There was a young lady named Goose
Who’s morals where rather loose.
It was her delight
Of a summer’s night
To tease the bishop, who was somewhat obtuse …
Tag Archives: poems
The Cane Explained
The Royal National Institute of Blind People (RNIB) has produced a short film, explaining how sight impaired people navigate using the white cane.
Prior to getting my first guide dog, Nixon (no jokes about Watergate please), I used a white cane to navigate. I well remember people not paying attention to what was going on around them and tripping over my cane.
Admittedly, when I was in the process of learning to navigate using a cane, some of the tripping stemmed from my imperfect utilisation of it. However, as my technique improved, the tripping incidents which did happen flowed from the lack of attention demonstrated by sighted people (I apologised none the less)!
I am now working with my fourth guide dog, Trigger so my use of the cane is extremely rare.
However, back in 2016 Trigger had several lumps removed (fortunately all where found to be benign). While he recovered (a period of some 2 weeks), I used my cane.
Having fallen out of practice I had several bumps and scrapes as a consequence of my imperfect technique. I was, however soon back in the saddle and my acquaintance with telegraph poles and other obstacles became a distant memory.
For RNIB’s film on the cane please visit http://rnib.org.uk/cane-explained.
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My collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” is available, as a braille book from RNIB https://newauthoronline.com/2017/07/21/lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-is-available-to-purchase-in-braille-from-rnib/. “Lost” can also be obtained, in print and ebook formats from Moyhill http://moyhill.com/lost/.
I am working with RNIB to make my recently published collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind” available in braille. Once “My Old Clock” has been added to RNIB’s shelves, an announcement will appear here.
In the meantime “My Old Clock” can be purchased, in ebook and paperback formats from Moyhill http://moyhill.com/clock/.
The Bored Lothario
Different shapes and sizes.
Once there were surprises.
Now whatever he devises
Passion rarely rises.
Black or white?
What does it matter?
Sometimes a brief delight,
But most dreams shatter
Pending
Delivery not completed.
Number deleted.
It is foretold
That all that glitters
Is not gold.
There Was A Young Man Called Mack
There was a young man called Mack
Who said “the best form of defence is attack”.
He hit a man
(His name was Dan),
Who promptly whacked Mack back!
Stream
If the stream flows
But the fish die,
Then who am I?
I perceive
That a stream can not grieve,
Nor can it wish
For future fish.
There Was A Young Futurist Named Page
There was a young Futurist named Page
Who was in love with the industrial age.
When the music played loud
She would dance for the crowd,
On the cold and empty stage.
(The above limerick was prompted by this post by Paul Andrus, http://www.paul-andruss.com/futurist-manifesto/).
When Inocence Met Desire
When innocence met desire
They say
That the Town Crier
Had a field day.
The populace rose in disgust
And filled with hate
They lynched the reprobate,
While deep inside
Their own lust
They secretly did hide.
I Heard The Thunder
I heard the thunder, neither loud nor proud.
I can not tell
Whether any rain fell,
Yet I know the well
Is dry.
There are no tears to cry
Save for the crocodile
Kind
and I find
That I am sick of the false smile
Coming Storm
I wish that a storm would come.
I can neither run
Nor stay
And pray
For a storm to take
All this away.
Once the lightening has passed
I may feel bereft
At the vast
Nothing left
Behind. But the storm must come
And I must not run
Away,
But face the thunder, and stay.