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Author Archives: A wander through the mind

JOE…#Poem

JOE

 

TV now stands quiet,

We’ve no need now to shout.

For Uncle Joe, he was quite deaf,

When hearing aids fell out.

 

No – “Oh, Hello.”

Followed by a smile.

His chair it sits empty now,

It has done for a while.

 

We’re not here a visit,

But sorting what is left.

Wonder what this item is?

And, Why was this thing kept?

 

Memories we’re a sharing,

Whilst doing this last task.

With fondness and with laughter,

What more can we now ask?

 

What things we find of value,

Will those that we will leave?

More precious are the memories,

To those that do bereave.

 

I hear the clock a ticking,

Just like those at Nan’s.

Noise level is a matching,

Dried peas n shake tin cans.

 

Yes everything is leaving,

All of it must go.

We’ve said  our last fare-well,

To my,

Uncle Joe.

 

Rest in peace.

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Reflections 2019 w36

This weeks reflections is going to be a little different, and I apologies in advance for those that read these and my poetry releases – there is going to be a double up.

All of us at some point will have to experience this, in fact it is probable the only thing in life we CAN guarantee…

My heart goes out to those sharing the feelings that this time brings.

So here is the (amended) poem…

 

JOE

 

TV now stands quiet,

We’ve no need now to shout.

For Uncle Joe, he was quite deaf,

When hearing aids fell out.

 

No – “Oh, Hello.”

Followed by a smile.

His chair it sits empty now,

It has done for a while.

 

We’re not here a visit,

But sorting what is left.

Wonder what this item is?

And, Why was this thing kept?

 

Memories we’re a sharing,

Whilst doing this last task.

With fondness and with laughter,

What more can we now ask?

 

What things we find of value,

Will those that we will leave?

More precious are the memories,

To those that do bereave.

 

I hear the clock a ticking,

Just like those at Nan’s.

Noise level is a matching,

Dried peas n shake tin cans.

 

Yes everything is leaving,

All of it must go.

We’ve said  our last fare-well,

To my,

Uncle Joe.

 

Rest in peace.

Reflections 2019 w35

6 hours ago one was in my allotment picking weeds, and apparently nettles. But here is the difference when someone has neuropathic issues, I feel, now, as though I have elbow length nettle gloves on. A thousand stiletto wearing ants are dancing on my skin.

My legs are different, I can walk through nettles and not be sure whether I have, or whether it is just my nerves playing up.

I’m lucky for, others it is much worse.

And it is something we give no thought to until it happens to us. We here its like nettle stings up my arms and think we know the sensation, most of us have had that sensation at some point. But we usually have that point pass. It is not the intensity that gets to you – it is the consistency of it.

For those of you that dislike marmite/vegemite, imagine having that taste consistently no matter what you drink or eat. For those of you that love the above, you are probable salivating at the thought; go with a kick to the nethers, as I cannot think of a more foul taste, I am not saying that there is not one, I cannot think of one, but no one likes a kick to the nethers.

The Japanese knew of the negative effect on a person to be subjected to a “harmless” drop of water, again and again and again. It is even called torture.

Is it in the mind? I have had one doctor say my mind is creating the pain, he did not say why, or how to stop it though, so pretty useless information. Or is it in the body, where we cannot escape it and we carry it around with us day by day?

And if it started for no apparent reason, and medication side effects have been dismissed. Why has the body not developed a control for it? Just what are the benefits to ones survival having this effect?

The human body is a wonder ours thing, but sometimes it just makes you wonder.

As I cannot sleep – again, a quick update…my hands are still tingling like I have freshly picked the nettles only minutes ago even though it has been closer to 12hrs ago. This has gotten old very quickly.

I feel for those who constantly suffer. And I hope you find rest-bite from it.

Box…#Poem

Box

I sit and I look,

inspiration t’ cook.

Poetry subject,

in my little book.

Scanned all around

for something to see.

Something of interest,

to set my pen free.

Blankly I look round, 

it then caught my eye.

A – foreign language,

in printed black dye.

Box made of cardboard

that once did hold fruit.

Having a move round,

by bloke in a suit.

Fruit came from Egypt,

to sell at this store.

Box is well traveled, 

But wait – there is more.

Box was made elsewhere,

Italy the start.

I shop in England,

now think of my part.

I will recycle,

to think myself green.

This sent to China,

reports one has seen.

How many miles,

does a box clock?

Time bomb a ticking.

Tic Toc,

Tic Toc,

Tic; Toc.

A § M 

15/06/2019

Reflections 2019 w34

Sometimes I have little to say, sometimes a lot happens, and this week I do not feel as though events have yet sunk in.

So with that in mind, I will write about that another time, and just whinge about the docs.

I went to the doctors the other day for the results of my blood test, which I thought was for my thyroid, turns out it was for my antipsychotic meds. So as to not have a wasted journey I asked if the rash/whitening/itchy blotch on my hand was anything connected with the blood test results/thyroid going out of whack – and I was told to see the psychiatrist.

And I bet the psychiatrist will tell me to see the doc.

Once can only conclude that it has something, in his mind, to do with the anti psychotic medication, as the doctors will not touch medication prescribed by he psychologists.

Luckily I am seeing them in the next fortnight because there is no way they would book an emergency appointment for a skin complaint that the doctors have not concluded that it is a side effect.

The end result…I do not go to the docs until I have no other option not to.

An all too common scenario fo many people.

 

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?