I sing
The song
Of wrong
And right
At night
Heels bring
A fleeting joy
To some poor boy.
The morrow
May sorrow bring,
But tonight
I sing
Of what some call wrong,
And others right,
And of the light that glows
And shows
The road to heaven
And to hell
That many a poor wretch knows
All to well.
Curtains twitch
And gossips itch
To tell,
While the poet continues to sing of heaven,
And passion hot as hell
A girl sat upon the shoulders of a vampire.
Human form he took
And did in no way look
Like a ghoul.
With a smile benign
His design
He executed in full view
Of the fool
Who thought him a gentleman through and through.
Her desire
For the vampire
Turned to despair,
And today
Men pay
For what she once gave away.
“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head”.
A young student ‘twas
Who did it because
She had spent her loan
And being alone,
Took a decision rash
To raise some cash.
A man of the world he was
Who did it because
He saw
Just another she
– Merely a whore,
For what does it matter
When a girl’s dreams shatter?
England is ticking grandfather clocks
And country cots,
Their doors still without locks.
It is a place of church choirs
And open pub fires,
Where dogs lie
While their owner’s sigh
Or laugh
Over an article in the Daily Telegraph.
England is young men full of testosterone
Who refuse to leave it alone,
And draw their knives,
With no concern for mothers or wives.
England is a tower block
Where people lock
Their doors
Against thieves and hoares.
England is a place of country houses,
Where spouses
Sit at oak tables
Cherishing half fables
Of a past
That is vanishing fast
As stiff as the headboard
That has seen so much
She shrinks from his touch.
The cord
Of a reward
Ties.
She sighs,
Acquiesces
And undresses.
“CHILDREN as young as five are calling a helpline to be read bedtime stories because their alcoholic parents are too drunk to tuck them in at night”,
http://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/769135/Children-call-helplines-for-bedtimes-stories.
This is just so incredibly sad.
The chatter
Of girls who clatter
By
On stillettos high,
Giggling about their latest guy.
Pointy heels delight,
Excite
And tear apart
A young man’s heart.
Girls once dreamed of mansions in the Cheshire countryside
But time’s tide
Runs on.
Youth is almost gone
And dreams turn to the waking nightmare
Of the needle-strewn stair
In a tower block too high
For you or I
But a mother and a screaming baby live there,
While you and I pretend to care.
I laud the mass
For to do otherwise is considered crass.
One can not have the brass
Neck to deny
The truth that justice in the majority does lie.
Who am I
To raise
My voice in praise
Of the view
That the few
Sometimes best construe
What is just and true?
Being blind and a guide dog owner, the following post struck a chord with me (http://viscourse.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/public-property.html). In it, Deborah, a visually impaired guide dog owner, describes how a lady interrupted her conversation with a friend in order to ask whether she could pet Deborah’s guide dog. When Deborah said “no” the interrupter left in a huff, which to me is remarkable given that she had rudely interposed in a conversation in order to gratify her desire to pet Deborah’s (working) guide dog.
I, like Deborah find that unthinking people regard visually impaired individuals as public property. The worst instance I can recall of this occurred some time ago. I was crossing a busy road when a gentleman began stroking my guide dog, Trigger in the midst of stationary vehicles! On other occasions people have asked me deeply personal questions regarding my relationship status. Such enquiries would not have been addressed to a non-disabled person, yet those posing them think it is acceptable to ask whether I have dated disabled or non-disabled women.
I recognise the importance of educating people and am usually happy to answer questions provided they are sensitively phrased and put in a respectful manner. I am also delighted for people to say hello to Trigger but only when they ask politely and by so doing they don’t put my safety and that of Trigger in danger.
Noone, whether disabled or non-disabled should be considered as public property.
Kevin
K Morris - Poet 