Winter’s Tale (Haiku) by Carol Robson


Winter’s Tale (Haiku)

The warm quilt captive

from solstice to equinox

my choice, Eat or Heat.

©Carol Robson 2016

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An Untimely Death by Carol Robson.


An Untimely Death

Older people are easy targets
relying on their pension,
pension day to look forward to
then, start looking forward to the next.

They want you to work until you die
attacked, suffer cutbacks
again and again
those now living in fear
many with various disabilities
now fear their advancing years.

The extra money helps so many,
it isn’t about their luxuries
as they sit in their coats and hats,
scarves, gloves, wrapped in blankets
here in their homes.

Another cold winter shackles them,
confined by disability or age.
Fears for so many,
they will not see another year,
this will be an untimely death.

© Carol Robson 2015

NHS and A&E rant and my poem Lest We Forget by Carol Robson.


We keep hearing on the news about NHS and A&E crisis, no beds available, older people taking beds up because they are perhaps more at risk to seasonable illness (chest infections etc) let’s blame an easy target again.
Older people the media say are tying up beds because care packages are slow in being organised for them at home, so again blame occupational therapists and social services. It doesn’t seem too long ago when the media talked about bed blocking and there were going to be fines for social services department who caused this, ‘bed blocking’. So lets stop demonising old people and people whose job it is to set up care packages….The people who need demonising, that have caused this situation within the NHS, local authority adult social care offices, austerity cutbacks etc, kill off of a few more older people, are this Fucking Government ‪#‎justsaying‬ ‪#‎mythoughts‬

Lest We Forget

This weary darkness of days,
as they trudge their weary limbs
from room to room, in decay.
Devoid of natural light,
loneliness and isolation
coldness of older peoples plight,
lest we forget, their degradation.

©Carol Robson 2014.

My NHS (with video)


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

Fuck Being Austere (with soundcloud audio to the tune So This Is Christmas)


Time of the year to share this one again.

Fuck Being Austere (with soundcloud audio to the tune of So This Is Christmas)

Fuck Being Austere
To The Tune; So This Is Christmas

I know this is Christmas
but I don’t understand,
this feeling inside me
of things being planned.

Scrooges of Christmas future
old Cameron and his clan,
they sadden me deeply
with their devious plan.

They bring Christmas greetings
of joy and goodwill,
but not for the working class
forced to swallow a bitter pill.

A time of year for children
pressies from the Santa man,
family festivities and your parties
make the most of it while you can.

ConDem scrooges are hard at work
cutting Jobs and pensions too,
hurting old people and the vulnerable,
they’re just trying to screw you.

And so Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year,
look out for each other
and Fuck being Austere.

© Carol Robson 2011

Loneliness and Isolation


This is a poem I wrote early last year and seems relevant to this BBC News article on older age loneliness. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-24572231

Loneliness and Isolation

You gazed through your window
watching the world passing by
sadly this was not your world
as you gazed from your void.

Your years so full of family and friends
now seemed such a distant memory
a memory that became far less vivid
only framed memories were your companions.

You didn’t want to bother your family
they didn’t seem to listen, always so busy
just a phone call would have brightened your day
taken you out, have a treat, just a visit, please.

A few hours a week your visitors appeared
a cleaner and a person with your meals
quickly gone with barely a word or smile
again long hours devoid of any other presence.

Hours, days and weeks seemed to merge into one
broken by those fleeting visitors into your prison
a prison with a view to a world that was no longer yours
a life on your own, should never have been endured.

Now family and friends are here for you
talking of bygone days, relived memories
your loneliness and isolation is now over
sadly, it took your passing to bring them here.
© Carol Robson 2012