Message Lost

Not all messages get through!
I had an idea of a long narrative verse about the Rebellion of 1745 with the fat boy from France as the villain. I may get on with it some day.
This is all I ever wrote. It needs work to get it right.

Message lost

He whipped and he whipped
And his stirrups thrust.
His horse’s blood dripped,
Leaving flecks in the dust.
He’d ridden like rage
Throughout the long night,
Passed many a stage
In his headlong flight.
News he now took
Down to London town
Of a bonny plump boy
Who wanted the Crown.
Devoid of all joy
His soul was so sad
As he thundered on
He raged like the Mad.
But his heart was so wan,
The news of defeats
He was bringing now
Of traitors and cheats.
But in him somehow
He was tortured by doubts
That verged upon sin
And came on in bouts.
Behind his false grin
These made him go on
At his manic pace
The panic an’ loss
And all past disgrace
Made him tie his fate,
Like some loathsome thing
– So driven by hate –
To an alien King.
He’d change his mount
At the distant stage post;
Every minute must count
Now pursued by a host,
But he’d ridden too hard
With the stirrup an’ whip
Like a mark on his card
His horse was to slip.
So onward he rushed
Going down with his mount
And his skull was crushed
So, some efforts don’t count!
And his pouch with the letter
Were there by his side,
His foe was his debtor
For the fruits of his ride.

© Trevor Morgan 2002


The Last Flight

On Sunday, 3rd February 1957 an RAF pilot at the end of his career flew his Vampire jet under the Clifton Suspension Bridge, attempted a victory roll, lost control and died. I witnessed this long ago as a child.
People do stupid things when faced with an unknown future!



The Last Flight

He knew his service time was up
His service time was done
His Vampire soared above the clouds
Now he would have some fun

He’d flown for nearly 15 years
He’d flown right through the War
His father’s shop now beckoned him
For he would fly no more

Greengrocery is a useful trade
It just was not for him
Inside he raged a dark tirade
The future was so grim

He pushed the stick into a dive
For one last bit of fun
When up aloft he felt alive
He dived from out the sun

The children by the bridge below
All saw the jet fly under
There through the gorge above the trees
Roaring by like thunder

The right side wing then seemed to flip
The winds were furious there
Down to the left he seemed to slip
His flying ended there

A flash of flame a mass of smoke
Then sounds of his impact
In life he’d always liked to joke
Death was a joyless fact

The children by the bridge had run
To try to get some aid
But there was nothing to be done
His mess bills went unpaid

© Trevor Morgan, 2018

Slime and Grime

Ah, life, it’s always throwing up chores for us!

Slime and Grime

It’s oozing here with slime and grime,
The worst place I’ve been yet.
It’s damp and stinky all the time,
Right here I’m rather wet.

I bet that I could fight this fight
With stink and stench right here.
I bet that I would not take flight,
Run screaming out in fear.

Yes, its oozing here with grime and slime,
But it’s worth getting wet,
Cos I will have a jolly time.
So, I’ll clean this bathroom yet!

©TM 30.04.17

Blackthorn Blossoms

Change is not by definition disaster!
Things move on in new ways.
In the months to come we will see our hedgerows covered with blossom as Spring emerges.

Blackthorn Blossoms

The blackthorn is flowering
Its blossoms are white
The petals are showering
They bring such delight

The paths and the roadsides
Are confettied in white
But nothing abides
All passes from sight

The hedges go green
When the blossoms are gone
But they’re verdant and sheen
So, let’s not feel wan

© Trevor Morgan 16 May 2017

Winds of Change

Adaptability is crucial in times of change
We are now living in such times

Winds of Change

“Whirling and swirling in patterns so strange,
The dust out of doors is dancing about.
This is not the same as strange winds of change
That make things once certain now feel full of doubt.
The future’s scarce like such swirling’s of dust,
For it’s in no way as easy to see.
Yet each in their time must do as they must.
This now it seems is the way things ought be,
Who is secure then when old realms decline?
When problems abound and times become hard
Beneath the dark cloud who sees the sun shine?
Like dust and like dirt outside in the yard,
Now, oft times we see such swirling’s of hate
When fleet winds of change are beckoned by Fate.”

From: “The Children of Gewis”

“Let’s Roll”

Some have heroism thrust upon them!
This happened to passengers on a plane on 9/11.

Tod Beamer a Leader

‘Are you guys ready?’ one hero said
And then he said ‘Let’s roll’.
Those heroes won though soon were dead;
We wept for every soul.

He led the way that we must go
In these dark awful times
As we confront each wicked foe,
As they pursue their crimes.

Though reason is a splendid thing,
Blind faith is not the same.
It has within a toxic sting
And kills in some god’s name.

Our bodies they may easily die,
Who knows about the soul.
We seem confronted by a lie;
Time’s come, so now “Let’s Roll”!

T Morgan, 21 October 2017

Hooded man in the wood

We have many myths.  Some are based on real characters or events, some not.
Sadly we cannot tell which are and which are not.  In a way this does not matter.  We all ought to enjoy some stories.


Hooded man in the wood

The path meandered through the wood.
A walker walked that way.
He wore a heavy woven hood,
This was a brand-new day.

It seemed strange as he walked along
There through the silent trees.
This day he could not hear bird song
So, he was ill at ease.

The sun rose silent in the sky,
The wood seemed denser yet.
He dropped his purse but let it lie;
He had no cares nor debt.

There may be care most everywhere
He felt no care nor fear
Some things you do you may not share
Soon he would lie dead here

He’d fought his last fight late last night,
Alone he’d walked away.
His wound at first had seemed quite light;
It seemed not so this day.

Alone he had struck out for home,
In pain he’d wandered on.
Then he let out a muffled moan,
Right there his strength seemed gone.

I found him dead beneath a yew,
Cobwebs upon his face.
He’d done what others dared not do:
They live on in disgrace!

I dug his grave deep in the wood
But took his hood to keep.
I think he thought he had done good.
How so, when many weep?

© T Morgan, 21 October 2017

Brutality of War

Wilfred Owen said he wanted to write of the “Pity of War”.   He did that so well. I saw things through different eyes in a different time and in beautiful and far away places. With the backdrop of forests, mangroves and the tropical seas things seemed more contrasting to me.  The stink of phosphorous within the exotic ecology of  North Borneo seemed so brutal.


He still sees the glint of sunlight

Those two men were clear on the height,
I noted their slow stooping run,
Through the sun’s glint on the fore sight
Quite calmly I aimed the bren gun.

I felt the recoil in my shoulder,
Heard metal sounds of the spent rounds,
Chill gripped my soul and grew colder.
My conscience screamed like baying hounds.

The men jerked up static and stiff,
Each grunted a guttural sound,
There came an end to this mischief
As folding they slumped to the ground.

I still see the glint of sunlight,,
There on the fore sight of the gun
But an evil can’t be put right:
“Oh My God – Just what have I done!”


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
‘tween 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.


Tauau Bay, Sabah, 1963

Tracer tracks and the stinking smell of smoke,
For it was there faith sank without a splash
As hope ebbed slowly in the stink and choke
To the sounds of fire and the distant flash.
Then charity failed and it had to go
As landing craft ran round into the bay;
Helicopters whirled down and flew in low,
The action was fought out on that fine day,
With pressure on triggers so gently squeezed
Until the gun recoils against your grip.
Death in a vicious spitting hail’s unleashed.
This with the flashes from a distant ship
And with the whine of shells erupting fire
There came the news stories written by a liar


From: “Saga of Sabah”, 2002

Cultural Clashes

We are told to “celebrate diversity”!  What nonsense that is.
We are told we live in a multicultural society.  Again that is nonsense. Multiculturalism can, at most be, a passing phase as cultures blend or clash as the case may happen.
Kipling wrote that: “East is east and west is west and n’ere the twain shall meet”.  That is not strictly true some east and west cultures can blend over time, some cannot.


Deformed not natural

Some cultures grow that are quite ill at ease
And cannot face the facts where they cause woe.
Where they can they will do just as they please,
They’re greater risk to allies than to foe.
Up front’s a friendly face as false as lies.
Insides a twisted soul that frights itself.
Complaining all the time aloud each cries.
While seeking all the time for some new pelf,
Old long past wrongs they use to justify
An ally whom they poison for his purse.
At other’s grief they’re never known to sigh
But just moan that they have themselves fared worse.
These folk deformed and twisted up with hate
Could cast a shadow dark upon our fate!


Cultural Clashes

Where cultures clash then only one may win.
For multiples of cultures lead to strife
And all but one are labelled as true sin
And worthy of the need for taking life.
The rational where feuders rationalise
Is that their cause is just and true and right.
Those not quite of their ilk they may despise
And treat them to the dark side and to spite.
And when at last one cause may seem supreme,
Hegemony obtains its stable rule.
But strength may fall and fade just like some dream,
All through the misrule of a single fool.
As strength returns to those who were once weak,
To those who were once strong all now turns bleak.


From: “Freothogar’s Tale”, 2012


Slow dance the hours

I never really understood boredom.  So I have tried to write about it.

Slow dance the hours

Slow dance the hours
The haze of the days
The seconds and minutes that loll and that laze.

The progress that cowers
And ever delays,
With seconds and minutes all lost in a haze.

Now stuck in this mill
And treading out time,
Like waiting for old bells that seem not to chime.

The trace of the powers
That preys in a maze,
Of seconds and minutes that make all the days.

Slow dance the hours
The daze of the ways
That seconds and minutes all fade to a haze.

Slow draining the will
To well past your prime,
When sapped of all strength then you sink in the slime.

©Trevor Morgan, 2017