Manchester Hill

After attending a service to remember the battle in which my father was shot in the head 100 years ago I felt moved to write this poem about the event.

The 16th Manchester’s gathered round, whilst Colonel Elstob told the plan,
To defend the small and grassy hill, and hold it to a man,
“Here we fight and here we die” was the rallying cry they heard,
Whilst the German guns began to roar, our men, resolute not deterred,
A swirling mist obscured the field, of the gunners’ line of fire,
And the German troops like phantoms, moved in mud and stranded wire,
Attackers charged wave on wave, but the lads showed firm resolve,
And beat back the Hun invaders, in the battle that evolved
The Manchester’s killed and wounded, littered trenches all around,
But they still held on to that grassy knoll, they were ordered to defend,
They had stemmed the flow of the Hun advance and gave the British time,
To strengthen the defences of the long rear battle line,
At 4pm their race was run, their colonel dead and gone,
Midst other men from Manchester who joined deaths echelon,
Seventy-six who fell that day caused tears at home to flow,
The wounded and the captured dealt a heartfelt savage blow,
But pride in their achievement at holding out so long,
Ensured a lasting memory that remains forever strong,
Northern grit had triumphed, on that field in far flung France
And should never be forgotten as the years continue to advance
© Ted Morgan April 2018

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The New Year

We sit around and wonder what things we’re going to change,
When the clock, it does strike twelve, and our lives we rearrange,
IT seems to happen every year, but very little changes,
Our resolutions come to naught, when our routine re-engages,
Our waistlines stay extended, we think of exercise,
But staying on the sofa ,remains central to our lives,
Our master plan for New Year remains static on the shelf,
We pour ourselves a whisky as we dream of a “new self”
But do we have to change at all? Is our life so bad?
We have a loving family, and strong friendships make us glad,
So, let us try this New Year, to rejoice in what we have,
And count the blessings in our lives, so we never will be sad.

© Ted Morgan December 31st 2017.

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The Robin

When walking in our local park, a robin I espied,

Sitting there as bold as brass, it looked me in the eye

It seemed to say, “now watch your step, you’re in my patch you know

There’s only food enough for me so you had better go,”

T’was on a branch so near to me with feathers puffed and proud,

His red breast gleaming in the sun, his stance upright not cowed,

The moment it was magical, with man and bird in tune,

The meeting happening in a park on a sunny afternoon,

In my mind’s eye I still can see, that Robin sentinel,

Protecting what he thought was his, from the likes of me.


© Ted Morgan December 2017

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Christmas poem 2017


Christmas Poem 2017

The Christmas seasons on us with glitz in all the shops,
Tinsel, trees and baubles, winter scarves and fancy socks,
Christmas cards displayed, whilst carols fill the air,
The shopping pandemonium for gifts to show we care,
But does this splurge of excess, have any meaning for us all,
Or do we have to spend, spend, spend, at every market stall,
Its meaning in this day and age, seems to have passed us by
A big commercial enterprise is all we do espy,
What of the birth in Bethlehem? When our saviour Christ was born,
No glitzy crib for him at all, but a stable all forlorn,
Poor shepherds came to visit him, just curious to see,
The wonderous thing that happened, that impacts you and me,
For Christmas is a time of joy, for family and our friends,
To show how much we treasure them, and sometimes to make amends,
Let us try and share our goods, with folks whose life is hard,
For Christ had no earthly comforts, in that cold stable yard,
The spirit that is Christmas shows, to go that extra mile,
To help the old and lonely share our joy just for a while.

© Ted Morgan 2017

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Her husband gently guides her, his face is worn and sad,

Now his wife’s carer whom he married for good or bad,

She was his childhood sweetheart, and lived just up the street,

When wedding bells rand for them, their lives they thought complete

They had a child now flown the nest, with children of her own,

But living oh so far away she keeps in touch by phone,

Her spouse never did the ironing, or washed the clothes or cooked,

His sweetheart wife of 50 years, ensured that naught was overlooked,

But in the last year things have changed, these tasks are his work now,

Her mind no longer functions, for she does not now know how,

He helps her dress each morning, makes sure she has a wash,

And dusts and cleans, so if folks call the place looks nice and posh,

At times she does not know him, a stranger in their home

He finds it hard to comprehend, he feels so on his own,

His house it is a prison, his friends all dead and gone,

But remembering his marriage vows, he cares and soldiers on.


© Ted Morgan

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Walking Mats

I have a problem in my house which I am sure afflicts many homes and at times

It drives me nuts!!

My walking mats.

I have a certain problem, which blights my night time hours,

My house is in possession of a thing, playing games within my bower,

Each night I align my mats and rungs , in doorways and by my  bed,

They look so neat and ordered, and are right just where I tread,

But this silent poltergeist like thing, positions mats anew

For on going to the loo each morn my mats are now askew,

It seems it does not like, my way of placing mats all straight,

My mats have moved, I know now why, I hate them in this state,

I’ve thought to bring a warlock in, for incantations and  to cast spells,

But he says that Wilton and Axminister, are things he can’t dispel

I’ve tried the local vicar, but his look just says I’m just daft,

And dismisses my pleas, with an enigmatic laugh,

So I have now to put up with mats, that walk about each night,

And my doctor says that I must change this ritual of my plight,

OCD rules my days, but at night time I am scuppered,

I will just have to wait, until a cure has been discovered.


© Ted Morgan

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