Poetry Blogs (2012, dementia)
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.
Tuesday 18th June 2019 7:31 pm
Less Than a Second
Less than a second
is the time it takes to fall in love.
That summer night
you walked out of the bright house
on to the dark deck
ready for the next day's wedding,
already celebrating every damn thing
anyone could think of,
laughter floating out of your pores
Friday 15th February 2019 8:40 pm
When i look into your eyes
I know your still there somewhere inside
And as each passing day
Goes by I know another part of your memory dies
But you won't remember the goodbyes and it's hard not to sit here and cry
Because your trapped inside
All The confusion the conclusion
That your drifting away
Well I know that ships don’t stay long at bay
And will soon be h...
Saturday 2nd February 2019 2:29 pm
THE SHIP THEY CALL 'ALZHEIMER'S'
Hello my friend, welcome aboard
The ship they call 'Alzheimer's'
There's forty thousand under sixty-five
'Young onset' to 'Old timers'
It doesn't matter what you call it
The umbrella term's 'Dementia'
On the ship they call 'Alzheimer's'
Every day's a new adventure
Forget your hip replacement
And your osteoarthritis
Sunday 23rd September 2018 6:59 pm
She is long gone
So long I have to strain to hear her voice
Down the years
The last thing she said to me though
Clear as day
Like the sun through mists of dawn
An unexpected heartfelt sigh
Two words could not contain more depth
For she was lost to me long before
She left this earth
Or so I thought
Until the parting of the clouds
Friday 1st June 2018 11:11 pm
The sun bows, outside the window
Clouds don a shade of black.
In a dimly lit side room,
Bulbs flicker. Hope turns its back.
Clock hands stack the seconds.
Eyelids straining with the fear
That in the hollow of my dreams
With the wave of a gloved hand
Under a pristine white sheet.
I trace the wrinkles, map the dimples
Painted upon your fading face.
Until sleep seduces me
Tuesday 27th June 2017 1:50 pm
Maybe it’s those absent eyes,
gone searching for their better days,
that give away your hide and seek disguise
and tell me that you’re far away.
Are you back in New York,
chasing that old American dream
through the concrete foundations
on which you built our family's beam?
Or are you in Wigan’s Central park,
in Billy Boston’s Empire State,
watching Warriors paint the town red
Tuesday 6th September 2016 9:30 pm
The wood shuddered and every eye
listened at the stair behind the wall
The door opened and slowly
a black felt hat followed by a long black coat
a black handbag and two black shoes
emerged turned and quietly closed the door
In her eighties she was still a mountain
crumbling now but not yet turned to dust
Lips quivered her moustache. She smiled
uncertainly at these strangers in her room
Saturday 5th December 2015 10:58 pm
White Field Green Sheep
he's gone wandering again yon down by the river
she think fear knows when the dog come back
with lead and red collar but no four fingered hand
the special is up calming her down nodding
whilst them as nosey agree to casually look 'afar
as they brave twice daily rain on the school run
he's gone yon again wandering lost int' a river
of landmarks and place names and pl...
Friday 13th March 2015 10:25 pm
seeing him that way,
but there is a failing,
something not the same,
although in looks
we are so similar.
The Prodigal returns
and sees his father,
straight of back
and stern of countenance,
falling to pieces.
The once proud frame -
as beautiful as always,
Monday 2nd March 2015 7:12 pm
Beeching has been at work in her brain.
Branch lines are closing. No train
of thought as tracks disappear
in a tangled undergrowth where,
tearful, she loses hold of time.
"I must get back down the main line
before the wrong sort of memories
cause wheels to lose their grip.
I'm sliding back to nowhere fast.
Wasn’t I your mother once?"
Wednesday 4th December 2013 9:32 pm
The old lady shouted "Help me, please help me"
Sitting in her chair she was
wrapped in multicoloured shawl
refusing to elaborate
She couldn't see and couldn't hear
Refused to have her hearing help
Continued shouting "Help me help me"
"Won't somebody help me please"
Yet every time I tried to help her
Shouts vociferous and rude
Decrying all that...
Sunday 16th December 2012 1:49 am