A recording of me reading my limerick, ‘Claire’.
Tag Archives: poem
Kevin Morris reading his limerick ‘Beth’.
Beth by Kevin Morris.
Me reading my poem ‘Park after Rain’.
A recording of yours truly reading my poem ‘Park after Rain’.
Can anyone detect a Liverpool accent?
Restless Nights
Lying in bed, thoughts, unbidden creep like unwanted guests into my head. Unable to sleep, listening to the rain I think of Larkin, the curtain edges undarken and postmen, like doctors go from house to house.
Autumn Leaves by Charles Dickens
Yesterday evening, lying in bed, browsing Youtube on my Ipad I came across Charles Dicken’s poem, Autumn Leaves on Youtube. I must confess to not having been aware that in addition to his novels, short stories and travel writings Dickens had, in addition written poetry. This one is well worth a listen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ESlzcQqEFY
The Cleaner
I sit watching you making my surfaces gleam, my efficient cleaning machine. What do you think as you clean, my hard working cleaning machine? Do you see
a snob? A man to lazy to clean his own flat, with a good job? Do you see me as free, reading with a book upon my knee? Would you like to trade places with
me, To sit in comfort, while I toil with a book upon your knee? Tell me, my equal what do you think of me?
Clare
There was a young lady called Clare who liked to dance on the stair. One day she did slip, and fractured her hip, so now she dances on chairs.
Freedom of Expression
On 19 May I published a poem entitled “Her Mother’s Daughter” (see http://newauthoronline.com/2013/05/19/her-mothers-daughter/). In the poem I address how a mother oblivious to the fact that her young daughter is engaged in sex work would react if she discovered her involvement in prostitution. My poem provoked the following response from a lady engaged in sex work
“This is fucking horrible. This entire project is vile. What the fuck are you even doing creating a whole project about sex workers as a non-sex worker based on shitty stereotypes, asinine paternalistic bullshit and inane drivel? As a sex worker myself, this is gross. For the sake of humanity, please stop. You are propagating stereotypes and lies about us and this causes us DIRECT HARM. STOP STEREOTYPING SEX WORKERS. Stop speaking for us. We can speak for ourselves.”
It goes without saying that sex workers can (and do) speak for themselves and that they have every right to do so. However I am extremely concerned regarding the implied view that anyone who is not a sex worker does not have the right to express a view on the issues pertaining to prostitution. If we follow this reasoning to it’s logical conclusion then only black people should speak about matters pertainig to blacks, only white people on issues relating to whites etc. This way of proceeding would stifle literary and, indeed artistic expression and would lead to a debased cultural landscape in which writers and society more generally is frightened of expressing an opinion as it might, just possibly offend some one or other. As someone who is blind I dislike the stereotypes which some misguided individuals hold concerning visually impaired people. However I have no wish to prevent the expression of opinion. If I disagree with views being voiced I can (and will) challenge those views, not by calling for their suppression but by arguing against them as any believer in freedom should do.
As regards the substance of the above quoted criticisms, the commentor makes no attempt to express a contrary perspective. Rather she indulges in that age old trick of shooting the messenger rather than attempting to engage him in debate.
In point of fact I accept the right of sex workers to sell sex and the right of clients to purchase services provided that both parties are of legal age and coercion in the form of threat or violence is absent from the exchange. However that is not at all the same thing as accepting that prostitution has no harmful effects on those engaged in it. Ultimately in a free society individuals have the right to make choices which may harm them (that is an important right which should be respected), however that is not the same thing as saying that one has no right to express concerns regarding said choices. In a democracy free and open debate is essential.
Who Killed Cock Robin (humour)
Below is my rewrite of the traditional English nursery rhyme, “Who Killed Cock Robin” which is written firmly with my tongue in my cheek. I did say (only yesterday) that I wouldn’t be blogging during the visit of my mum and her partner, however as they are currently ensconced watching television I think that I may safely allow myself a few minutes for blogging!
Who Killed Cock Robin Rewrite
“So, constable who killed cock robin?”
“Well sir Jack Sparow claims to have done it with his bow and arrow”.
“Do we have any independent witnesses to the murder because we wouldn’t want some clever defence lawyer to claim we beat a confession out of Jack Sparow?”
“Well sir Guy the fly claims to have seen Cock Robin Die with his little eye”.
“But Guy the fly was seen by Mike the pike buzzing around the picknick tables, near the lake and that is miles from where Cock Robin died so Guy can’t possibly
have seen him die”.
“Well sir Bob the dog says that he saw Matt the cat viciously assault Cock Robin and leave him dying in the long grass by the bird table”.
“But Matt the cat was observed chasing Nat the rat by Len the Hen at the time when Cock Robin was murdered. It can’t be Matt. Besides Bob hates Matt the
cat ever since he stole his owner’s hat.”
“OK sir I’ve just received a tip-off from Blair the bear who swares that he saw Clare the hare strangle cock robin with her hair. I’m off to interview Blair
the bear”.
“OK constable you go right there and interview Blair the bear”.
Cynara by Ernest Christopher Dowson
I don’t often include work by other writers here. However I have chosen to include Cynara by the English poet, Ernest Christopher Dowson because it is, in my view one of the greatest poems in the English language. Dowson lived a short life (1867-1900), one full of drunkenness. He is perhaps best known for his wonderful poem, “They are not long the weeping and the laughter”, however he deserves to be better known for his other poems including the below.
Cynara
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.