Generations change

There is a saying of a child being a “chip off the old block”
That is the child is just like the parent. I have never come across this. In their book, “The Fourth Turning” Strauss and Howe describe their view of the changes with each generation. Its a good read but I have no way of knowing if it is all that accurate.
I writing narratives I have noted how kings are rarely like their parents. The move from one reign to the next can be a move from debauchery to morality.

Generations change

A child born of debauchery
Can be a faithful spouse.
Devoid of any lechery,
Head of a sober house.

Kinsmen can be like cheese and chalk,
Some rage and some will lust.
While some are quiet, some must talk,
Yet all go into dust.

Some generations loath excess,
There’d been so much of late.
Squandering brings nought but distress
And this gets blamed on “Fate”.

When war came that we wanted not,
Dictators forced our hand.
Some villains they would scheme and plot
Intent to grab more land.

At end they got crushed like a fly,
But that act though left its stain.
For good folk was oft hear to sigh:
Dark memories leave such pain.

So, men of peace who hate all war,
When they were forced to fight
Had fought so fiercely to secure
Peace by both main and might.

As generations turn about
There’s constancy in change.
Folk may be lost in clouds of doubt,
Old ways seem quaint and strange.

A child born in frugality
May well not faithful be.
Some tend towards sad lechery
But what will be will be!

© Trevor Morgan, 16/4/2018

Adapted From: “The Children of Gewis”

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Aftermath of Action

After the storm of battle comes a horrible stillness.
This burns into the souls of some.

Aftermath of Action

Sweet sickly smelled the killing scene
Where so much rich red blood congealed.
The scene seemed intimate, serene,
As if some sacred scroll was sealed.

Until all of their blood had chilled,
He stood in shock and shook with grief.
As violently as they’d been killed
This aftermath brought no relief.

There was there now a strange bond sealed
Between soldier and his victim,
And his stained soul would hold concealed;
How killing them had altered him.

For really, he could not see why;
All these young men just had to die.

© Trevor Morgan 2015

From: “Saga of Sabah”

Many are marked like Cain

Few can walk away from traumatic events unmarked.
Some show scars you can see and some have scars you cannot see.

Many are marked like Cain

As those words flow out through the pen,
Nought show what’s in the heart.
They’re written down time and again,
But only tell a part.

They hide the hurt that’s deep within,
They’ll not reveal all pain,
Nor tell of every secret sin;
Nor take away the stain.

Where souls are marked and souls are marred,
The damage has been done.
Where what was soft has been made hard;
We hide the smoking gun.

Once Abel fell before the blow
Of his sad brother Cain.
No lessons ever learned, you know
And many bear that stain.

Yet what is done can’t be undone;
The world goes spinning on.
Though there’s new wonders ‘neath the sun,
They are not for the wan.

© Trevor Morgan 17/4/2018

After Sunset

The night need not be a time of dread and foreboding!

After Sunset

The last light of the setting Sun
So slowly fades away.
The reverie is soon begun,
Here at the end of day.

In calm here by a shady glade
The birds no longer sing,
And as the lights so slowly fade;
It seems a mystic thing.

The moon and stars they now arise
The Milky Way is clear,
And up there in the lofty skies;
The faraway seems near.

Drinking down the good red wine
A glass or two and more
The soul within then seems to shine
Much like it has before

The calm still air acts like a charm,
Moonshadows cross the glade.
The mind and soul are free from harm:
Here who could feel afraid?

The last lights of the setting Moon
Much later fade away.
Our reveries are ending soon:
Here at the break of day.

© Trevor Morgan, 18/4/2018

The longest night

Strange how when nothing happened it can leave a vivid memory.
Being powerless as things go on about you has a very special sort of dread about it.

The longest night

A single star shone in the night
Above the Sula Sea.
We stayed down low quite out of sight;
Yet, what would be, would be.

We heard the fighting there inland
To west and east as well.
That shining star seemed oh, so grand
Here at the gates of Hell.

In darkness there we all lay still
And not a word was said.
Nights there are so warm, not chill;
More stars shone overhead.

No matter all the care you take,
Your training and your skill.
Despite all of the plans you make,
One odd stray round will kill.

A lone sea gull let out a cry,
A strange sound in that night.
Some great events they passed us by
Far off and out of sight.

Those thunders echoed far away,
The clatter of each shell.
Now in my mind there was no doubt,
We’d passed so near to hell.

But cold fear raged within my gut,
There in that humid heat.
My soul was stuck there in that rut;
And Hope was in retreat.

All’s cold there in that void of fear;
With future gone from sight.
There’s nothing calm there’s nothing clear,
That was the longest night.

© Trevor Morgan, 18/4/2018

An autocracy of experts

I like the description of the EU as “An autocracy of experts“.
This term was first used to describe the EU by Gaulist Deputy Jacques Soustelle in December 1951.
It is a lot worse now.

An autocracy of experts

“An autocracy of experts “
Had sought to rule our land.
But they had got their just deserts
When we spurned what they planned.

Aloof, afar and out of touch,
They’d micro-manage all.
Until they took on far too much
And that led to their fall.

Despising every nation state;
All that is, bar one!
But they forgot old fickle fate,
So slowly got undone.

The borders they had opened wide,
Invasions they allowed.
But they forgot a nation’s pride
For not all would be cowed.

As bodies bobbed up in the Med.,
Death was on the seas.
But they forgot that we once bled
And are now ill at ease.

George Soros fumed and sought to buy
Each and every crony.
But they forgot we’d had each lie
From that deceiver, Tony.

That autocracy of experts,
Had got quite out of hand.
But they have got their just deserts
And we’ll get back our land.

© Trevor Morgan, 18/4/2018

Notes:

The one country is Germany

Tony is Tony Blair

Surface of the brook

Reflections on the surface of water seem like a magic looking glass.
Reflections on the gently rippling surface of the moving waters of a stream are totally enchanting.

Surface of the brook

Here in the brook the currents run
And waters seem aglow.
Reflections of the setting sun
Put on a lovely show.

There’s rainbow tints here all along
This surface has a sheen.
The currents here so deep and strong
In twilight seem serene.

Last twilight of the setting sun
So slowly fades away.
The reverie it is not done,
Here with the end of day.

Still in the brook the currents run,
Dark waters can’t be seen.
The moon so soon with set of sun
Shines its light on the stream.

Reflecting here so pale, yet clear
Its silver eerie light.
Moonshadows clear are now cast here
These cycles seem so right.

Through day and night, the changing light
Are cast upon the stream.
Oh, how it seems so good, so right:
So, can life be a dream?

© Trevor Morgan, 18/4/2018

Whitehall and Westminster

There is much that is rotten in the heart of our nation.
I have lobbied and lost too often.
It took years to lobby to stop using agent orange as a weed killer in school playgrounds.
I lobbied for school and college educational radio stations and watched as this was denied and four groups got over 90% of all licenses issued and small community stations were forbidden to carry any advertising making them financially unviable.
[Jimmy, Richard, Ralph and Michael (a quite important man) seemed to be influential in these four groups]
This rot ought be cut out. Shame on them all.

Whitehall and Westminster

Whitehall think they know best,
Westminster think they know better.
Perversely these oafs only jest
When they say: “Write us a letter”.

Your cause may be good and be just,
Your vision so clear and so true,
But this lot will grind you to dust;
For they know they know better than you.

If you must then go lobby away,
Be persistent when they proudly sneer.
There’s one thing that may win the day
And that’s when you cause them to fear.

Fear that they’ll lose an election.
Fear the cash cow will dry up.
‘Til then you’ll face pure rejection
And who wants to drink from that cup.

Westminster is governed by pelf,
Whitehall’s like a thief in the night.
Each there only care for their self
And all seem most driven by spite.

© Trevor Morgan, 17/4/2018

Note:

I see no change for the better in our rotten system. The curse is loyalty to party.

Virtue signallers

There’s a lot of virtue chucked in your face these days.
I don’t think its a mask for villainy. It is more a mask to hide emptiness within. It signals a sad soul seeking some hope in what are at core fallacies.

Virtue signallers

Now, Smugness it has an allure.
The Self-righteous, they do as they please.
It seems that there may be no cure;
So, others are left ill at ease.

In their folly the Smug “know it all”;
Their piety is pure, puffed up pride.
Now pride may well lead to the fall:
And the chasm ahead’s gaping wide!

False virtue is signalled up front;
No substance, but such a display!
When questioned they barely can grunt
For deep thought is just not their way.

To signal great virtue is folly,
For virtue is shown in each deed.
Observing each crash, I feel jolly,
And laugh as I watch the stampede.

Oh, why must some put on a show?
Why try to be more than you are?
When ignorant just say you “Don’t know”;
For the truth can be safer by far.

© Trevor Morgan, 16/4/2018

Note:

I was present when the LibDems won Sheffield City Council after decades of Labour bullying and misrule. They had sounded so sound in their criticisms of the waste and the incompetence in opposition. The had signalled their “virtue” so well and it was all empty. I almost felt tempted to dedicate this poem to Peter Moron their bully in chief.
They then continued along the same path of incompetence, bullying and misrule and waste.
Then they were subsequently sent into oblivion and Sheffield is back to one party Labour misrule.
I am so glad I got out of town.

Battle at the Black Hole

Sci-fi is a great untapped vein for future poets.
It is now such an established art form it gives the imagination of poets whole vistas of space and time as subject matter.

Battle at the Black Hole

The inter-stellar cruisers clashed
Too close to the event.
And as gravitic forces smashed,
It seemed like time was bent.

The hole was an unholy thing
And not a place to fight
And therein death will have its sting,
As it sucks in all light.

The cruisers went in one by one,
It was not in their plan
And so before the day was done,
It ate up every man.

They elongated at the rim
As time seemed to stand still.
Their end then was drawn out and grim,
For gravity will kill.

If it should win the drawn-out fight,
That is the end of matter.
When black holes feed, despite each bite,
They just do not get fatter.

© Trevor Morgan 31.1.2018