Dementia

I've escaped, I've walked out,  from the strange mystery home
Im free to wander, the old places I'll roam
That man calls me brother, shouting my name
I'll shuffle away, what's his silly game
These keys in my pocket, now where is the car
How did I get here have a wandered to far
This fog in mind, the thoughts not firing
I'm sure to remember, shall I keep trying
Fred at the new...

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So I sit alone, cold on a bench, world's away from my comrades, that lie dead in the trench.
These hands that saw violence, these eyes growing dark, this world bathed in silence, a new journey to embark.

We did it for kings, we followed the crown, we rushed from the boats, I saw many drown. 
They pinned a shiny medal, right there on my chest, and I heard the bell toll as we laid them to rest.
...

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It’s only on the outside that I am old.

 

Inside

I’m a beach surfer

Running along the sand

Diving, splashing

Riding the waves

Running like I could run forever

 

It’s only on the outside that I am old.

 

Inside

I’m a heart breaker

A flirter

A girl chaser

A love making stallion

A beer drinking

Stay out later

No holes barred chance taker

 

I...

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It might be gout, arthritis,
I’ll take some blood.

What for?

To test for uric acid, diabetes
and other things, he muttered.

I might have asked: Like what?
But with his box of needles out

I worked on breathing calmly,
averting eyes from the likely spot;
although there was no pain.

Even at this age there is something
in my look that makes him tell me
I am brave.

Good boy, or...

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On a cold winter's night

They sat, hand in hand

Ravaged by time

Old in design

 

Two dinosaurs

In a digital age

Still in analogue love

Upon a wireless hub

 

Sitting on a park bench

Beneath a full moon

At the end of their time

Bodies poised to resign 

 

As frost gathers around

They glisten as one

Hands intertwined

Old parchment defined

 

...

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She walks a marathon distance each day,

passing people she has known for years

now unrecognizable, vague, like shadows.

She no longer engages with them,

struggling to distinguish between the faded faces.

She retraces each step, regardless of the weather -

always dressed for it. Back and forth.

The same handful of routes trodden in sequence.

The same street corner where she...

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I don’t mind getting old

Really

After all

I’ve put the years in

Its just the indignity of growing old

 

All those years gone by

Getting married

And having children

Not that I see them much

But those memories are worth their weight in gold

But memories can slip away

That’s the indignity of growing old

 

I didn’t really know

What old age would be like

...

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As I watch them in the park

spry old couple, ninety odd

hearts re-bored and tooled up

with walking, hearing, seeing aids

a twinkle even in the eye

leaning close, holding hands

these taller, longer-living things

our ever-lengthening DNA string

she blushes, he grins, I wonder who

we must thank?

 

The gentleman scientist medicine man?

Pioneer, fingering his wai...

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How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

 

The man who scared the ghosts away,

The woman who healed wounds with a kiss,

I think of them more nowadays

In sad and troubled times like this.

No longer there to hug the pain

From tired bones and broken hearts,

To shield you from the winter rain

That permeates where old age starts.

 

The back garden is over-grown,

The kitchen i...

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I now have time

To see all those

Little David’s

 

Lost on the streets

Of Liverpool, Germany

And many stations in-between

 

Lamenting a love gone wrong

Crying to himself

Too broken hearted

To pick up the phone

 

Hours upon days and years

Out of sorts

A rattle bag of fears

An assortment of misery

Freshly picked from the store

 

But now I have ...

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I now have time

To see all those

Little David’s

 

Lost on the streets

Of Liverpool, Germany

And many stations in-between

 

Lamenting a love gone wrong

Crying to himself

Too broken hearted

To pick up the phone

 

Hours upon days and years

Out of sorts

A rattle bag of fears

An assortment of misery

Freshly picked from the store

 

But now I have ...

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At the foothills of vintage age
you feel perceptibly less somber
for there are only meager remains
of mostly forgotten days -
      little to smile, rue or cry for
and an amorphous
yet obligingly finite future -
      trifling to put together or fight for.

So dear Chandra:
here is a congratulation:
It must be awesome -
this imminent privilege of geriatrics
and this stolen bit of tran...

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Behind the Stone

 

Upon the stone face of the world

the laughter of trees; the scars

of the battles of sun and snow.

Behind the stone, 

the graves of lost streams

and printed in rock, 

the fish of a swallowed sea:

locked in the ripples of time,

the clock of a billion years.

 

Upon the stone face of an old man

the scars of a war, the lines

etched in channel...

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Some days I look at the mantelpiece

Where the dust gets thicker and the cobwebs grow

I’m not sure what to do about it, you know.

 

Every day seems like the same day

And even though it’s sunny outside

Sometimes the clouds get in the way.

 

I watch the TV but I don’t always take it in

And the flickering colours and sounds

Are something I don’t want around.

 

Every...

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The Spark !

Old age comes upon you

like a creeping weed or vine

a subtle early warning

that you're running out of time

 

When we realized it had us

firmly in its grip

we decided to go fighting

so we really let it rip:

 

No more early nights

sipping tea and watching telly;

we bought the 'Kama Sutra'

and really gave it welly !

 

We cruised out to Austr...

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My heart breaks for those

in care homes

sitting patiently

waiting to die

 

Sometimes remembering

who you are

sometimes silently crying

 

You wait with them

day by day

 

When you look into their eyes

there is nothing there

no fear, no desperation

and above all, no hope

 

In-between doses of morphine

when the pain makes them scream

they beg to...

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Shutters.

 

Winter has come, the day is cold.

The ‘day’; now only night and depression come in for a close.

He sits these 81 and alone.

“When will the sun return?” he says as he loathes.

“Why must the sun not here for me?” weekend by old withered bones.

 

Battered and broken, he fears what’s to come.

The shutters bang in the wind, he fears no more.

Filled with sombe...

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So,

I’m in the elevator

Going higher and higher.

I’m taking the lift to the sixtieth floor

Though I can’t really see myself opening the door.

 

Still,

I often think about reaching that floor

I won’t be the first;

People have been there before.

I guess it’s all normal for a man of my age

It’s like reading a book and turning the page.

 

So,

I’m taking the li...

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They stand,

Hand-in-hand,

In their elder days,

absorbing view of sea, of sky, of sand,

of bird, of wave of weed,

Sky to the horizon,

Looking forward,

Peace, a shroud of the land,

surrounding them,

enshrining them,

At peace together in

their Elder Days.

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Eyes snapped shut in the street-facing bedroom

lit up by the light of the Spar

that floods it's white plastic windows

illuminating each passing car

 

 

In her curled up hands a faded old photo

crinkled,yellowing,torn,

but the hands,once so gentle,that hold this mementoe,

are as cold,are as granite, as stone

 

In came Sister with a meagre tea tray

barging in,past...

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the listless ones gaze through

the downward surge of memory

in a postponement of death made decent

by caring.

 

hands are pressed like autumn leaves

into the never never book that

will be offered up with a soft cry

why all this, why?

 

in a bedroom a once favourite picture hangs

sheets are turned down

and while there is life

 

still life

lights will dim

...

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If we are lucky, we grow old; if we are wise, we will remain forever young.

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My back is sending me a message

it says I'm getting old

That's why I don’t like the winter

My back doesn’t like the cold.

 

It’s not as if I’m in agony

And the pain is under control.

But my back could do with a massage;

Not reminders that I’m getting old.

 

I need to send back a message

I need to be rather bold

There’s no bloody need to remind me

-I know I’m ...

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When I grow old I don’t want to be the typical idea of elderly,
I want to grow old disgracefully and drive all my carers crazy,
I’ll swing from the chandeliers, I’ll overfill the bath,
Then blame it on my dementia whilst I stand there and laugh.   I want to climb the rafters and play hide and seek,
I never want my bones to grow old, frail and weak,
I want to make the children laugh and ...

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When I grow old I don’t want to be the typical idea of elderly,
I want to grow old disgracefully and drive all my carers crazy,
I’ll swing from the chandeliers, I’ll overfill the bath,
Then blame it on my dementia whilst I stand there and laugh.   I want to climb the rafters and play hide and seek,
I never want my bones to grow old, frail and weak,
I want to make the children laugh and ...

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I sit and wait for my Darling babe

To come and tell me

What

The fuck

To do.

 

She doesn't know I swear so much;

That I was once

A rebellious

Teenager

Too.

 

All my life - ALL of it -

It's still there, you know!

I know.

 

She sees only a segment, thinks I

Belong in care -

Or on death row.

 

I once walked miles my way,

All alone in shoes...

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supping at the Silverback Inn

the glass stops halfway to its destination
and the sands of time are quicksand
as you survey the crowded saloon bar
in the gently creaking Silverback Inn

see him
the one with the paunch
I remember him
he was a bully
at school
a right hard case
look at him now
fat and old

the stained and sticky floorboards agree
whispering taunting mocking
all that...

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It's hard for you to sit here and keep

your value.  You are at the mercy

of other people's whims.  'Come on'

says the boss.  'Get these residents outside!'

You look bewildered at his brusque

command, compress your lips as if not

quite ready to be addressed in this

peremptory way.  'It's fete day' I explain.

'We're supposed to go out and spend.'

 

I sell y...

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It’s always there.

Each time I visit,

on the polished table

beside the glass of water

and inhalers.

The tooth.

 

I know they care for you

so how can they

leave it there?

Old and rotten,

broken, grey.

 

It been left for months

unless of course

it is a different one. . .

a different tooth.

 

I begin to recognise it.

...

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Once it was a time that glowed:

turned-up collar, hurrying through glistening, early 60s streets.

A kind of muddling, room at Odsal Top,

or summat like that;

steam train always whistling in the distance

 

Dashing for the bus; overcoats,

shopping bags, windows steamed up,

conductor breathless.

Running the last yards from the corner,

hammering at the ...

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