Tag Archives: old age

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

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Winter’s Tale (Haiku) by Carol Robson

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Winter’s Tale (Haiku)

The warm quilt captive

from solstice to equinox

my choice, Eat or Heat.

©Carol Robson 2016

Lest We Forget by Carol Robson.

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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.

Loneliness and Isolation by Carol Robson.

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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

Lest We Forget by Carol Robson.

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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.

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