RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: August 2019

Lampost…#Poem

Lampost

Lamppost the challenge,

for writing these lines.

Honestly thought of;

not many times.

Switch on in evening,

and stay on all night.

Ill-um-in-at-ing,

when gone is sunlight.

Lean on at bus stop,

to share the long wait.

Dogs see a pee post,

unpleasant its fait.

Birds use as perch post

surrounding survey.

More stable, in winds,

than tree with sway.

Fog make things eerie,

defusing the light.

See wind a swirling,

such a strange sight.

Used by an artist,

to show a romance.

Seems more iconic,

than a tower in France.

Old type – not modern,

the style and the shape.

Maybe with side bars,

from bunting can drape.

Nighttime, or raining,

couples will walk.

Under umbrella,

whispers small talk.

Into the painting,

we follow their tracks.

Faces are not seen,

view only their backs.

A § M 

13/06/2019

Reflections 2019 w33

When do you say “goodbye” to a dementia patient?

Sounds a bit mean does it not? However it is a genuine question on perspective.

The person is still the person despite the dementia, though at times their mind is not ‘here’, the feelings for the person are the same, they may even be stuck in the struggle to find – words, or mentally in a place thats different altogether.

And is that goodbye for the persons benefit; or is it for our own?

Does the goodbye need recognition for it to be validated? Or does it not count if it is forgotten when they close their eyes for just a little while?

And why do we feel the need for it, or carry the guilt for not saying it before the final goodbye ceremony of a funeral. Which makes it seem like it has to be at least said to the living.

But when your mind blanks areas of ones mind they are no longer accessible. It is as though it never happened. So who’s perspective holds the power of the goodbye?

We are not the only species to do funerals, it has been recorded that crows do it, even to the extent of holding a silence and a gathering at the final resting place of a fallen crow. Crows also tell stories to their young much like our stories of things to watch out for. So this gets me to thinking as to whether or not they also feel the need to say goodbye, and  do they also feel guilty if they do not?

Or do we need to make every goodbye the last goodbye, carried on a smile and with a warmth in our hearts. Letting the person know that we care, and that we value the time spent with them.

Maybe thats what the crows do, because can we really say when our goodbye is going to count?

 

Mare’s Field…#Poem

Mare’s Field

Tales of a pond,

Nay, there be two.

Whispers in playground

of what we should do.

Sneak over the road,

and find the red path.

Shrouded by talk trees,

we giggle and laugh.

Follow the leader,

who’s been there before.

Telling us stories 

of what is in store.

Frog spawn and tadpoles,

the stickle back fish.

Something called newt,

to see it we wish.

Crested the first hill

and broke through the trees.

masses of bankside,

our little eye sees.

Follow the footpath,

go down and go up.

Sharing a bottle,

each taking a sup.

Onward we venture,

to crest one more hill.

There in its glory,

Gleams pond water still.

This was our first time 

’twas never our last.

Mare’s field’s our future,

our present, our past.

Remember the pleasure

you had in this park.

Maybe go wander,

when life looking stark.

 

A § M 

05/06/2019

Reflections 2019 w32

Its been a long day. I have my son this weekend and we went out for a day trip to a butterfly house and falconry centre.

Don’t get wrong, the place was good, small, but good. And it had the best bird display we have seen. The vulture came out did one part of the show then flew away to the tree over the lemurs. The skunks came out early. The owl did not want to play at all and the finale was a bunch of parrots let out of the cages with doves and swooping birds of prey all swooshing and circling around where we sat. Never have we been to a display that the birds have been given that amount of freedom to fly.

And although the size of the butterfly house did not compare with the scale of the one from my childhood memory, it did beat it by having the iguana roaming around and the branches adorned with colourful birds flying around inside along with the butterfly’s.

For me butterfly houses are a special place, somewhere that you can be surrounded by colourful butterfly’s defying gravity, with a chance of them landing on you. A far cry from my childhood memory of the pinned butterfly’s at my local museum.

The place had also done clever things with models dotted around, making it a different atmosphere from the usual wildlife centres we go to. It was a pleasant day out.

It is unlikely we will go again as the travel time, sadly, was greater than the time spent there, making it too far for a day trip with the time constraints we have, but other centres are now going to be compared with this one.

If anyone is interested it is called https://www.butterflyhouse.co.uk/

It also tries to raise money for other charities, the one at the moment is to try to protect vultures. They are facing a very human threat – poisoning. The poachers take a couple of hours to get the ivory off the poached animals, the vultures circle above alerting the authorities, so they poison the carcass. Yet another species that may become extinct during my lifetime.

It is beginning to feel like all our future children are going to know of wildlife is the pinned, stuffed and models in museums, accompanied by stories of how we came to kill them all. Yet we still mock those that saved two males of the dodo bird.

Are we any better?

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

The Grum…#Poem

The Grum

I’m off to the Grum,

I’d shout through the door.

Horseshoe embankment,

red ash park floor.

Witches hat towering

over basic park ride.

Tunnel embankment,

for children to hide.

Swings made of old tyres,

on thick heavy chain.

Twisted to spin round,

n’ scramble one’s brain.

Fort made of thick logs,

to clamber about.

Or maybe to fumble,

hit floor with a clout.

But then there’s our favourite,

the forty foot slide.

With a bump in the middle,

gain air on the glide.

Waxed to perfection,

with candles we’d bring.

Riotous laughter,

in horseshoe would ring.

Butterflies and grasshoppers,

on banks we would catch.

Grazes and Grass stains,

our colours would match.

But grass banks we’d scramble,

or steep concrete climb.

For slide of excitement,

Time after time.

 

A § M 

24/5/2019

Reflections 2019 w31

Do you ever think about going into a nursing home?

Not a care home, where you may be fully functional but you want that little bit more security and safety, with less housekeeping hassles. A nursing home where you need help with the basic living needs.

Ohh, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there…This I recon petty much sums up our viewpoint on the matter. But you don’t get there if you get something like dementia.

Then it’s up to your family to sort it out, and to try and explain where you are when you may not have the short term memory to remember what you have been told.

Suddenly you wake in a strange place that is not your home.

I’ve been on a mental ward with dementia/Alzheimer patients, one kept flitting back to being a teenager, or in a park where she had lost her son, or clear moments of vivid memory, seemingly ok. Another person was not in such a ‘good’ state. He thought, because he could not leave, he was unjustly arrested and being held prisoner without being charged, escape was on his mind all the time, and several times he did. Though he never got far. He never believed he was in a hospital.

One chap had incontinence issues and was protesting being in the pads by scooping up his business, if he had not made it to the loo on time, this was always the nurses fault, and spreading it around the walls of the corridor.

Shame it would appear is one of the last emotions to leave you. Anger stokes the flames. It has to have one last dig at what you have become, status nor money will effect it. And it is, at that point, too late to make changes to your routine to delay its onset.

Maybe we should all be thinking about it, so we can do something now to help delay it, maybe altogether.

Gratitude…#Poem

Gratitude

Maybe my Gratitude

was met with a platitude,

until I started to think.

What if ones Gratitude,

with a change of my attitude,

allows for the good vibes to sink.

No longer in servitude,

or feeling of lassitude,

but nectar thats ready to drink.

Found not in solitude,

but part of a multitude,

In crash or simply a dink.

I now take an interlude,

to build on my fortitude,

find solace, instead of the brink.

 

A § M 

29/05/2019