K. Morris's Blog, page 524

There was a young man named Locke

There was a young man named Locke
Who did old Father Time cruely mock.
Time smiled a sad smile
And said “in a while
You will receive a rather rude shock”.

A Thunderstorm In Town, by Lucy Ribchester

Earlier this evening, I listened to “A Thunderstorm In Town”, a short story by Lucy Ribchester, which was inspired by Thomas Hardy’s poem of the same name. Ribchester’s story is an interesting and, for me unexpected take on Hardy’s poem.

You can listen to the poem (and the story) by following this link http://www.bbcmundo.com/programmes/b09pjmjj

Eyes I Can Not See

Eyes I can not see
Look back at me.
A man can be
Without sight
Yet penetrate the darkest night
If he chooses.
But oft times he loses
Courage and says “let it be
For I do not wish to see
What has become of me”.

At other times he sighs
For his inner eyes
Perceive
That within himself, which causes him to grieve.

I do not need to see your eyes
To know the lies
That hide behind
For I find
That mine
Are as thine.

Why You Should Read and Write Poetry

A good article on The Imaginative Conservative, entitled “Why You Should Read and Write Poetry”, http://www.theimaginativeconservative.org/2018/01/read-write-poetry-dwight-longenecker.html

There was a young man named Matt

There was a young man named Matt
Who owned an extremely small flat.
The place was so small
That it was really no flat at all
And he rented it to a cat!

There was a young man named Guy

There was a young man named Guy
Who owned a pet magpie.
They did most things together
In all kinds of weather
But Guy he couldn’t fly!

Shoe Size

You
Take a size 4 to five shoe.
I take a 10 to 11.
Heaven
Is an imagined place,
Although when my face
Does flush
(I blush
To say)
Heaven does not seem that far away
For me, but my shoe
Will not fit you
And we both agree
That yours are too small for me.

Keats had his Nightingale

Keats had his Nightingale, which made him think of death.
I have my owl, which brings to mind Macbeth.
Tis a different name
For the same
Thing.

The morning birds sing
Replacing the owl’s cry
And I
Ponder on Keats, who is remembered still
And wonder will
My owl survive
Long after I am alive.

There was a young lady named Lou

There was a young lady named Lou
Who lost her high heel shoe.
When it was found under my bed
Unprintable words where said,
But that’s strictly between me and you!

LETTER TO MY SON

Only god (if he exists) can forgive such things.

Beauty Bellezza Beauté

Letter To My Son

(Ilse Weber – 1903-1944).

My dear boy, three years ago today
You were sent into the world alone.
I still see you, at the station in Prague,
how you cry from the compartment, and hesitate.
You lean your brown head against me
and how you beg; let me stay with you!
That we let you go, seemed hard for you —
You were just eight, and small and delicate.
And as we left for home without you,
I felt, my heart wou...