There was a young man called Pete
Who did my wine cellar deplete.
Being drunk as a lord
He fell on his sword.
That unfortunate young man called Pete.
(Written in response to https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/deplete/).
There was a young man called Bill
Who had his hand in the till.
When his boss named Mike
Said “go take a hike”
He left along with the till.
In this forest glade
I think on the shade.
All mens desires
For women and empires
Fade.
The shout
Of the brave
Is lost in the grave.
And all fires burn out
In the end,
Be they lover or friend.
There was a young lady called Joan
Who sat getting drunk on her own.
An old reprobate named Dan
Had a most wicked plan,
But went back home on his own.
I knew
A man who
Was so just and true
That when the ship came under attack
He stood back
And said “alas, alack
Poisoning is a terrible thing
Yet I can not bring
Myself to condemn
Particular men
(Although the evidence points that way)
I say
That there must be absolute proof.
So shall I in my allotment dig for truth).
He is digging still
And will
Continue to do so
As men of common sense see the fact
For what it is,
And act!
One can choose
To ignore the news,
And put off until tomorrow
The sorrow
And pain.
But what is true
Will break through
Again and again.
There was a young man called Jo
Who stood upon my toe.
When I cried in pain
He did it again,
So I shot him with my bow!
There was a young man called Jo
Who stood upon my toe.
When I cried in pain
He did it again,
So I told him where to go!
Some things
Have wings
Of light,
While others fly at night
Their poison carrying down the years,
Provoking bitter tears.
One such has gone
But his legacy lives on
In those who can not wait
To employ their knuckles tattooed with “Hate”.
An intelligent man
Frequently can
Do more harm
Than a stupid one,
For he is possessed of charm
And learning to.
True he has gone
But the bitterness lives on.
The word “fascist” is ugly to me
And I can not agree
With those who would label him so,
Yet I know
That it is possible to stoke
The fire and deplore the thuggish smoke
On which we all choke.
This is not quite fair
As there where
Racists ere
He spoke.
Yet he threw a match
Which did catch
Provoking flame
Blame
And smoke.
I have just finished listening to a dramatization of Enoch Powell’s “Rivers of Blood” speech on BBC Radio 4, http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09z08w3. The speech (which is voiced by an actor as no complete recording of it exists, is interspersed by the reactions of contemporary listeners. The Conservative journalist/commentator and biographer of Powell, Simon Heffer defended Powell against accusations of “racism”, while the former Conservative MP, Matthew Paris condemned Powell unequivocally.
The programme was, in my view balanced with David Lammy (a Labour MP) giving his perspective, together with several academics and members of the ethnic minorities who where affected by Powell’s speech.
Prior to the programme having been broadcast, there where calls for the BBC to pull it from the airwaves (the Labour peer, Lord Adonis argued that it should not be broadcast). As a believer in free speech (and having heard the programme) I believe that the BBC was right to broadcast the speech (together with reactions to it). Powell’s views are wrong and (to me) abhorrent. He did, nonetheless voice them and one can not sweep opinions which most people find offensive under the carpet. So I applaud the bravery of the BBC in airing this programme.
Creosote
On a hot
Day.
I lack the words to say
How the smell
(I know so well)
Carried me away
To where I can not stay,
For he has gone into the forest green
(Which I have seen
Though I can not follow him yet).
I can not forget
Those happy days (now tinged with regret)
For a fence does divide.
Yet he lives inside
My heart
And is forever a part
Of me.
The land I see
Beyond the fence is lush
With tree and bush.
I can not rush
And no not when
I shall see him again.
But see I must
For I am dust
As he
Who loved me.
K Morris - Poet 