Tag Archives: newauthoronline

Words Caper

Words caper
On virtual paper,
As my thoughts one another chase,
Only to be lost in cyberspace.
‘Else my words on pages
Moulder for ages.

But it is not the case
That cyberspace
Does forget,
And dusty tomes, may be read yet.

There Was A Young Lady Named Leigh

There was a young lady named Leigh
Who got stung by a rather large bee.
When they said “does it hurt bad?”
She turned quite mad
And climbed a fine old oak tree!

There Was A Young Lady Named Nell

There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
She crossed a line
While drunk on cheap wine
And was sentenced by a judge called Snell.

There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
She wrote many a rhyme
To pass the time
But her poems they didn’t sell.

There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
When I asked her “why?”
She winked her eye
And said “I like it very well!”.

Short Story

Most of you will know me as a poet. I have, however also published a number of short stories, one of which, “Run For Your Life” is reproduced below. Please note that “Run For Your Life” contains strong language. If you are offended by such language you may wish to skip the below.

“Run For Your Life” can be found in “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00QQVJC7E.

Wanker flirting with that barmaid like that. He says that he was just having a laugh but I’m sick of it. Everytime we go out it’s the same

“Oh its just a laugh Lucy. Just chill out, get a life”.

“I’ll get a life without you” I told him as I threw my vodka and coke in his face. He was furious but give him his due he didn’t retaliate. He’s a womanising arsehole but he has never been violent.

Its dark walking home. Still its only 20 minutes from the pub to my flat. He’d better not think of coming back there, tosser! Shit its raining. I’ll be drenched. I new that I should have called a cab but I was so het up, not thinking straight.

That blokes been following me for the past few minutes. Don’t panic Lucy it’s a coincidence. He just happens to be going in the same direction as you.

I can’t see his face. That hat pulled down almost hiding his eyes, I don’t like it. Christ he’s walking fast, almost running. Keep calm he just wants to get home out of the rain the same as you. But he’s running straight at you. Fuck the alley’s empty just this weirdo and me. Scream, call for help. But he hasn’t done anything, he’s only running. Shout anyway it will scare him away.

“Help, help someone please help”.

There are no houses around here. No one can hear me. I shouldn’t have gone down this short cut, It saves 5 minutes but its taken me away from the main street. Oh Christ why didn’t I call a cab. Please, please god help me. He’s running now. I can here him calling for me to stop. You must be fucking joking mate I’m not stopping for you! I can’t run in these heels. Off they come. I haven’t been to the gym for ages. God I’m so out of condition I’m wheezing like an old man. My chest’s killing me and I’ve a stitch in my right side. Must rest. Can’t rest he’ll catch you. Must stop for a moment. I can’t. Oh fuck he’s still gaining on me I wish I’d kept going to the gym with the girls. Please, please no he’s almost on top of me. Run, Run Lucy, must get away. I can see the street lights up ahead. Just one more spurt and your back in civilisation.

He’s waving. What the hell does he expect me to do, I’m not stopping! Oh Christ he’s caught up with me. He’s got something in his hand and he’s pointing it at me. God is it a gun? Why me?

“You left this on the bar. God lady you where in a hurry. I thought I’d never catch up with you. This is your mobile isn’t it?”

If Each Glass Told A Tale

If each glass told a tale
We would turn pale
And take
Care
To avoid their
Impassive stare.

Many a glass would break.
Such an easy mistake
To make
To catch a mirror, with an elbow
And watch it go
A-spinning,
And see our sinning
In fragments on the floor,
To be spoken of no more
By the all-seeing eye …

The Musician’s Lover

“O sweet musician
Lead me not into perdition
For the lay
You play
Has carried many a man away.

Your tune
‘Tis over soon
And those who do you adore
Are left wanting more.

The beat
Of your feet
Has led many a man astray.
The song you play
Leaves men weak
And unable to speak
Save in grunt and moan.

We men can not leave it alone.
Though the wise amongst us know
That there is no rest
To be found on the breast
Of the musician who will play
A sweet lay
For a damned soul’s pay.

Your Chance To Win A Free Audio Download Of My Collection Of Poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, Ends At 6 PM (UK Time) On Wednesday 20 December

Your chance to obtain a free audio download of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind” ends at 6 pm (UK time) on Wednesday 20 December.

For details of how to obtain your free audio book please visit HERE.

“My Old Clock” is also available, in ebook and paperback from the publisher, http://moyhill.com/clock/ and can be found (ebook only) in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0735JBVBG.

“My Old Clock I Wind” can also be found on Goodreads.

Should Writers Be Political?

A little while back I came across a post entitled “Are Writers Allowed To Express Political Opinions”, https://ryanlanz.com/2017/12/01/are-writers-allowed-to-express-political-opinions/. Before proceeding further, I would like to make it clear that in a free society writers (along with the rest of the population) have an absolute right to voice their views. I have always voted and will continue to do so as to complain and not to vote is, in my view at best risible and at worst smacks of hypocrisy. However the point of this post is to examine whether it is wise for writers to express political opinions.

I recall attending a poetry reading, during the course of which one of the performers regaled the audience with a poem lauding the virtues of a former British prime minister. As a point of information, my view of the PM in question is that their period in office saw both positive and negative measures taken by the administrations in question. However the poem’s uncritical lauding of the politician and its blatant political purpose made me squirm. I suspect that I was far from being alone in my feeling of relief when this piece of propaganda was at an end.

Political poetry need not, however have one squirming in one’s seat. Take, for example the 17th-century “Vicar of Bray which begins thus:

“1. In good King Charles’ golden time, when loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high churchman was I, and so I gained preferment.
To teach my flock, I never missed: Kings are by God appointed
And damned are those who dare resist or touch the Lord’s annointed.

(Chorus):

And this be law, that I’ll maintain until my dying day, sir
That whatsoever king may reign, Still I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir. …”. (http://www.britainexpress.com/attraction-articles.htm?article=29).

In the above poem, we are treated to a wonderful description of a vicar who will change his principles in whatever way will advance his survival in the living of Bray. The man has no loyalty whatsoever other than to himself. The poem manages to be both bitingly funny and to attack political opportunism at the same time.

One does not, in my view need to agree with the sentiments being expressed to find poetry that expresses political views interesting and/or amusing. Take, for example Hilaire Belloc’s “On A Great Election”:

“The accursed power which stands on privilege
(And goes with women, and champagne, and bridge)
Broke—and democracy resumed her reign
(Which goes with bridge, and women, and champagne)”.

Although I think that Belloc’s view is overly cynical, his poem does, none the less strike a chord with me and brings a smile to my face, which is a key factor in any good poem (that it resonates with the reader).

As for my own work, anyone who reads my poetry will, I believe gain a view as regards my political outlook. Be wary though my dear reader for my tongue is sometimes firmly implanted in my cheek!

In conclusion, writers do, of course have a perfect right to express political views. However few people like a didact and much of the best political poetry contains an element of satire. Orwell’s “Animal Farm, Animal Farm, never through me shall you come to harm” causes the reader to wince and is intended to do so, for Orwell is satirising the sloganeering of the Communist left. Orwell’s quote is, in my opinion far superior to the poem regarding a former British Prime Minister, which I was forced to sit through during a poetry reading some time ago.

Kevin