The Last Casualty

There seems to be no ending to consequences of events. 


The Last Casualty¹

So Barham sank just like a stone
With eight hundred men and more.
A widow woman wept alone,
Though she’d been here before.

Her husband Harry on the Hood
Now slept beneath the sea.
Her only son’s now gone for good
A Barham lad was he.

A banister was robust where
That rope stopped her dead weight.
She’s left behind all worldly care
Where sorrow was her fate.

In life she’d loved and did what’s right,
She’d helped the poor and weak.
She hanged there in some dappled light:
So lonely, dead and bleak.

So, there behind the opening door
The agent felt cold dread.
A pool of fluid on the floor,
A silhouette of the dead.

It mattered not how good she’d been;
Fate took away her Hope.
Now, there’s this horror too be seen;
It hung there on her rope.

The hallway of the house was bleak
Where she last hugged her son.
And she hung there for near a week
Once her last act was done.

Her end had been so sudden though
When vertebrae were broke.
She had not done a dancing show
That day she did not choke.

She’d choked with tears for several years
All lonely grim and cold.
Through many years she’d shed her tears
But now she’d not grow old.

The state had waged its wars at sea,
But not all deaths were there.
More tragedies are yet to be
When sorrow’s everywhere.

Just one last casualty was she,
For trauma took her down.
She’d hanged, she’d not died out at sea
It’s quicker than to drown.

© Trevor Morgan, 2015


1. “A war widow was found hanged in the hallway of her house. The estate agent handling the sale of her house entered the property to show a potential buyer around. It was then that he found her….” Newspaper report

Verdict… she had taken her own life whilst the state of her mind was disturbed…Coroners report, Portsmouth, June 1955.


Old Scar tissues ache

The saying “This too will end” is so helpful.
When going though the worst of times it gives you something to look forward to.
Me, I just put my hand to writing a blues lyric.

Old Scar tissues ache

Old scar tissue’s achin’,
My joints are achin’ too.
The weathers on the change
As I’m wakin’ without YOU.

The sky’s a dullish grey
Which yesterday was blue.
It’ll drizzle now all day
And I am missing YOU.

You’re only with me now
As I walk in my dreams
And so I’m wond’ring how
We will fulfil our schemes.

I am trapped in here
And you are left to cope,
But a time is drawing near
When there’s no need to mope.

Then old scars will not ache,
Our vigour’s will renew.
A New Home we can make,
We’ll not always be blue.

The future’s full of hope,
The past has been quite bad.
There’ll be no need to mope
We need not now be sad.

© Trevor Morgan 19 April 2002

Fate and a stone bridge

A man had a weakened body so his mind did the wandering.

Stephen Hawking was that man.

His mind could wander across time and space.
It is in time and not space that my mind seeks to wander.
I do not take easily to things theological but two works have seemed to light a spark in me. These are works by Gildas and by Boethius.
I add a book by Hawking to this now.

“For whatever lives in time
that present proceeds from past into the future
and nothing is established in time
which could embrace the entire space of its life
but in fact it does not yet apprehend tomorrow
while it has already lost yesterday;
in life today you do not live more fully
than in that passing and transitory moment…

Severus Boethius; “The Consolation of Philosophy”

I have seen the remains of an ancient bridge that had stood for centuries. The softness of water brought it down.
However, ideas, ideas from a creative mind, can endure longer than that old bridge. They do not remain unaltered but in their turn sew the seeds of more ideas in time to come. They grow and populate thoughts in folk in those future times.

Fate and a stone bridge

The rain it rained for many a day,
The stream seemed filled with ire
As many a thing got swept away;
The road became a mire.

The ancient bridge it juddered then
For waters tear at stone.
Brute hardness is of no use when
Sweet Life is gone, has flown.

A bridge may stand for many a year
So rigid and secure.
It knows not when its end is near,
For nought but Fate is sure.

But go all must when it’s their time
And none may gain delay,
For whether old or in your prime,
Fate always has its way.

Yet when the raging torrent’s gone
The bridge will be no more.
The tiny weeds need not be wan
Their future is secure.

The lesser things may long endure,
Great structure’s all must fall.
Through might none may here be secure
Time sees an end to all.

A wounded man may wander home
And live to be so old.
His life might fill a weighty tome
Where his long tale is told.

Ah, “For whatever lives in Time…”
Proceeds on at its pace.
They may be mired in sin and slime
Or be touched by pure Grace.

Dedicated to the Memory of Stephen Hawking

Sonnet – Stand and Wait!

Milton wrote “they also serve who stand and wait”
Milton never was quite my cup of tea so I could not resist taking the contrary approach!

Stand and wait!

There is no service where you stand and wait,
Just drawn out time when all seems bleak and sad.
Moods swing there so between pure love and hate.
Now too much waiting can drive sound minds mad.
Some mothers pace about both night and morn;
While others will ensure no mood’s revealed
Nor let some see inside where all’s forlorn.
With effort they ensure all sadness is concealed.
Secure, each child may hold tight mother’s hand.
Some young though seem to know good words to say.
Ah, strange it is how some young understand
And empathise upon the darkest day.
Then joy explodes at last when news arrives
And out of dismal Fear true Hope then thrives.

©Trevor Morgan 12 November 2014

School Killings



School killings are now commonplace in the USA.
I was asked recently if I was inspired to write about it. Initially I felt I could not.
Then this came to me:


Grieve and believe

You grieve and grieve and, in your mind,
You’re torn by all the strain.
You weep and weep and then you find,
That you must weep again.


The patterns that are working through
The chaos of events
They’re never really quite in view
So, nothing now makes sense.

Where killers can walk in a school
To kill with guns or knives,
We live in times of dark misrule
Where children lose their lives.

The smiles of a ‘grieving’ man,
The tears of a clown;
Now understand just what you can
Before your sun goes down.


Where lobbyists propose gun law
And shootouts where kids learn,
Then grief becomes so stark, so raw
With loss we grieve and yearn.

Our understanding’s not complete
Despite how hard we try,
Events are never really neat;
So still confused we cry.


So cry and cry until your mind
Gets some release from pain
And by and by you may soon find;
You’ll need to fight this stain.

There’s grieving caused by all this blight
With days of sad laments.
Then leaders must do what is right
Or face the consequence!


The patterns that are working through
Will lead to consequence
So now’s the time the good, the true
Must take charge of events.



© Trevor Morgan February 2018

Gosport Ferry Song

Before the First World War two young people met on a ferry.
One of them I knew, the other was to be his wife and the mother of his two children. He was in the Royal Navy and would go through battle and survive, she would be killed by the Flu epidemic just after the war ceased.
From “Jutland and After”.
That sad eyed old man I knew had been young and in love once upon a time.


 Gosport Ferry Song

“There’s bright sunshine on the harbour
Winter winds are blowing chill,
Cold hard frost reflects the sunlight
And I’m longing for you still.


Our best dreams can be so empty
And our longings give no thrill.
Love is turned cold indifference
And I’m longing for you still.

There’s a thick fog on the harbour,
Mists are hanging grey and still.
Cold hard frost reflects the lamplight
And I’m longing for you still.


There’s an oil slick on the harbour,
Slimy streaks clear waters kill.
Rainbow tint reflects the bright light
And I’m longing for you still.


There’s cold moonlight on the harbour
I had wanted you until,
Cold hard fate extinguished love’s light;
Yet I’m longing for you still


There’s ice floating on the harbour
Winter winds are blowing chill,
Cold hard frost reflects the warm light
And I’m longing for you still.


Cold hard frost reflects the warm light
And I’m longing for you still.

I am longing for you still,

Longing, longing for you still.”



Rest in Peace Uncle Arthur

Widow’s Sea

I was recovering from an injury sat on the shore.
This was in Worthing. There was a strong scent of seaweed in the air.
Near by sat a women with two young children playing.
Here eyes were red, she had been crying.
I wrote this as I sat there:

Widow’s sea

The boat rolls gently on the wave,
A small bird’s flying by.
We know the sea’s a sailor’s grave
And like the breeze we sigh.

The seaweed’s washed up on the beach
It’s scent is on the air.
Her sailor’s soul is out of reach,
Winds blow the widow’s hair.

A raven soars above the shore,
The tide is on the turn,
It flies above the sailor’s grave;
A widow’s left to yearn.

A tern dives in the gentle wave,
Then rises to the skies
And flies above the sailor’s grave;
A lonely widow cries.

Whitebait are caught there in a net,
The fisherman’s at sea.
There are to be more widows yet;
It’s what is going to be.

The widow’s weeping by the bay,
The orphans by her side.
Yet these sad times will pass away,
For goodness will abide.

The boat lulls on the gentle calm,
Soon no clouds in the sky.
In stillness is a gentle balm;
And widow’s tears will dry.

Trevor Morgan 1999


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


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

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