I have heard girl’s giggle
As I walked alone
The hard stones
And thought on lover’s wriggles.
Then returned home
To my bed to lie
Where no lover’s sigh
And the emptiness of night
Grips me tight.
But when love dies
Lovers also cry.
Alone, I walk the woodland path.
No one with whom to laugh
While in the endless sky
A plane goes by
As I dwell on love.
But birds still sing
In autumn and spring,
And I have this wood
And the autumn sun.
I have stood
And walked
Through the wood
And thought
On nymphs who bring delight
In woods
To passersby such as I.
I have sought for Aphrodite
Amidst the flowering tree
And have heard the birds
Sing in hopeful spring.
But now Autumn has come
And no Aphrodite
Sings to me.
After an evening of laughter,
Restaurants and wine,
You took off your robe.
Now I find
Girl’s heels in my wardrobe
You left behind.
Am I a mere magpie?
I have found earrings
And other such similar things
Young women leave behind.
But love would be divine.
Now I’ve passed the half century mark
And the dark
Of night no longer hides from sight,
A girl’s hand
Laid on my arm
And the charm
Of her dark hair
Can still command
My poet’s heart and art.
All you said,
Was “take care”,
But your long black hair
And open heart
Brought the thought of bed
Where no lover does grace
The vacant space.
I am not indifferent to the charms
Of a young woman’s arms.
So when your arm wound around me
Of course I was flattered
For you are much younger than me.
I have had dreams shattered
So will believe that it was merely
Out of friendly regard
That your youthful arm
Wound around me.
In the churchyard
On my way home alone
I passed by cold stones
And contrasted their charms
With your warm arms.
We
Walked through the graveyard.
She
Is frightened of death.
Earlier we
Drank wine.
Our bed
Was hot
The dead
Are forever here.
The graveyard plot
Draws lovers near.
Valentine’s day.
He would propose
With a rose,
But the government does say,
“Stay away
From your lover.
On Valentine’s day!
Its true that you
May infect one another.
And if you do,
Not your romance cease
The police
Will issue a fine
for breech of lockdown!
You may your sorrows drown
Alone, at home
In beer or fine wine.
But do not go online
For there you will find
Young women who will, if the price be right,
Keep you snug and warm, on this Valentine’s night …”.
A man in need of company.
A girl who is free,
For a fee.
So many things can be bought.
I know one can buy
The finest art.
But the heart
Of an escort
Is never bought.
A close up of Trigger!
I have lost my dear old friend Trigger. My guide dog who brought so much joy into my life (and that of others), and who served me faithfully as my guide from 4 July 2011.
Trigger relaxing on the ground
Trigger became very unwell on the evening of Saturday 29 July. My mum, sister and I rushed him to the vets. Although Trigger received excellent treatment his condition deteriated. There was no chance of recovery and to avoid unnecessary suffering I took the heart breaking decision to have my dear old friend euthanised yesterday (Tuesday 1 September).
My mum and I spent some 20 minutes or so with Trigger prior to him being sent into that sleep from which none of us return. He circled us with a pilow case in his mouth, his tail wagging and died, peacefully with that same case in his mouth.
I have so often seen Trigger greet me and family and friends with his blanket or some other object in his mouth, his tail waving wildly.
He has left a huge hole in my life. But he died as he lived, happy with a pillow case clamped in his jaws, surrounded by people he loved, and people who loved him.
Trigger in his bed
The below poem, “The Power of The Dog”, by Rudyard Kipling sums up how I feel and, doubtless how countless other dog owners feel (and have felt) on losing a faithful friend:
“There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?”.
(The above poem is in the public domain).
Below are some photographs of Trigger taken several weeks ago, by my friend Jeff, in a park close to my home.
Trigger relaxing on the ground
My friend Trigger and me at the Park
Me petting Trigger
Me talking about Trigger
Me remembering Trigger
K Morris - Poet 