Category Archives: memories

Impaired Mind (Cinquain)

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Impaired Mind (Cinquain)

Locked in
With distant past
Of haunting memories
Like black and white silent movies
Un-synced.
© Carol Robson

Words of Darkness and Light (reader review)

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Words of Darkness and Light (reader review) posted on Facebook.

book review

Published by Thynks Publications

Words of Darkness and Light (Poetry Collection)

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Words of Darkness and Light

Revised 2nd edition of my first poetry collection 48 poems Words of Darkness and Light

published Thynks Publications Limited to buy http://t.co/ASp6r7g9df

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