I do not think I am ever certain about anything.
I never was. I am certain of that!


I should say without a doubt
Doubt should not be left without.
I should say I must be true
And say that I have doubt in you.

Doubt’s a gift of Charity
To save us when we are set free.
When those we love let us go;
Doubt can say “I told you so”!

Trevor Morgan 1967


John Travers Cornwall V.C. lay dying

At the Battle of Jutland hundreds of boy seaman were killed in action.
One boy, John Travers Cornwall was awarded the highest honour, the Victoria Cross, for his valour.
At HMS St Vincent there was a picture of John. I have been unable to find it so have inserted another.
A silly television commentator said recently that he lied about his age to join.
15 Year old boys could join the royal navy up until 1968, I know, I did.
I once knew an old man who served on his ship, HMS Chester, at Jutland and saw the boy carried ashore. The old man cried after telling me that so I got little detail. This was 45 years after the battle.

John Travers Cornwall

The dying boy

Ashore the songbirds sang with joy
There was a gentle breeze.
But on that deck that dying boy
Felt, Oh, so ill at ease.

He saw the gulls and petrels too
As they whirled overhead.
He saw the shoreline now in view
His wounds still seeped and bled.

He felt the wetness on his side
The pangs grew bad again,
But never once there had he cried,
Still stoic mid the pain.

His small form was not yet full grown,
Some things aren’t meant to be.
He had loved all that he’d been shown,
He’d loved his life at sea.

He’d seen his gun crew be cut down,
Their legs and feet all gone
And though he’d earned some great renown,
His eyes no longer shone.

Near moribund and marked by Death
A haziness closed in,
He laboured at each single breath,
Some fights you may not win.


Ephemeral not lasting

Some go in the morning
Too long before the noon,
Parents are left mourning
Oh, they died too soon.

The gods it has been said
Who dwell up there above
Claim young who are now dead
As their dearest love.

From “Jutland and after”


I wrote some lyrics for a fictional 1960s American band.
They were a mix of blues and comic material.
Yes, I know the Beatles got here first with I am the Taxman! Not all themes have to be original. They just have to make for an entertaining song.



One day we made it big
So now we’re in a jam
Cos’ where’s there’s one for us
There’s ten for Uncle Sam

Now we’re on a treadmill
And we just can’t relax
Cos’ every day we get a bill
For lots more income tax

We got ourselves a manager
To get the business done
But he grabbed the money
And now he’s on the run


We got us an accountant
Then we ran out of luck
Cos’ every time he saves a dime
He charges us a buck


We got us an attourney
And he then proved a snake
Cos’every time he works for us
He’s always on the take


We kicked out the accountant
And the snake to boot
Now we’re really in it deep
I.R.S. took all the loot


Got us into spendthrift ways
And were feeling clever
Looks like we’ll end our days
Paying for the pleasure



From “Candy Blue”


How people love to rationalise.
This is usually because they are not rational.
I doubt if few of the nastiest people in history saw what they did was evil. In our minds we seem able to justify all manner of foul deeds.
We can dehumanise the other and by so doing are not troubled by the hurt we do.
Whether it is killers who kill the innocent in the name of a deity or a paedophile who believes he does no harm as he rapes a child and mar a life they are much the same. They cannot imagine the hurt felt by others.



So, in whatever way they choose
Some will wrong who they can.
For some religion’s just a ruse,
God’s claimed for acts of man.

For those who cannot empathise
Are much the same within.
For they just cannot realise
Where actions are a sin.

While their good God, they would make sad,
Where they do not relent
And claim there’s good in what is bad;
Then kill the innocent.


Should they be asked to justify
The worst things that they do,
All wickedness they would deny,
The truths beyond their view.


And so, at end the vengeful lose
All through the deeds they do.
Misused by those that they misuse
Who also sought their ‘Due’.


Through spirals then the vengeful go
With harm that never ends,
There’s but one end to all this woe,
When foes turn into friends.


© Trevor Morgan 2 February 2018


From: Tale of Aelfrede and Gudrum

Always civil (but not) servants

I have been Councillor and a council officer.
Almost all senior officers have total contempt for the elected representatives of the people. In my experience they are manipulative and deceitful. For an opposition councillor of a minor party most do not even bother to hide this contempt. To me they are a curse that ought be removed from the system.
At government level we actually call these creatures “civil servants”! Now that term must have been originally conceived of as a sick joke!

Always civil (but not) servants

Oh, we write long reports
Then we edit the draft
And we tick every box
Because that is our craft.

But we live by a misdeed
We’re always performing,
For we live by a creed
Bitter and deforming.

We can slow all things down
When they need to be done,
Leave you hanging around
Cos’ delay can be fun!


No! we’re not your servants
Though you’ll never know it.
We hold you in contempt
But we’ll never show it.

If you’re in a hurry
And foolishly show it,
Then there is a duty
Placed on us to slow it.

Yes, we’ll lead you around
On a merry wee dance,
No straight answers are found;
So you haven’t a chance.

There’s always somewhere
That we can refer you,
What takes you forever
Will surely deter you.


Though straight are your questions
Our answers are never.
We’re quick with rejections,
For – “Yes” – wait forever!

Where it’s easy to aid
Then we must show restraint.
Cos’ that’s not why we’re paid;
Why – there’d be a complaint.

Yes, our life is quite swell,
Though not of our making.
Oh, but yours will be hell
Because of our faking.


Cos’ we’re not your servants
Though you’ll never know it.
We hold you in contempt –
But we’ll never show it.

This would work as a lyric to a music hall style of song.

Trevor Morgan 1992

Loves Lies

Well it is Valentine’s day.
And love does confuse so.


Loves Lies

Is love in life a load of lies
That dims the wits and scales the eyes?
The way you once confused my so
Made it not clear to tell or know
Is love itself a thing at all
To search for wonder shout and call.
Or is but a willow wisp
We dream of but does not exist.
And yet I say that I love you
And though you say it to me too;
Whilst each may hold the other dear
Great loves can have no need to fear.
When we can see no means to ends
It’s then that we can be good friends.


© Trevor Morgan 1969

Sonnet – Driven by Pure Hate

“The ebb and flow of wrath and woe”
This was a theme I have worked on when writing about England in the centuries before 1066. I approached it as history. Now as I follow current events I realise this goes on and on and each new group that claims to have been wronged in the past uses it to justify the slaughter of innocent folk

Sonnet – Driven by Pure Hate

There will be no half measures with pure hate
For hatred is so focused all the time.
Though with their love some may equivocate,
A cold stark hate is ever in its prime
And never will it show the faintest qualm.
It will deceive itself that it be just
And even when it does excess of harm,
It sees all’s good and right in pure blood lust.
Where words are said to justify each deed
Life then becomes a long and sad nightmare
And once again our land is made to bleed.
As folk relive the cycle of despair
When none forgive then none may live at ease
And men of hate will do just as they please.

Trevor Morgan 12 February
From: “Tale in a passing Moment”

Spirals of Liars

I have watched liars in a witness box.
They are amongst the worse of human kind. I am not infavour of excess sentencing for crime but with perjury I feel there is an exception. Where justice depends on evidence, the deliberate tainting of such evidence leads systems of justice to do wrong to the innocent.

Spirals of Liars

“Three perjurers so full of glee
All sneered there at the dock.
Their victims now would not be free
As fops prepared to mock.

These gutless monsters sup on blood,
Schemed each new enterprise.
But ended mired in filth and mud
And never won the prize.

Their victims then in time were free,
Time fills with cloying fear.
When perjurers would know no glee;
Truth now lurks ever near.

The winds of change are seeming strange
Old ways now sink below;
Whilst Fate she seems to rearrange
As Truth brings falsehood low.

Then Lies and Truth will clash head on
That one may cease to be.
If Hope returns then few are wan
And some may be set free.

Each artless, pointless scheming one
Finds no more glut of gore,
As all is lost and none is won
New sneaks come to the fore.

New perjurers will perjure then,
New victims will go down.
There seems a glut of wicked men
Each of such low renown”

From: “Tale in a passing moment”

Writing of Love

Poetry comes from feelings not thought.
This is perhaps why many write poetry when they fall in love.
I know I did!

Writing of Love

In writing of love it’s hard to express
The emotions that you really feel.
You search for a rhyme to continue the theme
And not for a feeling that’s real.

When writing of you I cannot express
The thoughts that well up in my heart.
I try but in vain and cannot explain,
So words must say only a part.

My tongue is a rag and I wring out some oil
That floats on the waters of truth;
Making thoughts into words is only to spoil
And smooth all the ripples of life.

© Trevor Morgan 1968