K. Morris's Blog, page 490

I Challenge You To…

Thanks to Esther Chilton for hosting this week’s challenge, in which she asked contributors to write a limerick, poem or story on the subject of holidays. You can find a number of contributions below, including a limerick and a poem composed by me. Kevin

estherchiltonblog

This week’s challenge is to write a story, limerick or poem on the subject of:

Holidays

Last week’s challenge was to write about sunshine. You sent in some excellent pieces. Here are a few:

Keith Channing ‘s limerick is hila...

Greenbelt

I go out
Before the multitude is about
And walk in the wood
Where the air is good
And there are no words
Save for the birds
Who’s song, though not for man
Can set him free
Of desire. So is it for me
As I simply be
Amongst bird and tree.

Then the din
Sets in.
Not of human shout,
Although there are houses here about
That skirt the wood. I here the cry
Of the young in search of homes to call their own.
It is contended that we must sacrifice some green spaces
To accommodate the young’s need for p...

There Once Was A Poet Called Prout

There once was a poet called Prout
Who wrote a poem about a sprout.
His verse was so bad
That it drove people mad
And his wife, she threw him out!

When Old Acquaintances Come Back

When old acquaintances come back
Often we lack
The will to refuse.
Many a man has, in booze
Rekindled a former desire.
The fire
Burns, and he is lost
In the pleasure of pain.

He will splash
His cash
In a manner most rash
And go down the primrose path
With a bittersweet laugh.

He deletes her number
But she
Retains his.

Tis
Always the same
Though man may curse
He will continue to traverse
The well worn road of pleasure and pain.

Macbeth’s Owl

In this place, half-urban and half-green
The owl is oft times seen.
Does he lament
The lives misspent
By men
Who
When
They hear
His too-wit too-woo
Are filled with the ancient fear
That so gripped Macbeth
Of death?

Who
On hearing the bird’s too-wit too-woo
Can deny
That they will die?
Not I.

Some, tis true
On harkening to
The owl’s too-wit too-woo
Think no such thought.
Perhaps I ought
Therefore to ponder
no more
Upon yonder
Cry.
Yet I
Know that I
Shall die.

You can dress it up as you will...

Lost In The Familiar Wood

Lost in the familiar wood.
I have not been good.
Flowers catch at me.
Breaking free
I laugh
As I have travelled this path
Before, and spent hours
Delighting in flowers,
But no more?

Flirts

Flirts in skirts.
All is quiet
At night.
Save for the riot
Of dreams and nightmares.

He who dares
May Gain the prize
Of a girl’s come-on eyes.
But if she say “no”
Will he go
Down the path
Of nice guy or psychopath?

Flirtation
Is not an invitation
To remove a girl’s short dress
Unless
She explicitly says “yes”.

The People VS Tech: How The Internet Is Destroying Democracy

Recently the Centre for Policy Studies, a centre-right think tank based in London, hosted a discussion on the subject “Is The Internet Destroying Democracy”? Jamie Bartlett, the author of “The People VS Tech: How The Internet Is Killing Democracy” debated the impact of technological advancement with Robert Colvile of CapX, an offshoot of the CPS. The discussion is an interesting one and can be found here, https://capx.co/free-exchange-is-the-internet-destroying-democracy/

How The Enlightenment Ends

Yesterday (18 May) I read a thought provoking article by Henry Kissinger on the subject of artificial intelligence or AI. The gist of Kissinger’s article is that the enlightenment liberated humanity while we are in danger (by relying on AI) of becoming slaves to the emerging technology and loosing our ability to think critically. The below quote from Kissinger’s article strikes me as containing much wisdom, particularly his point about many technophiles taking refuge from solitude in technolo...

Having Her Headphones On

Having her headphones on
And being far gone
In music’s sound
She perceives nothing profound.
But there is nothing profound
To see
In the pound, pound, pound
Of he.

It being over
She retrieves her pullover
And other things.
She sings
Her feet
Tap to a discordant beat
And with headphones still in place
She departs leaving a slight trace
Of perfume
And a discarded hairband
In the bedroom.
The latter he does not understand.