K. Morris's Blog, page 670
June 29, 2016
Muddy
Thoughts muddy
I will forsake
And take
Refuge in my study,
Among poets who speak
Words that endure beyond a week.
I shall sit listening to birdsong.
The long
Summer days willimperceptibly turn
Into Autumn. I shall the world spurn
And yearn
For Keat’s Nightingale.
The Oldest Handwritten Documents Ever Discovered in England
A fascinating post. Kevin
A Roman writing tablet found in the mud. Photo: MOLA / Atlas Obscura
On January 8, 57 AD, Tibullus, a freed slave in London, promised to repay 105 denarii, a hefty sum, to another freed slave named Gratus. Meanwhile, one friend admonished another that he’s lent too much money and is being gossiped about. And a merchant was making a desperate plea for repayment of debts owed to him.
We know all this, thanks toan archeological treasure recently une...
June 28, 2016
The Suicide
A cold wind blows
Yet onwards the suicide goes
Towards the white cliffs of Dover.
Looking over
He sees only bliss
And leaping off, falls into the abyss.
June 27, 2016
A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘This Be The Verse’
A summary of a classic Larkin poem
Readers not fond of swearing in poetry are advised to look away now, for Philip Larkin’s opening lines can get pretty sweary. ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad’: a memorable opening line for one of Philip Larkin’s best-known poems, ‘This Be The Verse’, not exactly a laudatory paean to parenthood. But what is Larkin’s poem actually saying, and why did he feel the need to write it? The following analysis attempts some answers to these...
June 26, 2016
Epitaph On A Poet
A book of poems upon his grave
Could not the poet save.
The few his words touched
Failed to keep him from the dust.
The Drinks Are On Me
“The drinks are on me” he said.
“Indeed they are
For I found in your car
A bra
Not mine.
Oh red wine!
How kind.
You will find
It is hard to get out”, the girl said,
As she Poured her drink over his head …
Where I
Where I a mouse
That wanders through my neighbour’s house,
I could observe with care
The joys and sorrows of him and her.
Where I a fly
Who all things doth spy
I could grieve
For the love I perceive
Blossom then die.
But I am a man
And have not the art
To gaze into my neighbour’s heart,
And possessing my own cares
Meddle not in other’s affairs.
June 25, 2016
The competition to win a signed copy of “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” is now closed
Earlier today I offered readers the chance to win a free signed print copy of my latest collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (https://newauthoronline.com/2016/06/25/your-chance-to-win-a-signed-copy-of-my-book-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind/). Thank you to everyone who shared my post. I am pleased to announce that a winner has emerged and the competition is now closed.
The answer to the question posed, is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who was born in Edinburgh in 1859 and died...
Your chance to win a signed copy of my book, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”
I am offering the chance to win a signed copy of my latest collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/).
To enter the competition please answer the following question.
What is the name of the author, born in 1859 in Edinburgh, who penned the following lines:
“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerves and he has knowledge …”.
To enter please send an email to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail d...
Succubus
Where I to write a poem for you
How much of it would be true?
For one may construe
Black as white.
The night
May bring delight
But come break of day
The succubus will be on her way.
He who invites the vampire in
Has, I maintain
No reason to complain
When she leaves him pale and thin.
The blood red
Wine tastes divine
And there is a fine line
Betwixt the living and the dead.
—
A succubus is a female demon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Succubus).
