New Year’s Prayer

January 1, 2019 at 1:36 pm (Poems) (, , , )

When we are old and inconvenient
please shelter us from abuse.
Grant our carers the patience
to listen with open hearts
and hear the anguish
of an aching body required to comply
with another’s misplaced will.

Let them know that speed
is not an accomplishment
that supersedes our dignity,
and remind them that
though our ears be deaf,
or eyes be blind,
we reach out for understanding
and hear their complaints
with our very souls.

When we are old and inconvenient,
please grant us patience
to deal with things carried out
in our ‘best interests’
and lend us a sense of humour
and a kindly nature, so we may bend with grace, and offer something in return.

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Care

April 26, 2018 at 5:46 pm (Poems) (, , , )

Caring means something felt
And then something done
Remembering when someone cared for us
Empathising even when it is difficult.

Gained trust is a gift received
Inspite of hardship
Very often the only thing left
Irreplaceable and precious
None of us are perfect, but
Give heartily and know you are loved.

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Sunset

March 19, 2018 at 10:05 pm (Poems) (, , , , , )

If you are a sunset
I’ll stand by my easel
Watching in wonder
as you paint the air.

If you are a rainbow
I’ll follow your glory
Skip with your silken thread
Dance in your hair.

If you are the moonlight
I’ll whisper your pathway
Howl to your melody
Bow to your prayer.

If you are my mentor
My sweetheart, my friend
I’ll know that true beauty
is your tender care.

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Taking Care

June 15, 2016 at 7:58 pm (Poems, poetry, sociology) (, , , , )

Through the depth of each night, till the dimming of days,

it’s a difficult path to the parting of ways.

For the sake of us all, for our dads and our mums,

The carers will carry the vulnerable ones.

 

When others step sideways, the carers come through,

to meet expectations that daunt but a few.

Intuition and patience, resilience and smiles,

They will take up the slack for the final few miles.

 

 

 

 

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Take Social Care

June 5, 2015 at 9:15 pm (Poems) (, , , , , , , , )

An angel spoke to me one night
when I sat in my youth
he told me I should be aware
of one unerring truth:

That like or not the time will come
when I will need a hand
to guide me through my daily life
– not quite what I had planned.

He bade me think, this angel fair
of loving volunteers
and low paid carers struggling
to tend my ageing years.

What will I want when I am old?
An elephant that rages
because we locked the cupboard door
and wouldn’t pay her wages?

Am I so sure I will not yearn
for love’s sustaining patience
when I am old and on my own
with similar relations?

Why do we lend so little heed
to those who hold our future?
For I’ll receive what I beget –
if I forget to nurture.

“So pay the carers what you will,”
the angel said, “be certain
that you will want the gentlest hand
to close your final curtain.

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Spider

October 5, 2014 at 10:53 am (philosophy, Stories) (, , , , , , )

I wonder whether or not the spider is still there, outside the village toilets on the grass. He had an unfortunate experience, suffering badly at my hand. Public conveniences must be cleaned, and I am that person in the gloves. I had thought to rescue, plucked him, wrapped in a cloth, from the toilet bowl. He had sat upon the water, I presumed in peril. So, as I say, I picked him out. He moved so fast I lost him from the cloth, and there he was, that sizable arachnid, by the wall, in full health, so it seemed. Again, my over zealous heart piped that he would be best abroad, outside in the undergrowth – we live in a pretty place, in the hills. I stooped again, with said cloth, and captured him for a second time. And in his haste and mine let go and flung him in the grass. But now the woe, for though released, he did not run, he did not move.

Stop, in fear my heart did stop. I had taken a life. Now, I do not claim any particular goodness. No, I feel anger at wasps and even some people. But spider had caused no upset, and I had behaved in error.

I hung about, with no more work to do. I would wait a while and then go back, back to the spot where he sat, legs curled up, half the beast he had been before, before I killed him.

And then something else – his eight legs straightened. His still corpse (perhaps half an hour had passed) began to live again. Though still remorseful, I was overjoyed. I inquired as to his health, in humblest tones, then backed off, fearing my own ability to clumsily tread. With many backward look, best walk away.

One more thing. Spider said this to me. You need to slow your pace. You need not think so hard. You need to be still, take time to recover. Do not respond to everyone’s emergencies (periodically, turn off your phone). And if you can do this, you will be well. If you can do this, you will not die so soon.

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Dandelion

May 31, 2013 at 12:04 pm (literature, philosophy, politics, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

My choice to speak and dare to do
I share with other people too,
my own convictions – foul or fair
are seeds propelled in gifted air.

But even if my thoughts seem fixed,
with time or conversation mixed
they may be tempered, tinkered, turned
by what I heard, saw, did or learned.

So in my darkest/finest hours
when often I express my flowers
it is of boldness I partake
and I must know the mark I make.

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