Tag Archives: social issues

“Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson

“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head”.

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Cory).

Advertisements

They did it because

A young student ‘twas
Who did it because
She had spent her loan
And being alone,
Took a decision rash
To raise some cash.

A man of the world he was
Who did it because
He saw
Just another she
– Merely a whore,
For what does it matter
When a girl’s dreams shatter?

England Is …

England is ticking grandfather clocks
And country cots,
Their doors still without locks.
It is a place of church choirs
And open pub fires,
Where dogs lie
While their owner’s sigh
Or laugh
Over an article in the Daily Telegraph.

England is young men full of testosterone
Who refuse to leave it alone,
And draw their knives,
With no concern for mothers or wives.

England is a tower block
Where people lock
Their doors
Against thieves and hoares.

England is a place of country houses,
Where spouses
Sit at oak tables
Cherishing half fables
Of a past
That is vanishing fast

Rise in the number of children calling a helpline as parents are TOO DRUNK . . .

“CHILDREN as young as five are calling a helpline to be read bedtime stories because their alcoholic parents are too drunk to tuck them in at night”,

http://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/769135/Children-call-helplines-for-bedtimes-stories.

This is just so incredibly sad.

While You And I

The chatter
Of girls who clatter
By
On stillettos high,
Giggling about their latest guy.
Pointy heels delight,
Excite
And tear apart
A young man’s heart.

Girls once dreamed of mansions in the Cheshire countryside
But time’s tide
Runs on.
Youth is almost gone
And dreams turn to the waking nightmare
Of the needle-strewn stair
In a tower block too high
For you or I
But a mother and a screaming baby live there,
While you and I pretend to care.

I Laud The Mass

I laud the mass
For to do otherwise is considered crass.
One can not have the brass
Neck to deny
The truth that justice in the majority does lie.

Who am I
To raise
My voice in praise
Of the view
That the few
Sometimes best construe
What is just and true?