Tag Archives: loss

K Morris reading his poem ‘Dog Bed’.

On 2nd September I wrote about the sad death of my guide dog Trigger, which can be found here: https://kmorrispoet.com/2020/09/02/trigger/

I have now recorded my poem ‘Dog Bed’, which was written in memory of Trigger.


The mark
Of your teeth is still there,
On your old dog bed.
I walk in the park,
The dead
Leaves lie.

Shadows on the grass
Mistook for an old friend.
All things pass,
However much we pretend
Otherwise. You closed your eyes,
And left your mark
Upon my heart.

Below are some photographs:

If you would like to donate to the Guide Dogs for the Blind Association, who receive no government funding you can do so here: https://www.guidedogs.org.uk/donate-now

Many thanks in advance to anyone who kindly donates.


Shall I compete
With high-heeled feet
As the gods look down
And snigger or frown?

Aphrodite is flighty
Yet I have thought her divine
And from time to time
Still worship at her shrine.

Nymphs suppress a sigh
And smile.
They will, for a little while
Though they long to hie

May conceal the crack of age.
I am at a loss
But should learn
To turn
Over a new page
For this stage
Is a temporary thing
And I am without a ring


When you leave your shoes
You lose
Them for a while,
Yet there can be no denial
They will be found on the floor
Outside the front door, and you will smile,
Put them on
And be gone.

When you lose your jeans
There will be scenes,
But they will be discovered
On the ground where they lie.
I sigh
And idly speculate
Whether you learned to late
That some things can not be recovered.

Turn the Pillow Over

Turn the pillow over
And wish upon a four leaf clover.
Cover the scent,
The pent
Up desire and loss,
Then count the cost
My friend
For all things come to an end.

The four-leaf clover is considered to be lucky and is rarely found in nature, unlike it’s relation, the thrhee-leaf clover, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four-leaf_clover).


Hyacinths on a gramophone.
They stood
On polished wood.
Their scent carrying me back
Down childhood’s track.
The flower’s smel
Blossoming in a wishing well
With a plastic handle.
My thought tangles
With the ivy that
In a bowl sat.

As a boy
My goal was joy.
The earth was good as the man.
I can
Honeysuckle on a garden wall
And roses, their scent
Is long since spent.
My grandfather went away
Yet in my heart he stays
As I lose myself, in spring days