My dog has no conception
Of my introspection
As he rolls on grass
In dying August.
I think on the past
While he takes pleasure
In the sweet summer weather.
Knowledge can be a fearful thing.
I know my spring
Has long passed.
Yet my friend makes me smile
For a brief while
As unaware that all things pass
He enjoys the grass.
My dog of whom I am extremely fond
Has a habit of jumping in the pond.
Then he gets a certain smell
Which I know all too well,
And of which I am not that fond!
(A couple of days ago I took my guide dog Apollo for a walk in Crystal Palace park with my friend and his Rhodesian Ridgeback. Being a Labrador Retriever, Apollo decided that it would be tremendous fun to go swimming in a pond, twice!)
My lone feet pass
Along the path
Were autumn leaves freeze.
My dog loves
Snuffling amongst dead leaves.
I wish I could be so easily pleased!
I love this wood
As my dog does. Yet I regret
That I am caught in useless thought
While he just loves
Both it and me. he sees no tomorrow
Nor coming sorrow.
While I see the cold sky
As I pass
Along this path of fallen leaves.
A yellow dog
In yellow sun.
You take delight
In spring sunlight.
Your time
Has come.
My brindle friend
Enjoyed the sun.
All things end.
The wind’s gust
Blows all dust
Under the sun.
(In the above poem, the reference to the yellow dog is to my current guide dog Apollo, whilst “my brindle friend” refers to my former guide dog Trigger, who died in September 2020).
I cut bread
And momentarily forget.
Then, a smile, tinged with regret.
You are dead.
There will be
No Labrador nose, to deprive me
Of my tea.
The below poem is dedicated to my guide dog Trigger, and my generous colleagues who, from time to time sacrifice their lunch to a hungry canine.
—
I am Trigger.
My stomach is bigger
Than you think.
Your lunch will be gone in the blink
Of an Eye.
Then away I fly.
Should you ask “who stole my lunch?” I reply
“Nnot I
But, dear reader, I lie …!..
I have been known to eat plastic.
My reach is elastic.
You think your food Safe?
My friend brace
Yourself for a shock
For I will gobble the lot!
Be it ever so hot!
K Morris - Poet 