Monthly Archives: January 2014

My NHS (with video)

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My NHS YouTube video

My NHS

I loved my NHS

a child of the early days

growing old with it

but I fear I’m losing it

like me, it is falling apart.

Left on a gurney

no one takes care

my cries unheeded

staff diluted

just like their gravy.

Will I wait for family

just to give me food

to turn me over

to wipe my arse

because there is

no paperwork

to cover this.

 

I see the day

hospitals in crisis

having their own

‘JustGiving ‘ page

or this ward is sponsored

by Nandos or KFC.

Oh well!

No operation for me.

No treatment for me.

You see

I’m of no value

I’m Sixty Five.

© Carol Robson 2013

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Love Transcends.

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(Poem about Iphis and Ianthe from the story in Ovid’s  Metamorphoses Book 9)

 

Love Transcends.

(Iphis and Ianthe)

 

A raging fire burned

loves flames kindled

elicited by your beauty

innocence in despair

knowing this love

betrothed in ignorance

by a loving father

unaware of deceit

by a loving mother

accepting the truth

of the prophecy of Isis.

 

The Gods frowning

a Sapphic love

not yet countenanced

there should not be

girl with girl.

My desires

my beautiful Ianthe

that you be man

or even I

to consummate

to bring purity

for our love desires.

 

True love triumphs

above all foolishness

love is much more

than decreeing

the genders

of who has

madness to love

or to lie with

their desired bride.

 

Decreed by Isis

our troth fulfilled

I’m now man

rendered by Goddess

for satisfaction

of the Gods

and families.

Yet! my beautiful Ianthe

our love transcends

Gods, Goddess and Gender.

 

©Carol Robson 2013

 

I Don’t Recognise Me

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Poem about experiencing the cycle of Domestic Abuse/Violence.

I Don’t Recognise Me

A shadow of my former self

once strong in soul and spirit

now a shaking quivering husk

how the hell, did I allow this.

 

I loved you with all my soul

an eternity together, so I thought

sharing a burning desire of love and lust

together, we were as one.

 

I should have seen the signs

little things at first, so subtle

mind games, controlling, never any trust.

I was no longer a free spirit.

 

What am I doing wrong, I feared

I’m driving you away, losing you.

It is my fault, I’ll do better

anything, just to please you.

 

Never realising, this was your control cycle

making me feel so worthless

you loved me, because no one else would

my soul broken, now so afraid.

 

Living in fear, constantly having to please

everything perfect for your homecomings

hiding my alcohol and drug crutches

just my means of getting through, another day.

 

Time passes by as in slow motion

always hoping, it will be better

my false hopes and dreams

soon to be completely shattered.

 

A little slap at first, then it begins

my fear of violence, committed

my life as a punch bag, began,

how did you become this monster.

 

Black and blue, the blood shows

hiding away so no one can see

a quivering wreck, not so pretty

cowered, by this coward, that I once loved.

 

Cut and bruised after all these years,

I crawled away to a safer place

a haven for me to heal and repair,

I was wrong, I’m not alone.

 

Self-confidence and spirit destroyed

a love of life teetering on the edge

time will heal, so they say,

alas, I’m long gone,

I don’t recognise me.

 

© Carol Robson 2011

 

My Beautiful River

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(poem appropriate with our recent destructive weather and floods)

My Beautiful River

 

I gaze upon you from your stone bridge

as you meander way into the distance, far from view.

Constrained by your grassy flowery banks

so beautiful, serenity and tranquillity personified.

 

Nothing to fear from you,

yet not always so.

Seems such a distant time,

since your rages.

Rains and storms,

swelling your meandering body,

no longer constrained

by your beautiful curving banks.

 

Banks are broken,

your power has no bounds.

Untethered torrent raging,

nothing can stand in your way.

Spreading out to pastures new,

now laying in your watery grave.

Your awesome power,

leaving destruction trails,

with memories of fear.

 

Nature’s creation you give and take away,

your swollen body,

no longer spreads out.

Again you flow graciously,

between renewed grassy flowery banks.

My beautiful force of nature,

now at peace again.

 

© 2011 Carol Robson

Who Am I?

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Who Am I?

 

I know something is wrong,

getting forgetful, losing stuff.

Little things at first, but soon,

I recognise that this is not right.

I sit here, my favourite chair,

most days – long days I think.

 

No recognition;

who is this man who brings me another cuppa? 

He seems to do so much for me, these days,

he isn’t my dad.

Dad has lots of hair, I remember so curly,

can’t be my dad.

Keep hearing people saying;

SHAME and she is only 53.

 

Good days, I remember Tom,

this man who is always here.

I think we are married,

third finger left hand a ring. 

He’s a good man, I think!

 

Takes me to see the Doc for my check-up;

I think he’s a Doc.

Listening thingy hanging from his neck,

wants to listen to my chest.

Doc blows on it, making it warm,

listening thingy not my chest.

Doc speaks to the man with me,

hey-up I’m here, not invisible,

feels like I’m being ignored, not a child,

even if childhood seems like yesterday.

 

Hours just watching the moving pictures

on the box in the corner of the room

Coronation St always a favourite,

where is Elsie Tanner? 

 

Young man, a woman, a little boy visit,

most weekends, I think. 

Vague memories, then lucidity,

he is my son, boy my grandson I’m told,

he makes me laugh and smile,

good days, happy days. 

Bad days; this boy taps my head,

anyone at home he asks,

 bad times I want to spank the little sod,

my dad would.

 

Drifting in and out of time,

this man Ted, Tom or is it Tim?

Does so much, he looks tired, I’m tired,

but I’m bloody angry, frustrated.

This man holds my wrists,

I’m so angry, I’m crying, why me?

I know I love him, then he is a stranger,

where are my Mum and Dad?

Their little girl needs them,

angry, frustrated!

 

I’m lonely in this place full of people. 

Another home, no memories,

just a crowd of blank faces,

just like mine in the mirror. 

Who am I?

© 2014 Carol Robson