Folly

The sonnet.
I love the limitations and restrictions of the discipline required in writing a sonnet.
There may well be just so much pointless folly in this

Folly

He gazed upon a shipwreck and he saw it was his life
With all the bits of Hope along the shore;
For Fate it seems it likes to twist the knife,
A missed chance passed beyond him like before.
Ambition was in bits like much flotsam now;
Each little piece like what just might have been
Turned his beach to a sort of mess somehow;
This was a thing he wished he had not seen.
To seek to do good work leads but to a fall,
To strive with might and main a pointless thing,
like dreaming you achieve a clarion call,
It’s life, not death, that bears the poison sting.
The earth it spiralled on about the sun
This dying microbe grieved for things not done.

© T.Morgan 2014

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New year thoughts 2014

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In 2013 I had a heart attack and survived:-

2013, over now another year that brought its problems and was survived. This time it was a heart attack:

A New 2014

The dreadful year is over now at last
I seem now on the mend as is my Muse
Events move on, one danger now is passed.
But what’s ahead, who knows, to win, to lose?
With scars upon my heart but not my mind
Well not from those events of that one year
Events we know they come and are unkind
Yet where there’s danger there’s not always fear
There’s damage to my heart and yet it beats
And glad to say I know I’m not alone
For Fear comes from the thoughts of what’s unknown
And Death is known to me with its conceits
In time I know he always has his way
Till then I live to read and write each day

Adventurers & Tinkerers

Adventurers and Tinkerers

Chorus

Adventurers and tinkerers
Built our wondrous nation;
Then rent-seekers and ol’ fat cat
Reduced all to stagnation.

While those who risk, they may well lose;
But, some of us will gain.
There’s no way we may safely snooze,
Nor live free of all pain.

Chorus

Adventurers they crossed the earth
Seeking markets out,
Latching on to things of worth
And not held back by doubt.

Chorus

Through trial and error things get made,
Each novel new creation;
This is a spur to brand new trade
And needs no explanation.

Chorus

But how great tides they ebb and flow,
For tides we know must turn;
For fortune can both come then go,
Where folk they do not learn.

Chorus

The first Queen ruler

Queen Seaxburgh (A.D. 672-674)

The land it seemed adrift as in a dream.
In summer’s sultry haze most seemed so still,
Yet ripples on the eddies in the stream
Reflected sunshine warm on waters chill.

Each bird that flew it flew with languorous flight,
With no clouds now, the sun baked some fields dry.
A warm portent of famine and of plight,
But torpid folk seemed too fatigued to sigh.

For where’s the strength to sigh in so much heat,
Where is the strength to do that much at all?
And all now droops before the Sun’s deceit
Save for one blackbird with its warning call.

Her old lord king was dead and gone to Grace,
This mother of a king now ruled his land.
She held the reins a short while in his place,
Though all was still – tumult was close at hand.

The envy of the lesser men so low
Just would not see a woman could be wise.
As envy at its height brings nought save woe,
A tumult stirred beneath the still blue skies.

From: “The Children of Gewis”

© Trevor Morgan, 15/10/2018

Dream of a sailor’s soul

In Memoriam

In February 1964 I was stood next to the guardrail on the quarterdeck of HMS Albion as the body of a young man, sewn up into canvas slid from under a white ensign and splashed into the Sula Sea. On returning to Singapore we buried another man who died on passage. Not all old days were good
Some things burn into memory, thinking of then I wrote this:

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The Perjurer Scribes (and journalists)

Blackening a good name or big lies is nothing new!
It is done either to damage an opponent or to acquire wealth and some advantage over others.
Medieval scribes forged charters to acquire lands. Sadly many of these sources are all we have of our history. That history that was always written by the winners or the scribes or journalists in their retinue (and pay).
Journalists today will latch on to a person and systematically destroy their good name. This is rather than debate ideas they simply destroy alternative views.

The Perjurer Scribes (And Journalists)

“Did it hurt before my time,
Before I was conceived?
Was my name then dragged through the slime.
Was I then disbelieved?

Was pain integral to my lot
Before I came about.
The strain begins as we’re begot,
The worry and the doubt.

Do we exist just to be hurt
By others just for fun?
To be trod down into the dirt
And not to see the sun.

The purpose of this pointlessness
Just what is it about,
Devoid of real true happiness;
Show me the door marked ‘out’.

What waste it is when we assist
Others in their need.
We’ll not succeed when we resist
The wickedness and greed.

There’s folly here in doing right
The selfish will hold sway.
You cannot win in any fight,
The pain won’t go away.

There’s senselessness in being kind
Where failure is assured.
Retreat then back within the mind,
With death all pain is cured.

Should I then ever represent
Poor people in this state,
I would deserve all this torment
That’s thrown at me by hate.

The hatred of the hateful few
Will always hold their sway.
In misery there’s nothing new;
False Hope’s now drained away.

Accept that wrongs are going to win
No matter what you crave.
The safest thing is to give in ;
We all go to the grave.

The raving of self-righteousness
Is such a troubled sound.
But soil will give a true caress
When you rot in the ground.

So, will it hurt beyond my time,
When I have upped and died.
Will my name be dragged through more slime?
Who’ll care some bastards lied?”

© Trevor Morgan, 5/7/2018

From: “Tale of a darkened soul”