I have CRACKED it! I can now type as a blind person by using a Bluetooth keyboard connected to my iPad. I have put bumps onto one or two letters on the keyboard so that I know exactly where to position my fingers. If I type into my app called dream writer, it speaks each word to me after I have typed it, so that I know I have made a mistake.

This is amazing to me. I need to practise a bit but I have finally found a way through. I can hardly believe it. I am away now! I can type my book!

DIARY ENTRY – Peter Rabbit

I did not get my diary written yesterday because my sister rescued a rabbit! Yes, you heard right, a rabbit. We do not have much contact with my sister but she does ring us when she needs or wants something and last night she was flummoxed about what to do with this wild rabbit that she had rescued on her way home from work.

My sister was walking along the pavement after dark and suddenly spied a rather distressed looking rabbit. It could hardly move. She picked it up and carried it home with her. She then put it down in the kitchen and it still wasn’t moving very much but it was alive. She had no idea what to do next but she did ask us to find the number of the RSPCA for her. It was by now gone 8 o’clock in the evening! We did however get the number for her and we gave it to her.

The next thing that we knew was that we got a frantic phone call from her saying that she hadn’t managed to deal with all the options that she was given upon ringing the number and had got into a real mess. So in the end my husband rang the RSPCA for her. Meanwhile the rabbit was still in the kitchen and my sister was cooking her meal.

There was quite a lot of talk between us and the RSPCA. In the meantime my sister put the rabbit into my dad‘s bedroom-my dad of course is dead, but to my sister he is still there in the bedroom. So the rabbit was with dad. She put the rabbit onto a nice comfy furry rug. She herself went into the front bedroom with her two budgies,cand Mum! Mum is dead! However, my sister has my mothers ashes wrapped in seven carrier bags in the chest of drawers in the bedroom! So the rabbit was with dad and she and the butchers were with mum. We had to laugh.

She eventually went to see what the rabbit was doing and it had presented her with a few little presents but she put the carrot in front of it thinking it might eat the carrot but it declined to do so. It was still moving however. We imagined it recovering during the night and running all over the house! We decided to name it Peter Rabbit.

Eventually however, after much conversation with the RSPCA a nice lady arrived at my sisters house complete with mask gloves and plastic apron, and she went into dads bedroom to see the rabbit. Sadly he said that the rabbit was in a very bad way and it was suffering. It had a disease with a long name my sister said but she couldn’t remember the name. It also had a huge grow that on its paw. And it could not eat. So the nice lady said she would have to put Peter Rabbit to sleep. She was going to do it in the bedroom but my sister did not want that so the lady said that was fine and she took the rabbit into the van to put it to sleep. So now Peter Rabbit is running around happily in rabbit heaven. My sister at least made its last hours comfortable and warm and cosy and it had love, which is more than it would have had on the busy roads where she found it.

Sent from my iPad


Life is one long blur punctuated by nothing. That is how life feels to me now.

Though I have been going blind for some time, over a period of years, in the past two weeks, as I write, my sight has gone completely. Whilst I knew it was coming, nothing could really have prepared me for it. It feels very much like dying, or how I imagine dying would feel. When I was given my cancer diagnosis there was a strong possibility that I would die. That did not happen. Physically I did not die. But death does not have to be physical. I feel as if I have died a different kind of death as, gradually, everything of my life has been stripped from me. I lie here, on the bed, for large parts of the day, stripped naked, clothed in nothing, mentally, spiritually and emotionally speaking. Once, my nakedness was physical, as I was unable to bear clothes on my skin. My nakedness was there for all to see. And I had to be seen – by doctors, occupational therapists, and various other people. It was demeaning. To be seen completely naked is one of the worst things imaginable. Everyone who came had to be warned, before they came, that they would be visiting a completely maked patient. They came mentally prepared.

However, the nakedness that I endure now cannot be seen, and no one is aware of my stripping. Gradually, layer after layer of mebhas been stripped away, silently, unseen, culminating in the loss of my sight. In losing my sight I have become cut off from the world. If you go blind when you are younger, then there is help out there for you. You grow into being blind. You learn how to be blind. But if it happens to you much later in life, there is not the help there’s. Of course, it does not help if, like me, you have no feeling in your hands, for blind people use their fingers and hands to feel for things. I am unable to do that. Additionally, being wheelchair bound as I am does not help. All in all, it leads to a kind of cutting off from the world. An isolation.


I suppose that most people cannot imagine what it is like to gradually go blind over a period of time. For me it has happened over a few years, but just this past two weeks I have found that I have gone completely blind. In many ways it has been a shock to me, although I knew that it was coming. I suddenly found myself on the landing one night making my way from the bedroom to the bathroom and getting completely lost on the landing and unable to find the bathroom. At that point it was as if a bomb had hit me. I did become very distressed at that moment. However, the next day I knew that I had to try and find a way of dealing with it.

I have to be honest and say that I have spent the last two days intermittently breaking down into desperate tears as I have contemplated my life, what it has become, and what it will be in the future. Of course, being a writer, I have had to try and find ways of still writing. I have found one or two aids but I am nowhere near getting there yet. I do intend to persist however because writing is my life and always has been. I cannot imagine not writing.

This evening I attempted to use a Bluetooth keyboard attached to my iPad and to write in a new application called dream writer. The beauty of dream writer is that as you type each word the word is spoken back to you. So you know if you have made a mistake. The difficulty then of course is putting right any words that you have typed wrongly and for that you need someone who can see to help you. For me it is not always possible to have someone who can see to help me and so this evening I have to admit that I ended up extremely frustrated. Although I was a very fast touch typist prior to my cancer diagnosis, I found that the Bluetooth keyboard did not suit me and that not being able to see at all really hampered me. I did not seem able to find the keys at all and yet stupidly I can type in the air and know exactly where my fingers are meant to go. It is just the keys that I cannot find.

I know that my task now is to really practice with this keyboard and hopefully come to terms with it and get to be able to use it. At the moment I am using dictation software but often it types things incorrectly and even incoherently.

I will make a new start on all of this tomorrow and hopefully things will fall into place a little more.


For the past two days I have been reading a book and it has inspired me to do something a little bit different on my blog. I have every intention of continuing to post my poetry, as that has always been my main way of writing, and I will also do one or two challenges as I sometimes do at the moment.

However, I would quite like to write a kind of diary each day as to what is happening to me and how I am feeling. I hope that this will not end up boring but I do feel that there may be people who would relate to what I am writing. I don’t know what you, my readers, think about this, but I am going to give it a go. That is, of course, unless I chicken out of it overnight. I am one of those people who has ideas and then gets a little bit frightened by them, possibly because I don’t like making myself vulnerable. However, at this moment I feel I would like to give it a try. So watch out for my diary.


I look into the beyond
But can see nothing
A white mist falls in front of my eyes
I strain to see
Into the future
Beyond the field
Over the bridge
But the beyond is beyond me
I can see nothing
Of what is
Or what might be
My world is here
Where my hand is
In front of my face
A few inches
Of dubious light
That tells me nothing
Except that I am alive
And cannot.


There’s life before
And there’s life after
A curtain
A thin veil
Hangs between you and life before
You put your hand on the curtain
It will not open
It is firm
Solid fixed
Like life and death
When the breath goes
And the soul leaves the body
Death has the final say
It is the end
There can be no more beginning
And what of cancer
Is it an end or a beginning
I look for the answer
And see only a curtain

She was a strange mixture. Quick to show her DISPLEASURE. She did it in such a manner that everyone was scared of her. Yet she could bevthe funniest person ever. She really enjoyed a good LAUGH. Her laugh was raucous in fact some would say it was a dirty laugh.

Deep inside herself she was mixed up, though she wouldn’t have known it herself. In fact she did not know herself at all. On one occasion she was heard to sky

“I don’t think I’ve ever done anything wrong in my life.”

I suppose she was in denial. Isn’t that what they say in psychological terms? She had only murdered her husband by setting the house on fire with him in it. She only had one WISH, though, and that was that she had done it sooner.


Yesterday I lost a whole chapter of my book! I had written it in a new application called dream writer which is marvellous for blind people as it speaks every word as you type it. However, suddenly a pop up appeared and, not being able to read it I just clicked on it and poof, my chapter disappeared never to be seen again! So yes, today I am spitting feathers!


Inspired by a radio programme yesterday. Each will find their own answer to this question, even if the answer ends in more questions

My smile
Is hidden
Is there a mask
On the face of God
As many cry out pain
That can’t be expressed in words
Does God have ears to hear it all
Or is he deaf to our suffering
It is easy to ask the question Why?



Forsooth, I ne’er must eat blue cheese again,
However coquettishly it doth wink,
E’en if it says to me its name is Bren,
It ne’er again will bring me to the brink,
Ne’er have I forgot its wondrous smooth curves,
Blue veins forming a perfect labyrinth,
No man on earth such fire doth he deserve,
Yet hark, I hear it calling from its plinth,
Forsooth, it surely speaks my name – “Derek”,
“Come hither Derek, place me in your mouth,
Hear now, I swear I’ll drive you almost manic,
There is no better cheese made in the South.”
Ho, there is nothing now that I can do,
She always said I was a silly moo.


Sparrows in a Tree:

A myriad sparrows singing
To me from a tree.
Their song
Joy to girl and boy.

I know not how long
My song
May be.
But sparrows in a tree,
Sang to me.

(“Sparrows in a Tree” appears in “The Further Selected Poems of K Morris”, and is copyright of K Morris).

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And now a line is drawn
Immoveable, stubborn
Keeping the past intact
The future uncertain
A blank page upon which to write my life
Once I could see, now I am blind
So how will I see the marks I make
Will I feel them in my heart
Can I create a new song
Or is there nothing new under the sun?
And is the line really so stubborn
Or does it have a weak part
Where the past peeps through
Squiggles through a tiny hole
Making its appearance unexpectedly
Do its notes become part of the new song
Rising up to the sky
Like the lark in the morning


We have spent the past two weeks battling for my husband and myself to get the help we need. We are both exhausted with fighting as the powers that be seem to think that my husband is well enough to look after me. However this is not true and we don’t seem able to get across to them our very real needs. Sometimes we reach the point of absolute exhaustion and despair. I have, as you will see, attempted to keep going and also to keep writing my book. I have no doubt that in some way we will manage to rise above this, but it is extremely hard right now. We feel quite desolate. It seems that you have to fit into a certain mould and all that happened when we were assessed was that they filled in tick boxes. They then made decisions without ever having seen us as it was done over the phone.

I try to make my poems have an upturn even if they are sad but I am not sure at this moment that I will be able to keep doing that. I do not want to write miserable stuff but I do feel quite miserable right now. We are seeking a way through and I guess we will find it eventually, but if my poetry appears sad, this is why. Perhaps if I try to live in my memories it will help. But at the moment living in the future is impossible and even the present moment has its desperation. Part of the problem is my sudden going completely blind and receiving no help in how to live as a blind person. I find it very frightening and I know that there are a lot of people who are blind who live a full and fruitful life but it has happened to me late in life and I need teaching how to be blind. We have sought this kind of. Help but cannot find it. I guess it is because I am what is often called a golden oldie. If I was younger I have no doubt that they would help me. Inside myself I am still very very alive. My spirit is raring to go but I am hampered by both the pain in my body and my blindness. Please forgive if my poetry should appear very sad and despairing at the moment. Please bear with me


Polly was a great one for dancing – dancing of all kinds. She’d been born with rhythm in her, and it came out of ever pore of her body.

So, when she moved to a new place, and was invited to go to Scottish Country Dancing she could not resist. Her friend, Jenny, said that she would meet her outside the Hall. Once inside, Polly discovered that Scottish Country Dancing was a bit like mathematics, and that was certainly not up her street. She just could not follow the different steps and keep to the patterns. In the end, she suddenly found herself on the floor, having fallen looking most UNDIGNIFIED.

“What a RIDICULOUS position to be in,” she said to herself under her breath, feeling quite angry at herself, not to mention embarrassed. As if that was not enough, as she attempted to get up, her feet SLID away from her, and there she was on the floor, with all the dancers dancing round her.

“Still, at least the music is good,” she said to herself, as she sat there on the floor, bemused.


Nobody thought she was CAPABLE of very much. She was born a crying baby, and her moth never liked her since she had black hair like her father. Once when she was very young, she was meant to be a duckling in a show given by her dancing teacher, but at the last minute she started crying and refused to go on stage.

She never had any confidence and so it was very odd when as a teenager a great change took place. She learned to play the flute and became expert at it. She played in the school orchestra and often played solos at concerts. No one could quite believe it but when she was on stage she was a different person.

Everyone’s REACTION showed that they were astounded at both her expertise and her new confidence. It was however the only area of her life in which she displayed this confidence. Sadly her mother still did not give her the recognition that she deserved and in time she wa to be seen bending over her dead mother’s body saying loudly,

“I’ll make you proud of me Mother. I’ll make you proud of me.”

#FOWC. Pattern

FOWC with Fandango — Pattern

Fanny Annie she called her. My grandmother that was. Her real name was Gladys. My grandmother’s sister in law that was. As my grandmother said, they. Sat there pretending to like each other, in reality they couldn’t stand each other.

I used to get letters from her every week. My grandmother that is.

“I wish she’d get her jnitting out,” she would say. According to my grandmother, Fanny Annie was watching her every move.

“She’s dropped another stitch,” my grandmother would write, whn Fanny Annie finally did get her knitting out.

Fanny Annie was fanous for her knitting. She spent the whole year knitting socks and gloves for people for Christmas. Everything was done without a PATTERN. Well, she couldn’t have followed one really, and she seemed to drop more stitches than she knitted. The result was always disastrous. Both gloves and socks were more holier than thou. But each Christmas they were wrapped carefully in pretty Christmas paper, and each Christmas everyone pretended to be chuffed to bits with their socks or gloves that would never see the light of day again.


Susie arrived at her mothers late in the day. It was time that her sister was brought to heel. She had been acting very strangely of late and it was time that she was taken to task on what she had been doing. As she walked up the drive she realised that something was not quite right. Then she discovered that her sister had locked her mother in the garage and taken away the key. It was getting quite late by now, and she demanded that her sister gave her the key to the garage whereupon she unlocked the door and found Avery frightened though active mother inside.

“I thought I might as well tidy up whilst I was in here,” her mother said.


I want to write of what it is like to become blind.

I knew, in 2016 that I was going blind. My sight has only gone gradually. However, in the last two weeks it has accelerated quite suddenly. It is hard to believe that just two weeks ago I could see the moon, but now no longer can I see it. I can no longer see things on my iPad that I could see two weeks ago. This has all been a huge shock to me. It is strange, but when you are going blind, you cannot imagine what it will be like when your sight finally goes. Now, all that I can see is a kind of blackness. I used to be able to go into the living room, and make things out in a limited kind of a way, but now it is just blackness in there. I can just see the light coming in through the window, but nothing else.

I find myself alarmed at how things are going. It is a very frightening experience. I wonder, all the time, how I am going to manage. Even finding my way around the house is now so difficult. If I could walk it would not seem so bad, but I am attempting to guide a powered wheelchair through doors that all open onto each other. Our house is just not adapted for wheelchairs and so the experience of going blind is doubly difficult.

I am still trying to write my book, and I now have six chapters done, but it is a race against time, for it will not be too long before I cannot type at all on my iPad. I am rushing to get. It done, and I think I will win, but the grief that is overtaking me is, at times, overwhelming.

M ore and more, also, I am finding it difficult to post on my blog.

It feels a very lonely road, and I wish that things could be solved, but, no matter how hard we try, we just seem stuck with it.

My first priority though, is getting the book finished. I will feel that I have achieved something if I at least achieve that.

Such is life. We can never know quite what is going to happen to us in life, and maybe t is as w


When we are young we think that we will never die. We know that death exists, but it is very remote. I remember being at my grandparents’ farm when I first learned about death. I had never heard of it before. I just thought that we were here for ever. I can see it now – the huge sideboard in the huge kitchen at the farm, and my Uncle stood resting on the sideboard, talking about one of the farm animals that had died. I remember asking what “died” meant, and my whole system felt as if an electric shock had gone through it. How could something be so final? How could something just cease to exist. But then came the question,

“Do people die too?”

I was told that yes, they do. I sat there in stunned silence. So one day I was going to cease to exist. I could hardly take it in. At some point my parents were going to cease to exist. I just could not imagine life without them. Then in time, I too would cease to exist. It was too much to take in, and my child’s mind could take it no more. It was all a long long way away in time, and so I buried the thoughts of death and dying.

How do you ever come to terms with the idea of dying? I guess that most of us just push the idea aside. Until, that is, that we have to think about it. That time came for me in May, 2013. I was 65 years old, and a lot of time had passed since I had been a little girl at my grandparents’ farm, learning about death. Since then my grandparents had died, and my father had died. But now it seemed it was to be my turn. Yet how could it be? In my mind I was still young and I had a lot of living to do.