Bill Morley: Happy Birthday !

September 25, 2016




Bill is the author of GROANS FROM OLD BONES, a wonderful book of poetry. He has also authored numerous bibliographical books and a book of haiku poems.


birthday-png                                                              william-f-e-morley-jpeg

In appreciation of my book review of GROANS FROM OLD BONES, Bill sent me a letter which I am happy to share with you:

Dear Mr. Dabydeen:

Before proceeding to my subject, my pen is stayed by curiosity : I don’t recall

encountering that name before. What could be its national or etymological origins?

As for the person himself, whom I’ve yet to meet, I’m flattered by his interest

in my scribbles, which I regard as the effusions of an idle mind in its last remove.

If we may judge a person by their friends, I think we may also consider their literary interests in our appraisal.

A person’s library speaks volumes, so-to-speak. On the other hand, be cautious of those who worship Caesar, in order to inhale the mere dust from their robes. An inept analogy, since I can claim not even the most distant relationship with any great Roman orator!

Once a subject of the august British realm, now a proud citizen, with Ottawa

at the helm.

That’s my civic history.

Thank you for your kind words and my very best wishes.


(written September 24, 2016)




B00k Review: Groans From Old Bones

September 3, 2016




Canadian Author: William Felix Edmund Morley (nonagenarian)

 Book: Groans From Old Bones by William F.E. Morley (1920 – )

Book Review: Leonard Dabydeen



In the early 20th century, Edith Wharton (1862-1937) of the Age of Innocence (1920) fame wrote:

In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in a small way.


And D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) of the canon publication of Sons and Lovers (1913) and Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928), wrote in the first stanza of his poem, Beauty of Old Age:

             It ought to be lovely to be old

             to be full of the peace that comes of experience

             and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.



And Edmund Waller (1606-1687), an English poet who was thought of arguably as a pioneer of the classical couplet in English verse, reflected in this poem, Old Age:

                The seas are quiet when the winds give o’er;

                 So calm are we when passions are no more.

                 For then we know how vain it was to boast

                 Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.

                 Clouds of affection from our younger eyes

                 Conceal that emptiness which age descries.


If within this fraternity of poetic minds we can luxuriate joyously on the richness of old age, or becoming old but fresh as sunshine in its glory across expansive horizons, it is requite for us to peruse the 45 poems in this book, Groans From Old Bones by nonagenarian author, William F.E. Morley. In Bill’s own words, this book is simply “some versification”. But simplicity aside, the author’s thought process is full of clarity and lucidity spanning only a short period of time, between 2014-2015. At age 90+, Bill’s poetry collection is phenomenal. In Barbara E. Kelly’s Note as Editor, this book is “…for your enjoyment…” And in summation, she says it is

“…a collection of Bill’s poetry. Bill is a very complex person, and you will see the many sides to him in this collection of his works. His poems will touch your heart, have you laughing and centering you at times with reality.”

Unequivocally in the Prologue, Bill delightfully sets the mind of the reader, or a poetry enthusiast, to pulsate with intent to open this book, Groans From Old Bones, only to read poem after poem,

                       Tales of old

                     Of Yesteryear

                   Herewith retold

                 To please your ear.

                   If you can cope,

                   As I surely hope,

               My heart with joy will cheer

                   (10 October, 2014)

And so behold with heart-full cheers, this enigmatic and complex nonagenarian author broods in our minds with a poem titled LIFE’S MEMORIES in thirteen lines (p.2),

                  The years go by and fill my head

                   With many memories of things done and said.

                   Of the friends I’ve loved in my long life,

                   With scenes of joy, but some of strife.

                   There are days of sunshine, and of cloud,

                   Of acts of shame, and some of which I’m proud.

                   There are bad words well said, but some are black.

                   Either way, they can never be taken back.

                 So keep thoughts pure, in a sound mind

                   Do unto others in a manner always kind.

                   Then, perhaps, if you’re lucky you’ll find

                   In the end your life has been worthwhile,

                   And you can look back with a happy smile!

                         (November, 2015)

In the same breath and lucidity of thought, the author resoundingly portrays how old age matters in this poem, TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF THE AGED (p.2),

Trials I have and quite a few

                 Then there’s tribulations too.

                 From the moment I awake,

               All my muscles start to shake.

               Then a shiver, down my spine,

               And my stomach starts to whine.

               Try to stand, fall back on bed,

               The nurse comes in, thinks I’m dead.

               Gives a shriek, falls in a faint,

               I fan her just to show I ain’t/

(November 2015)

Absolutely, Bill brings spontaneous laughter in gathering of the vagaries of old age. But what is significant to note is that each of the first nine lines in this poem has a syllabic count of seven. And the rhyme scheme – a a, b b, c c, d d, … sets the tone and rhythm of poems throughout the book. There is a splurge of fun, frolic and twists of Romanticism and some feeling of sadness, composted with pleasure when reading this collection of versification. In the reader’s reckoning there will be onomatopoeias and iambic meters that will foster Hallmark treasures for choices of poems. The images are surreal and amazingly interesting.

This book, GROANS FROM OLD BONES, according to Leslie H. Morley, of Morley Law Office in Kingston, Ontario, and son of the author, is just “a notch short of Byron” In an earlier e-mail on February 14, 2016, Leslie indicated to me that his Dad is “an old codger” who has been writing a lot of poetry recently, but “not Lord-Byron-level stuff.” He sent me a copy of his father’s book, which I received on July 8, 2016. During our conversation by e-mail, I enthused to Leslie that, as an author of books of poetry myself, I feel vehemently that poetry is the nectar that nourishes the soul. It vitalizes our own spirit of inner expression. Age has no limitations for poetry.

Any individual who loves to read poetry, will condescend unequivocally that this book, GROANS FROM OLD BONES may not be on the same top shelf with the great early 19th century English poet, George Byron. But aside of the traumatic and debauchery tidal waves that furrowed Byron into an emotional spurt of writing poetry, with an aggressive and enchanting rhyme scheme, Bill’s small book of poetry as a nonagenarian, certainly can be slated, in tone and context, as a “notch of Byron” indeed – referencing Leslie’s own words. The poems are short, underlining Shakespeare’s thought of “brevity is the soul of wit”. The rhyme and rhythm in each poem, line by line, stanza by stanza, couplets and sonnets rich in imagery, let the reader sways in musical entertainment. Reading one poem in the book urges you to read the next. Let us look at the first stanza from this poem, A TALE OF MODERN CRUSOES (p.7):

                       In a remote Pacific isle,

                       Off shipping routes by many a mile,

                       In a small and sheltered bluff,

                       Watered by the rains enough

                       A fruitful valley flourished there,

                       With fruit trees, both peach and pear,

                       Along the rocks were climbing grapes,

                       And juicy berries of many shapes.

(12 November, 2015)

And then follows the iambic rhythm in THE COUNTRY GIRL in five stanzas [first three stanzas here] (p.18),

                       She was pure, from the country,

                       When she came to town,

                       But that is where her morals

                       Were sadly to fall down.


                       She met a city slicker,

                       Took her to a bar and grill.

                       He knew liquor would be quicker

                       To gain his wicked will.


                       She became a Fallen Woman

                       Could not go back home.

                     So it was in city streets,

                     That she was left to roam.


And quickly the reader begins to get a little touch of Byron in Romanticism, reflecting on SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY in its poetic architecture. Thus the poems in Bill’s GROAN FROM OLD BONES are simple, short and somewhat experimental in the vignettes of his vast experiences in life. He sustains an almost analogous rigid rhyme scheme, rich in musical and sometimes jocular constructs with a Byron brush. The poems draw on social issues, family ties, friends and poignant moments that are personal in overtone. He speaks to life with sweet ambiance, as in this poem, PARADISE! (p. 24),

                     Wherever there is sunshine

                     That’s where I’d like to be,

                       Especially if the sun shines

                       On sand and tall palm tree.

(31 August, 2015)


Then Bill turns around with a sober tone in A PROMISE SOUGHT (P. 25),


                Though the way be long

                 And the roads so steep,

                 I can never forget

                 The promise I must keep.

                 And promise to keep I will,

                 No matter how long, and steep the hill.

(26 July, 2015)


Bill’s groans in this book echo sincerely with sinews and travesty of war. An Englishman with a die-hard Canadian spirit, he lived through the Second World War (1939-1945). He made no bones about his faith in the military in this poem, AN EPIC OF WAR (p. 6),


                   I was sent to Canada,

                   An allied friendly shore,

                   There in peace to learn to fight

                   In Britain’s gallant war.

[First stanza]

                  The last was in old Kingston,

                   River Thames ran past my door;

                   Sister Kingston in the New World,

                   Dwells on Ontario’s shore.

[Last stanza]

(20 November, 2015)


This book, GROANS FROM OLD BONES is dedicated “IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY DEAR WIFE BETH”. Bill writes in this versification, FOR BETH, A Sonnet of Sorrows (p.45), in the second stanza,

                   The memory lingers, I’ll never forget!

                   Beth died of dementia later that year.

                   The feeling endures for my precious dear:

                     With a heart full of love, there can be no regret.

(25 January, 2014)


On a more witty side, Bill offers us the title poem, GROANS FROM OLD BONES (p. 38),


                         I search my mind

                         For what can be,

                         The benefits of longevity.

                         I’m fairly sound

                         In wind and limb,

                         But my agility

                         Is rather grim.

                         But I recite

                           My ABC,

                           And know 2 plus 2

                           Do not make 3.

                           But what is worse

                           As you’ll agree,

                           Is that every hearse

                           I ever see

                           I always think

                           Has come for me.

                           So in the end you plainly see

                           I’ve nonagenarian senility!

(4 July, 2014 – Barry’s Bay, Ontario)


Leslie Morley wrote of his Dad, William Felix Edmund Morley (Bill), born 1920 – that he was a librarian at Queen’s University. Bill was responsible for “looking after the old books there until he retired at age 65”. For a few decades, Bill did extensive research and reading with an insatiable focus on Canadian history, a splash of poetry, critiques of writers – producing over forty publications of mainly bibliographical works

(reference to his publications: Some of his most recent publications include, Tecumseh: Or, The Warrior of the West: A Poem, In four cantos (Early Canadian Poetry Series), John Richardson (Author), William F.E. Morley (Introduction) (1978); Pioneer life on the Bay of Quinte (1972), Ontario and the Canadian North (1978), A bibliographical study of Major John Richardson (1973), Seasons of Joy in Haiku (2007), Canadian Local Histories to 1950 : a Bibliography Vol III Ontario and the Canadian North (1978), Points of reference– : books chiefly from the working reference collection of William F.E. Morley with some additional materials from the libraries of the late R.E. Watters and others (2003), Kingston through the years: visitor’s accounts, 1758-1906 : Towards a Supplement to Britton Smith’s Kingston! Oh Kingston! (Kingston, 1987) (2013), Criteria for the evaluation of enumerative bibliographies (1979), Watermarks (1986), The bibliography of Ontario (1975?), Conversations with my cat (2012).

Reference: GROANS FROM OLD BONES, by William F.E. Morley; Editor, Barbara E. Kelly; Publisher, The Kingsley Press, Kingston, Ontario (2016), ISBN 978=0=9880290-4.

Book Review by Leonard Dabydeen, published author of Watching You, A Collection of Tetractys Poems, Xlibris Publications (2012); Searching for You, A Collection of Tetractys and Fibonaci Poems, Xlibris Publicatins (2015).



Wow!  That’s amazing Leonard.  Thanks for writing that.  He will be thrilled!


01 September, 2016


Leslie H. Morley

Canadian Deportation, Immigration & Citizenship Law

Follow me on Twitter; Connect to me on LinkedIn; Like me on Facebook; Learn About me

PRESIDENT, Kingston Employment & Youth Services (KEYS)

ACCREDITED FAMILY MEDIATOR, Ontario Association for Family Mediation

PAST PRESIDENT, Canadian Prison Law Association & Frontenac Law Association











211 Division Street, Kingston, ON   CANADA   K7K 3Z2

phone (613) 542-2192       email


Book:Groans From Old Bones

July 16, 2016



                                        Book of Versification by William F.E. Morley

Just Old Bones

(for William F.E. Morley: 1920-present)

By Leonard Dabydeen

14 July, 2016


A notch short of Byron

so amusing

entertaining to the core:

mind, body, and soul

walking you through archives and enclaves

jotting a memory here, there, everywhere

his amusement lingers

like perfume fragrances

in the botany of life

you desire to sit with him

watch him prancing

laugh a little from the heart

like Richardson’s Tecumseh

watch him bow a little

craving thoughts how to rhyme

uncaring about fetter of time

hear a little groan

a sombre tone

a witty smile

age matters for a while

ecstatic his life be known

deep in his old bone.


A Tribute to David H. Sookram

July 16, 2016

David H Sookram June 9 2016 JPEG                                                                      David H. Sookram


                 1930 -2016


Be it that he was dapper

Or dimple in manner or style

His texture was impregnable

So through to core and camaraderie.


His wit surfeit to say

Unflinching like granite rock

Eye to eye be as it may

Night or day, rain or shine.


A friend to many and foe to few

Triumphant his pursuit with much ado

Always there in bridled flair

To lend a hand without despair.

By Leonard Dabydeen, Brampton, Ontario


David Dabydeen: Tribute

July 8, 2016

A Tribute to My Father by Prof. David Dabydeen

David Dabydeen JPEG                                                                 Prof. David Dabydeen

Guyanese Online Blog


Freight Train Gone

by Leonard Dabydeen

Where hurt lies

deep in the heart

where pain goes beyond

boundaries cataclysmic

full of unanswerable questions

not knowing expectations

or outcomes from darkness

a beacon light

shines before you

to bear witness

how your door closes

with creaking hinges

as the freight train

continues on its journey.


My Best Friend

June 9, 2016

My Best Friend – Poem by Leonard Dabydeen

8 June is Best Friend’s Day
A good friend listens to your adventures, a best friend makes them with you.

My Best Friend

She carries me in her mind
wrapped in a cozy blanket
just to keep me warm;
my secrets I cannot hide
or try re-inventing
when her nearness
exudes a perfume of awareness;
she knows it all
sometimes I think
like a common thief:
every crevice, crack, and corner
where I heave a sigh
she raises a brow –
I am here for you, she says;
not only a shoulder
to lean on, but to embrace
heart to heart
as God only knows
she is my best friend.

Topic(s) of this poem: friendship


June 9, 2016

Hunger in Venezuela
fall asleep
empty stomachs
so keep their eyes open looking for food.

just for food
hunger in their eyes
a morsel is found for dinner.

El insomne / Vicente Gerbasi

The Insomniac
Vicente Gerbasi (Canoabo, 1913 – Caracas, 1992)

To Francisco Pérez Perdomo

The insomniac doesn’t rest.
He closes his eyes
and keeps seeing a specter
that passes through the wall
and comes back when the lamp
turns on, opaque,
from the dead.
The insomniac touches the wood
on the bed, cold,
and he feels like he’s sleeping
in the coffin.
The insomniac opens his eyes
and sees the specter again
crossing through the wall
with his scarred head.
The insomniac places the scarred head
in place of his own head
and begins to scream,
but he doesn’t scream
because no one hears him.
The insomniac screams, screams,
but no one hears him.
The insomniac floats
in the silence of the Universe.


In this May 31, 2016 photo, Pedro Hernandez, left, and his friend Luis Daza, pick up tomatoes from the trash area of the Coche public market in Caracas, Venezuela. (Photo: AP)

Venezuelans pick through trash for food to eat or sell

June 8, 2016

CARACAS, Venezuela (AP) — Until recently, Julio Noguera worked at a bakery. Now he spends his evenings searching through the garbage for food.

“I come here looking for food because if I didn’t, I’d starve to death,” Noguera said as he sorted through a pile of moldy potatoes. “With things like they are, no one helps anyone and no one gives away meals.”

Across town, unemployed people converge every dusk at a trash heap on a downtown Caracas sidewalk to pick through rotten fruit and vegetables tossed out by nearby shops. They are frequently joined by small business owners, college students and pensioners — people who consider themselves middle class even though their living standards have long ago been pulverized by triple-digit inflation, food shortages and a collapsing currency.

Venezuela’s poverty had eased during the administration of the late President Hugo Chavez. But a study by three leading Caracas universities found that 76 per cent of Venezuelans are now under the poverty line, compared with 52 per cent in 2014.

Staples such as corn flour and cooking oil are subsidized, costing pennies at the strongest of two official exchange rates. But fruit and vegetables have become an unaffordable luxury for many Venezuelan families.

“We’re seeing terrible sacrifices across many sections of society,” said Carlos Aponte, a sociology professor at the Central University of Venezuela. “A few years ago, Venezuela didn’t have the kind of extreme poverty that would drive people to eat garbage.”

While some search through the garbage piles for food they can eat, many more are drawn by the opportunity to fetch a few bolivar bills by rescuing and reselling bruised produce. On a recent evening, Noguera managed to retrieve a dozen potatoes.

“I’m a trained baker, but right now there’s no work anywhere here. So I make do with this,” he said.

The trash pickers aren’t just people who’ve lost their jobs. Jhosriana Capote, a vocational student, comes to the trash heap to supplement her pantry. She recently completed an internship with a Coca-Cola subsidiary.

“I used to be able to find food, but not anymore. Everything is lines,” she said after an evening picking through the refuse.

Dumpster diving isn’t a new phenomenon in Venezuela, but it is a growing one. Venezuela was once the richest nation in South America, but a fall in oil prices combined with other economic problems has sparked desperation.

Nearly half of Venezuelans say they can no longer afford to eat three meals a day, according to a recent poll by the local firm Venebarometro. The poll surveyed 1,200 adults at their homes the first week in April and had a margin of error of plus or minus of about 2 percentage points.

The government blames the political opposition, accusing it of waging an “economic war” to stir unrest and oust President Nicolas Maduro from power. The administration has launched an aggressive program to build urban farms in an effort to address food shortages.

One recent night, two young girls found some cilantro, lemons and remains of a cabbage in the garbage. Their mother, Monica Espinosa, said the scavenging helps them get by since her husband walked out on the family. Espinosa said she still owns two apartments, but makes ends meet by cooking sauces from the vegetables she finds and selling them to stores, earning about $6 a week.

“I’m a single mother with two children, and this is helping me get by,” she said.…

Triveni Journal 2016

May 27, 2016



ISSN 0041-3135 RNI No. 25269

Chief Editor


Vol. 85 APR – JUN 2016 No. 2

TRIVENI (Estd: 1927)




page 15…


Leonard Dabydeen*

page 62…Book Reviews

Gender, Space and Creative Imagination: The Poetics and Politics of Women’s

Writing in India | Rekha | Primus Books. 2015 | x + 224pp, HB | ISBN: 978-93-

84082-44-4 | Rs 1,050/-

Indira Babbellapati Academic-Poet-Translator, Vizag

Book: Finding The Mother, H.H. Valmiki’s Sundara Kanda in English

Verse – English translation by Mahathi(Mydavolu V.S. Sathyanarayana). ISBN


Leonard Dabydeen, Ontario. Canada

Book Review: Nomadic Nights by Indira Babbellapati

May 22, 2016

Nomadic Nights, a book of poems by Indira Babbellapati (February, 2016)

Book Review: Leonard Dabydeen

An early twentieth century American writer/Naturalist, Henry Beston (1888-1968), best known for his authorship of The Outermost House (1928), and also known as one of the fathers of the modern environmental movement, once said:

                     Learn to reverence night and put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with

                     the banishment of night from the experience of man, there vanishes

                   as well a religious emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the

                   adventure of humanity. (


It is with this heartland sacrosanct token of the night that we find here in this book, Nomadic Nights by Indira Babbellapati, a truly vast and embroidered, emotional thought-process            collection of poems, proffering “depth to the adventure of humanity”. Each of her 82 poems is cleverly written without a branded name-tag. There is deliberate purpose and intent in this writing formation. The poems are free-flowing. They juxtapose the conversations of the night with simplicity and imagery, and intuitively arouse the reader to keep turning page after page. Take a read at the first poem:

As if layers and layers

                 of enigmatic, silent night

                 inhabited an unknown space;

                 as if flakes of darkness

                 settled one over the other

                 into a mystic pattern

                 yesternight, in layers and flakes,

                 the night spread over

                my personal cosmos… (p. 7)


The tone is set. And in her own statement at the beginning, author Indira declares without inhibition, that this book, Nomadic Nights “can be treated as one long poem about night. A couple of poems are written in haiku/senryu and the rest is free verse”.

The conversational repertoire of the poems reflects immensely in tandem with Rabindranath Tagore”s Gitanjali:

               “The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,

                   and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the

                   innermost shrine”.(


This is how author Indira sees it:

That’s a night-secret

               I hid from myself (p.9)


Sometimes she sees the “vulgar fear” as in this poem:

Several tentacles

             of fear hang around

             like the hanging roots

           of a mighty banyan.

           The coiled drab darkness

           opens its womb

           out of habit once night befalls

           for the new inheritors

           of more guilt,

           more shame


           more fear.(p. 23)


Sometimes Indira is flustered:

         Night assumed

         the form of mosquitoes;

         wakeful stings! (p. 37)


And frantic at times, Indira brings the conversation to her innermost self:

           Insomnia chased

           the night on wheels; sweat breaks

           on my cold brow!(p. 61)


Author Indira Babbellapati’s Nomadic Nights brings a refreshing, sated poetic mood for readers who have a thing or two for ‘night’ imaginings. Night poems have immersed the poetic sanctum for centuries, to name a few (no order in chronology) such as Pablo Neruda (Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines), Robert Frost (Acquainted with The Night), Rose Terry Cooke (Night Comes Creeping), H.W. Longfellow (Hymn to The Night), Paul Lawrence Dunbar (Ships That Pass In The Night), Amy Lowel (At Night), and Margaret Atwood (Night Poem). And in the Introduction of this book, poet and published author, Raamaa Chandramouli rightly acclaims that this collection of poems “deserves to be translated into all Indian languages and world languages too”.


Author Indira Babbellapati has been sculpting her literary and poetic gem stones as a Professor of English in the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Andhra University, Visakhapatnam, India. She has authored several books of poetry, including Affaire de Coeur (2009), Vignettes of the Sea (2010), The Night of Nectar (2012-translated), From the Biography of An Unknown Woman (2015), Into A Crowded Aloneness (2016 – translated). Her poetry is also published in anthologies, including Roots and Wings, Heaven Suvamarekha and Persona Gender Games and Other Stories, Dusk and Asampooma. Her translations are also found in Indian Literature and Gold Nuggets, an Academi publication.


Nomadic Nights, a book of poems by Indira Babbellapati, J.V. Publications, Hyderabad ( February, 2016).

Book Review by Leonard Dabydeen, Author of Watching You, A Collection of Tetractys Poems, Xlibris Publications (2012); Searching for You, A Collection of Tetractys and Fibonacci Poems, Xlibris Publications (2015).








A Farewell Requiem

March 28, 2016


                               A Farewell Requiem 

               Gita PNG


                                  It is at this hour I come 

                                  To bid you farewell some 

                                  To wish that you may go 

                                   In peace and comfort so 

                                   Where bhajans and prayer 

                                   Will herald your journey forever 

                                   Where Bhagavad Gita will be your guide 

                                    And Lord Krishnas’s blessings your pride 

                                    Om namah shivaya 

                                    Om namah shivaya 

                                    Om namah shivaya 

                                     Om shanti, shanti, shanti. 

By Leonard Dabydeen, Author: Watching You, A Collection of Tetractys Poems (2012); Searching for You, A Collection of Tetractys & Fibonacci Poems (2015)