Tag Archives: tradition

Nostalgia? well perhaps, or maybe . . .

In 2016, I published my poem, Squire and Peasant, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/05/12/squire-and-peasant/.

The above is one of the poems I am minded to read at a poetry reading on Thursday 4 July. This will be a private event (unfortunately not open to the public), hence I wanted to share this poem here in order that it may be more widely enjoyed.

Kevin

Kevin

Men Mowing

As I at lessons sat
In school
(Generally obeying the rule),
I oft did hear,
Sometimes far, at others near,
A sound clear,
That of men mowing,
Knowing where they where going.

On my way home tonight
I had the delight
Of smelling new mown grass,
Which brought to mind
A more settled time
When I at lessons sat
Reading rhyme,
And men were amowing
Knowing where they where going.
Sometimes I almost weep,
When I think on what my country may reap.

Time Passing

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by traditional (pendulum) clocks. The slow movement of the pendulum reminds me of Old Father Time chopping up seconds which will never return. There is, in the swing of a pendulum something both comforting and chastening. The slow swing reminds one of a slower pace of life, of a more stable/traditional society, while one is also conscious that each movement brings one’s demise fractionally closer. A number of my poems touch (either directly or indirectly) on the passage of time, including “The Hands Are Almost At Half-Past”, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2quCnrHgpE4.

“The Hands Are Almost At Half-Past” can be found in my collection of poems, “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems”, which is available for preorder in the Amazon Kindle store, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07GD1LBMV/ (for the UK) and https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GD1LBMV/ (for the USA).

Conservatism?

“Most Conservatives for most of the time have wished to keep things as they are and believe along with the Duke of Cambridge that the time for change is when it can no longer be resisted”.
(Lord Robert Blake, “The Conservative Party from Peel to Churchill” p271).

I was reminded of Blake’s highly readable work, when I came across this article by Ryan Bourne of the libertarian Cato Institute, https://capx.co/why-are-some-conservatives-so-obsessed-with-libertarians/.  Bourne’s piece also brought to mind my own poem, “Conservatism”, which is reproduced below:

Conservatism is a scepticism regarding what some call “progress”
Coupled with a desire to redress
Genuine grievances, lest the great wall
Crumble and fall
Crushing all.

Conservatism is men who
Wish the clock
Would stop
At half-past 2
But know that this man can not do.
While the reactionary believes that one can rewind the clock
And it’s hands lock
At some frozen place
In time and space.

Conservatism is scepticism about equality
For the Conservative does see
That each tree
Is different. but the forest has a heart
And we are all part
Of an organic whole
With each being possessed of his own unique soul.

Some say
That the Conservative way
Is an obsession with the bottom line
And that selfishness does Conservatism define.
Others maintain
That economics is an obsession of the Classical Liberal’s brain
And that the liberal interloper
Should slope away.

Conservatism is walks in country parks
As the larks
Twitter high above.
It is a love
Of old friends
Who are not means to ends.
It is a desire to enjoy
And not to destroy.

The ship must be kept on an even keel
Lest we into anarchy reel.
Yet some say
That today
Many Conservatives do not behave that way …

Conservatism

Conservatism is a scepticism regarding what some call “progress”
Coupled with a desire to redress
Genuine grievances, lest the great wall crumble and fall
Crushing all.

Conservatism is men who
Wish the clock
Would stop
At half-past 2
But know that this man can not do.
While the reactionary believes that one can rewind the clock
And it’s hands lock
At some frozen place
In time and space.

Conservatism is scepticism about equality
For the Conservative does see
That each tree
Is different. but the forest has a heart
And we are all part
Of an organic whole
With each man being possessed of his own unique soul.

Some say
That the Conservative way
Is an obsession with the bottom line
And that selfishness does Conservatism define.
Others maintain
That economics is an obsession of the Classical Liberal’s brain
And that the liberal interloper
Should slope away.

Conservatism is walks in country parks
As the larks
Twitter high above.
It is a love
Of old friends
Who are not means to an end.
It is a desire to enjoy
And not to destroy.
The ship must be kept on an even keel
Lest we into anarchy reel.
Yet some say
That today
Many Conservatives do not behave that way …

In The Middle Of This Wood

In the middle of this wood
I should
Be able to forget my care.

Fresh air
Is there
And the sun is high
In the cloudless sky
Yet I …

A plane flies by,
Then another one.
Perfect silence has gone.

For modernity we yearn
Then turn
Away.
When each day
Is full
Of dull
“Opportunities” to try …
I cry
Out for the old.

One can not hold
On to the past
But when the future is vast
Supermarket aisles
(where there are no denials
And one is free
To be
Anything or anyone),
I wonder where meaning has gone.

I linger here
As thoughts drear
Contend with birdsong.
I shall go ere long
Back to the street
Where a myriad feet
Have been,
But have they seen?

The pig does merely eat and drink.
Sometimes I think
That he
Has the advantage over me.

I Heard A Rumour Today

I heard a rumour today
That yet another part
Of England’s heart
Is about to pass away.

Wilt
More flats be built
Where once there stood
A pub?

Shall beer and wine
Be replaced by the bottom line?
The drunkards now sing
But profit is king.

I see the open fire as I write
The coals all alight
And almost feel it’s blaze.
Shall profit’s craze
Erase all?

Let us raise a pint to the identikit
World into which we all must fit,
Where the suited and booted
Discuss the bottom line
While sipping their overpriced wine.

Of course it may not be true
In this particular case,
But England’s face
Is changing nonetheless.

My mistress’s green dress
Is frayed.
her lovers have strayed
– And the brewry’s bills must be paid