me this might happen.
This new-found appreciation, dare I say it, L-O-V-E, for you was bringing me great joy! As we are want to do with love, I felt the need to share my excitement. I even found a job where I could have you by my side more often. How proud I was to introduce you to others, putting you up on a pedestal. I was always meeting more people who had already known and loved you for most of their lives. Within the fold of their company, I felt proud and understood!
In the middle of this fun and frolic, something began to go terribly wrong. It wasn’t about the others. I knew I couldn’t keep you all to myself. You commanded world adulation, I accepted that as fact. This was me, not you and I lost sleep trying to come to grips with reality. It shook me to think that this might be the beginning of the end.
My body grew weak and it pained me to have you in my life. Those joy-filled times began to be followed by days of regret. There was something paining me and though I had an inkling, I was too proud to see the signs. It got to the point that I was advised by my doctor, to make a choice. Either pretend to be happy with you or live without you and be healthier! It was for my own good! Still, how could I walk away from that which had brought me such pleasure? To turn my back on the satisfaction, seemed impossible. I had become one of your most devoted fans. I loved you with all my heart!
Oh, the humanity!
I chose to give you up and I cut all ties. It wasn’t easy, for you were so much a part of my life. I cried for the loss, secretly hoping that I might soon waken from this bad dream. What if I did not feel better after this drastic change? Could we make a pact to find each other again? Then we’d slip away, go someplace where no one knew us, start over and live happily ever after!
Strange, but I began to feel better without you around. My body felt a resurgence of energy, my outlook brightened and I managed to find a zest for life. What a cruel joke! If what I felt was real love, how could I possibly be thriving with you gone? I finally had to admit that I couldn’t live on love alone. You were just no good for me and the truth was undeniable. We must have had something good at one time, but it wasn’t meant to last.
Yes, I have become stronger and you still have millions of others who adore you. We lost nothing and we will always have our memories. I see you from time to time. Quite knowingly, I smile but keep walking. See, I know that my life changed because of you, for the better. I no longer use my pet name for you, Tom. These days I refer to you more formally as Tomato!
http://www.annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/annetterochelleaben
There was a young man called Ron
Who wrote a poem about a swan.
He said to the bird,
“Have you my poem heard?”
But the swan had long since gone.
K Morris - Poet 