There was a young lady named Sally
Who lived in a narrow old alley.
When the moon shone bright
She would dance by it’s light
And sing of her childhood valley
Tag Archives: poetry
Let Us Purchase A Balloon
Let us purchase a balloon
To visit our mistress the moon.
In attaining our goal
We are, for a moment whole.
But tis over soon
For we are but lust
And whirling dust
“Upon His Picture”, by Thomas Randolph
When age hath made me what I am not now,
And every wrinkle tells me where the plow
Of time hath furrowed; when an ice shall flow
Through every vein, and all my head wear snow;
When death displays his coldness in my cheek,
And I myself in my own picture seek,
Not finding what I am, but what I was,
In doubt which to believe, this, or my glass:
Yet though I alter, this remains the same
As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame
And first complexion; here will still be seen
Blood on the cheek and down upon the chin;
Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye,
The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye.
Behold what frailty we in man may see,
Whose shadow is less given to change than he.
There Was A Young Lady Named Joan
There was a young lady named Joan
Who deprived a dog of his bone.
The poor dog gave a howl
Then, with a growl
He devoured that young lady Joan!
The Dismal Science
(“Hard Times” by Charles Dickens, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/786/786-h/786-h.htm).
Comments Are Closed
Several days ago, I did something which I have never done before.
I closed comments on this post, https://newauthoronline.com/2018/02/15/should-only-black-teachers-teach-black-children-about-slavery/.
I welcome comments on newauthoronline.com and did not take the above action lightly. My reasons for closing comments are as follows:
1. The post had attracted many comments (the majority of which emanated from one individual. I had, I believe engaged with the commenter extensively and answered their comments. We disagreed (which is absolutely fine), however I felt that the conversation was going around in ever decreasing circles and, it being obvious that we where engaged in a dialogue of the deaf I determined to close the post to comments.
2. My blog is, overwhelmingly concerned with my poetry. In contrast, the above post pertains to politics. Now I read history and politics at University College Swansea and remain fascinated by political issues. However it became apparent to me that continuing to engage in dialogue was distracting me from my writing. I always try to answer comments fully and a detailed comment deserves a substantive response – but not at the expense of my writing.
Will I write about matters of controversy in the future or confine myself purely to writing poetry? I will not shy away from tackling controversial issues here, however the main purpose of this site is to share my work and (hopefully) in the course of so doing to sell a few books. I will not allow other topics (however interesting) to distract me from my goal of composing poetry.
Kevin
There Was A Young Man Named Guy
There was a young man named Guy
Who said “all flesh must die”.
His girlfriend Holly
Was far from Jolly,
Which is not like you or I.
—
There was a young man named Guy
Who said “all flesh must die”.
His girlfriend Holly
Was far from Jolly
But she made a really good pie!
A Flower Found Within A Book
Shall I compose a poem about a blood red
Poppy that I discovered in a book,
And how I took
It dead
From within the grieving leaves?
Shall I say
How, yesterday
I placed that flower
In a carved
Box where it will languish, love starved
For countless hour?
The book I had when we met.
I forget
Why the flower (paper thin)
Was there with it’s sharp pin
Still intact.
I remember the fact
Of you and me
Buying part
Of a once living tree.
Each heart
Is dying or dead
Those Who Wear Their Conscience Upon Their Sleve
Those who wear their conscience upon their sleve
Are men and women as upright
As the medieval knight
Who would never deceive.
They see the world in black and white
And always do
What is just, true,
And right.
There are (they say)
No shades of gray,
And when the roof falls in
On their sanctimony and sin
I sigh
Shrug, and grin
Lucre
The girl who was not
(In the orthodox sense)
A lover, got
Some recompense
From Lucre (her master).
They moved ever faster.
There was music and laughter,
But when Lucre ended
Disaster
Descended