Tag Archives: happiness

If I Write a Sad Poem Today

If I write a sad
Poem today
People will say
He is sad.

If I compose a glad
Poem today
They will, likewise
He is feeling glad.
But they
Can not see my eyes.

I caught An Elusive Thing

I caught an elusive thing.
‘Twas happiness on the wing.
Honeyed words were said
And we ended in bed.

I caught an elusive thing.
‘Twas happiness on the wing.
The birds sang on a summer’s day
And I implored my mistress to stay.

The birds still
And will
Sad thoughts to mind
For I find
That within their song
Resides the truth “this won’t last long”.

Recollections Of Childhood

A boy on a bus, the clear plastic bag clutched tightly in his right hand. The fish wriggles but it’s watery cage holds fast. Close by the child’s beloved grandfather stands.

On reaching home the fish is transferred into the brightly lit aquarium, to be lost among others of it’s kind.

“What do fish think?” The child wonders as silent creatures glide through water heated to just the correct temperature. “Are you happy?” he ponders, his nose inches from the glass.


(As a child my grandfather built an aquarium. Being visually impaired I am unable to read print or determine details. I can, however see bright colours and I derived great pleasure from watching the fish in their watery home).


Happy Christmas To you, One And All

I would like to wish all of you a very happy and peaceful Christmas. The sun is shining here in Liverpool and there is a distinct nip of frost in the air. It is, in short a beautiful day. Wherever you are the compliments of the season to you and thank you for following me at newauthoronline.com



Birdsong On An Autumn Evening

An Autumn evening. The park deserted save for me and my dog. A solitary birds sings. Entranced I stand, his song bringing thoughts of sorrow comingled with joy. Beauty, pain and happiness, contradictory emotions stir within my breast.

The lonely bird continues to sing, his voice filling the darkening park.

Distant sound of traffick. I linger, reluctant to break the spell.

Later, the pub full of noise. Yet, through the din I fancy, dim and distant, the singing of the birds can be heard.

School Days

Distance blurs memories. A small hut in the school playground. Me, alone listening to the rain. Half content in my solitude but fearing/hoping they will come.

Did I believe that I would be collected by the teachers or was it a clever ruze to get the other pupils to go away, leave me to the rain and solitude?

Never part of the collective whole, the herd of boys and girls. I sought the solitary hut but yet was half in love with the clamour of the playground. To belong, to be part of the happy mass. Drawn to the multitude and yet repelled by it. Wanting to belong but knowing the difference, the chasm which separated us.

Where you happy my peers, shouting and playing in the great playground? I played also, pushing the big metal truck. It stopped suddenly, the sharp edge cut my right shin, the scar is with me still. Yes I played but, try as I might was never truly one of you. Did I want to be? Yes, no, perhaps. I am confused, bemused memories play tricks distance befuddles my recollection of the past.

Got The T-Shirt

I have sought comfort in the masses and lost myself in crowds. Like an excited child at the fair I have sought ever greater speed, for speed kills thought. I have looked for excitement and found fleeting pleasures which turn to ashes come the morrow. I have played the cynic while caring deeply, laughed to hide the fact I care. I have been there, done that and got the t-shirt.


As a writer I hate distractions. Off goes my mobile together with my e-mail. I make a cup of tea or coffee and get stuck into my writing. Not so this morning. Bump, a wet nose was pushed against my elbow. I stopped writing and caressed the head of Trigger my brindle lab/retriever guide dog. OK now I’ll return to my writing I thought. Hardly had I typed a single word when, bump, bump a cold wet nose was, once more frust against my arm. Once again I ceased my scribbling and paid attention to my four-legged friend.

Owning a dog is incredibly therapeutic. When I stroke Trigger I feel myself relaxing. There is something almost hypnotic about the feeling of contentment induced by the back and forth of my hand across Trigger’s coat. I can feel my stress levels reduce as Trigger relishes the attention. Yes Trigger can be a distraction but he is a very welcome one.

For a photograph of Trigger please visit my Amazon author’s page which can be found here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0