Senescence licks a disturbed light
onto his bedroom wall.
Sleep pitted by dark dreams
my pilgrim rises in good faith,
the pendulum of remembrance
striking a steady rhythm.

Octogenerian legs undone at night;
challenged by verticality
he leans heavy on the door
flexing old shoulders,
turning his head, slow, like this,
already unsure of his purpose.

Taking heart though (detected by his step)
he descends stairs unsupported,
collects his coat and keys,
and as simply as he can,
will have no more of this…

“I will have no more of this,” he says.

Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

5 thoughts on “Night”

    1. Ah, KB, as you will see below your message on my post, I did indeed acknowledge your very interesting message. Perhaps you did not receive the notification? If not, I apologise. As a result of your message, I wrote today’s poem, which sprang from some of the words used in the last poem. I agree with your observations in some respects, but the longer poem presents me with a challenge as a writer and I enjoyed pursuing it. All your comments are appreciated, so thank you most kindly x

    1. Thank you Cindy. There is a group of poems (oh, I think I mean ‘anthology’, don’t I?), some written, some not written yet, which refer in some part to my dad. Two of my favourites are ‘Ladder Man’ and ‘Time Piece’ x

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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