An interesting article on how to revive our reading culture, in which the author argues that it is all to easy to blame technology when other factors are at work. To read the article please visit https://engelsbergideas.com/notebook/how-to-revive-our-reading-culture/
There once was a nurse named Maude
Who worked on a large hospital ward.
A patient called Divine
Sneaked in some wine,
So they kicked her off that ward!
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris.
There was a young lady named Juliette
Who got a job as a vet.
A crocodile called Nile
Gave her a smile
As he ate that vet named Juliette.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris.
I knelt and smelt
Hyacinths in the hospital garden.
Their scent
Was delicate and sweet.
.
The next time I went
To that self-same garden
Their scent
Had already been spent.
.
I grow much stronger,
Yet ponder
On a hospital garden
And scent
So soon spent.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
Just a single, solitary, call,
From a bird heard in the hospital garden
As the twilight
Was swallowed by night.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
A beautiful young lady named Maddy
Is seeking a rich Sugar Daddy.
But I, being poor
Am dating Miss Moore,
Who is less attractive than Maddy!
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
We go on in the same old way,
Until, one day,
We brush against the Reaper, who will say,
“Man’s day is brief
And must end in grief”.
Then he may smile
And pass by for a while.
But he will return one day
For we are clay.
.
Or we simply fall asleep
And fail to wake.
Sometimes friends and family weep.
But the Reaper takes
And never returns.
Therefore we should learn
To spend our days
In joyful play
For we know not
When or what.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
My room in Walton Neuro Centre overlooks this garden, which contains a tree/fountain memorialising those who have donated their organs that others might live. Also in the garden stands a bench which has a Shakespeare quote on it.
Remberence tree silver leaves have names of people who have donated organs
Plaque re the donation tree
Shakespeare plaque on the bench in the garden
In my dreams, it sometimes seems
That the owl calls to me.
I can not see
Where he may be.
Yet his voice is clear
And I hear him near
Calling to me.
.
He speaks to me
Of my mortality
Reminding me of Macbeth
And approaching death,
And yet he
Does not bother me,
For we all
Must, one day, fall.
.
Copyright: K. Morris.
When I had the operation
There was no fear,
Just the knowledge of death, hovering near.
.
There was no particular anticipation
That I might die,
Merely the desire to get it done
Once and for all.
.
I did not fall
And the Reaper saluted me.
But I thought I heard him say,
“I will be back, one day
.
Copyright K. Morris.
UPDATE: I spoke to the consultant this morning and he said that I might not require an additional aspiration, as the growth in my head was diminishing due to the antibiotics. Kevin.
K Morris - Poet 