Silent monkey photo by Thousan on Flickr

Silence…. a theme that keeps popping up in my mind, how many times have you asked for shhhhhh, thought about the silent gaps in time, watched and thought about the application of silence as a tool….. thought about the process of Monkey Mind and it’s constant chatter, chased silence, endured silence, loved silence, avoided silence… then this question always emerges.


Why are you afraid
of the gentle caressing
sound of pure silence ?

Watching, one year on

Today marks one year from the day that I had to perform the saddest duty of life I have spent many hours sitting, standing and watching at Samuel’s graveside, thinking about how much I miss my little man and continuing to learn about grief. The words of this poem reflect the feelings of observing his grave and my thoughts for one whole year.

Samuel’s Graveside

The earth has settled,
grass gently grows,
while the solitary
sentinel tree
stands watch.
Time worn mottled skin,
rustling leaves,
a canopy filled with birdsong
carried on an ever-changing breeze.
Embraced by shifting
big sky horizons.
A seasonal kaleidoscope
of colour,
from a palette of sunshine,
rainbows, clouds and storms.

Watching currawong
and grass parrots fly,
Your beautiful face shines
from your plaque
As it is lovingly stroked
and gently polished
Cold to the touch,
yet warming to my heart.

Sitting with you,
silence is comforting.
Words are meaningless.
as the tidal swell of emotion
ebbs and flows
And often
I cry.


© Michael Morris (themickmorris) 2015 all rights reserved.

Countdown to eternity


Samuel Benjamin Morris.jpg


Today marks one year….. one year of missing my little man. Holding his hand and stroking his hair and watching the rise and fall of his chest for the last time and the beat of that strong little heart stop was the hardest moment of my life.  

Throughout Samuel’s life after his accident… everything.. and I mean everything was a countdown.. everything had a before and after and the milestones we counted to and from were not those we expected…… One year….and still counting and feeling the unmovable weight of grief.

Countdown to Eternity

I counted
days, weeks
then months
and just a few short years.
New clock.
Counting days, weeks
then months and years
from THAT day.

Two timers counting
marking milestones.
THIS time
equals half of THAT time,
THIS time
equals THAT time,
THIS time,
doubles THAT time.
Celebration, trepidation
markers of survival,
markers of decline.

February twenty-two…

Heart stopped… clock stopped.
three twenty pm.

Reset… new counter
Same milestones to pass
THIS time… THAT time
Though no more pauses THIS time,
days, weeks, months
since you’ve been gone.
One year down
Waiting for solace to be found..
THIS time…
a countdown to eternity.



Like many people I spend far too many hours behind the wheel of a car. To or from work…. during work from place to place, appointment to appointment.

The roads absorb so much time… and as part of my profession I’ve also seen them take so much.

A meditation on the roads of life.


The shifting speckled serpentine,
simultaneously coming and going,
Weaving its way across the landscape.
Lines…. solid, dashed and spotted,
or sometimes gouged and scratched
by injuries to its inky back,
where metal and plastic, skin and bone once collided.
Conveying hopes, dreams and frustrations,
bearing the crosses
and scars of wasted time
and of wasted lives.

Tainted Freedom


There is not a single day that passes by that I am not missing my little man, or that there are not small reminders that hurt and bring to mind Samuel’s absence. I am continuing to learn many things about the “process” of grieving, and small signs that remind me that there are things bigger and more mysterious than this life to connect us to our loved ones.

Whilst on a break of a couple of days, I took the photo above of the clouds at sunset over the ocean, and while watching this scene I was thinking about the ocean and the clouds and their constant movement, their power to heal when they are a source of reflection or the power to harm when they rage together.

It was not until looking at the photo that I picked up what to me looks like hands joined together making the shape of heart, and giving my heart a twinge, and the words of this poem came to me……

Tainted Freedom

The restrictions wrought
by the confines of care,
were recognised as the reward
for the purity of our love.

The freedoms gained
are forever tainted
by the spectre of your absence.