Tag Archives: newauthoronline

We Should Stand With Our Fellow Bloggers Who Are Being Threatened With Death

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The Guardian reports that a militant group has published a “hitlist” of activists and bloggers. The extremist organisation has said that the named individuals (some of whom are UK citizens) should be killed due to their criticism of Islam. We should all as bloggers and believers in freedom condemn outright this barbarous threat. A number of individuals have already died simply for daring to express views which these fanatics regard as heretical.

It is easy to believe that such threats have little relevance to us as authors of fiction. However practically everything written can, if read (or mis-read) by a deranged person cause offence and lead the reader to engage in violence against the writer. Unless one confines oneself purely to writing technical manuals there exists a possibility that your words will, sooner or later cause offense. We should all be concerned and stand together with our fellow bloggers who are threatened by those who have a warped conception of Islam. (I say warped as most Muslims have no truck with fanatics).

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/sep/23/militant-group-publishes-hit-list-of-bloggers-activists-and-writers

Ploughing

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I shall plough my furrow

watching others burrow.

I shall sit with unclouded brow

Observing my fellow man worry about when and how.

I shall stand aloof

While others concern themselves with the truth.

The sun shines.

My lines

run on.

The time is long since gone

For expressing anything other than amusement

Or bemusement.

Who will smile in the end

When the axe descends?

 

To A Clock In Need Of Repair

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The pendulum has become detached,

The mechanism moves to fast.

Hands race around the face,

Time is out of place.

My antique clock’s eratic chime,

All is not fine.

The wooden case gleams,

But something has gone awry with the machine.

Country Places

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Books in oak cases,

Country places.

Grandfather clocks tick,

The squire leans upon his stick.

A gun dog through the bracken scrambles,

After him the squire ambles.

 

—

 

Neon advertising signs,

Clubbers drunk on wine.

Half dressed girls sway on unsteady feet,

Trying to keep to the beat.

Fruit machines flash,

After knife wielding thugs the police dash.

 

—

 

In his study the squire sits,

from a glass of fine brandy he sips.

The dog his hand licks,

Elsewhere society falls to bits.

 

Cuts

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Communications from those who sit on high.

Unease on winged feet does fly.

People keep their heads down,

Union reps frown.

The man nearing retirement thinks of his garden,

The poor performer hopes for a pardon.

There is money on the table,

For those who are able,

Or willing to take the redundancy shilling.

The girl in HR gazes at the darkening sky,

And heaves a sigh,

For her own job she must apply.

“There can be no reprieve,

Savings we need”!

Management consultants say,

As they take their pay.

 

Quote Of The Day

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“What is the end of Fame ? ’tis but to fill

A certain portion of uncertain paper :

Some liken it to climbing up a hill,

Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour ;

For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,

And bards burn what they call their ‘midnight taper’,

To have, when the original is dust,

A name, a wretched picture and worse bust”.

(Lord Byron “Growing Old”, http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Byron/growing_old.htm).

Another Great Review Of “The Girl Who Wasn’t There And Other Poems”

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Another great review of “The Girl Who Wasn’t There And Other Poems”:

 

“A commentary on the darker side of daily life, Morris here crafts a collection of poetry designed for the macabre-lovers of the poetry world. Focussing mainly on the exploitation of women via prostitution, this collection deals with social issues, as well as prodding at the dark side of society in an interesting way; seemingly joyous poems are juxtaposed with those obviously crafted with morose intentions, enlightening the reader to how simple emotions – like love for your dog – lives simply along side iniquitous circumstances, like the theme of prostitution, as previously mentioned, and suicidal thoughts because of said circumstances. Not unlike his previous collection, Morris incorporates underlying hints at humour in some of his otherwise darker poems, and interjects dark themes with plainly comedic commentaries. For example, half way through exists a poetic paragraph entitled “Fly”, in which the speaker is frustrated at flies. However, as aforementioned, these poems are weaved through the darker poems, and intermingle with the themes, provoking my thoughts of an alternate meaning at the intentions of some of the funny poems. For example, “Fly” could be less about wanting to kill a fly, and more about wanting to hold some sort of power over a disliked superior’s stronghold; it is not rare we all wish we could “reach for the fly spray” when someone is damming us to dire circumstances, or simply acting as an annoyance. As always, Morris’ work is herein very interesting. Both of his works I’ve read now have left me contemplative, which I find really interesting about his writing. Also, with Morris, there are no gimicks – no fanciful and obvious objective to metaphorically cultivate the reader – just simple, honest, raw writing, interlaced with pure emotion. Unfortunately, I did not enjoy this collection as much as the previous collection I read of Morris’. Thus, I awarded this collection a hearty 4/5 stars. (Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from K Morris in exchange for an honest review. I would like to send a big thank you and congratulations to K Morris for this collection, and its brilliance.)”

 

For the above review please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R2KRYNC1SVRTPL/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B0155KSKOC or https://bibliomad.wordpress.com/2015/09/17/the-girl-who-wasnt-there-and-other-poems-by-k-morris-book-review/.

Many thanks to Olivia for taking the time to read and review “The Girl Who Wasn’t There And Other Poems”.

 

Strange Conversations Hav I had

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“Hello?”

I halted my walk through All Saints Churchyard and turned enquiringly in the direction of the voice. The speaker, having caught my attention continued thus,

“Why are these leaning? The stones I mean”, he said.

“I don’t know” I replied, continuing on my way home.

 

Perhaps my response to the above question was a little terse. However I was unsure as to why a total stranger should accost me with such a peculiar question and I had no wish to stand around debating matters about which I knew little, in a churchyard as evening fell. Afterwards however I began to ponder on this strange question. My pondering did not revolve around why gravestones lean (I assume that over time they tend to tilt). Rather my thoughts centred around the people residing under said stones. When one is dead surely one has no interest in whether the stone above your head is dead straight or leaning like a man who has just consumed 10 pints of strong beer? The sleepers in that quiet earth will, I assume rest with the same repose irrespective of whether the stone above their head tilts or stands straight as a die?

The incident brought to mind the closing lines of Brontae’s Wuthering Heights,

 

“I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the moor: on middle one grey, and half buried in the heath; Edgar Linton’s only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliff’s still bare.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth”.