The Trip

The Trip
The trip was planned in secret, as the kids were not to know,
For the Morgan’s nosey parkers are always on the go,
One of them’s an expert at listening; to parents making plans
He just did not contemplate this trip to far off lands,
So, tickets they were ordered, and rooms booked on the sly,
And Mum and Dad they did not talk, in hearing of their spy,
For when the day it came, to pack the car and go,
Our two intrepid travellers were still not in the know,
They went and picked up grandad and were very mystified,
When instead of going for a walk, got in’t car, and sat inside
We sped along the motorway, the questions they came fast,
But not a clue as to where we were, or how long the trip would last,
A service station came in view, we decamped and had a brew,
But Alfie had of course to go, and inspect the nearest loo!
The drive lasted hours, poor dad was hot and tired,
The kids they were very mystified, to get homes taking hours,
We drew into a motel, and said we’ll stay the night,
And we were just thankful that no leaflets were in sight,
Next morning on the TV, they found that London was not far.
But going there, we were not, as they go into the car,
Their shock it was compounded, when through the gets they sped,
To magic Harry Potter Land and its massive film lot spread.
The looks on their faces wreathed in smiles and wonderment,
Shows just how our secret trip, to them; was heaven-sent.
©Ted Morgan August 2018

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On Camera

On Camera
George Orwell was the man who said that Big Brother watches all,
But it seems to me that nowadays it’s the myriad cameras that appal
You can not walk down any street, without their silent gaze,
As someone sits and watches you, when in shopping your engaged,
But get into your motor car and ride the nation’s bye ways
But woe betide you if you speed, they’ll catch you on the highways,
No matter where you go these days, you feature in their lenses,
You can not hide in crowds no more, it’s the intrusion that incenses,
Your free to roam our country but on your own, you’re not,
For high above you in the sky a drone is what you spot,
For now, the countries ringed with cameras, that orbit us in space,
From miles above, they see us and take pictures of your face,
Even at home you’re not secure, as tv’s tech we now allow,
It’s the curse of modern living, Big Brothers here and now

© Ted Morgan 2018

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The Room

The Room
Your room is warm and comforting, where memories abound,
You sit in contemplation, with silence all around,
You look towards that empty, chair where the one you miss, did sit,
And imagine her sitting there, safe home whilst she did knit,
But cruelly taken, far too early, and you left on your own,
You have only memories as you sit at home alone,
You long to share a book you read, or just discuss the plot,
But the empty chair is all you see, so your wishes come to naught,
Loneliness is something that one feels as you grow old,
Your partner gone, your friends deceased, but still you soldier on,
The daily routine carries on, you talk to all you meet,
But when the front door closes, there’s no one there to greet,
In summer there’s the garden for you to cultivate,
But wintertime means long dark nights, a time that most do hate,
Your limbs no longer supple, your joints they creak and groan,
The aches and pains of old age means you suffer on your own,
But don’t despair you still have time to occupy your mind,
To do the morning crossword and puzzles that you find,
Don’t stagnate watching TV, and mindless daytime soaps,
Your body may be knackered, but your minds still keen, one hopes!
© Ted Morgan May 2018

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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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