2015/2016 | 2014 | 2013 | Very old stuff


A Visit from the Aneurysm Angel

20 December 2014 - I'm not a huge christmas fan, but I loved to write a poem about my aneurysm at christmas time. (Clement Clarke Moore wrote originally about Santa.)

'Twas the night before Christmas, all aside from the aneurysm
Not a creature was stirring and no one had rheumatism.
The stockings were hung - although most didn't exist
(In hopes that trees would be added on, but mostly were missed).
The children were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Santa danced round in their heads.
With me in my nightie, alone with no kids,
I'd just settled my aneurysm for a long nap without skids,
When out on the lawn there arose such a noise -
I sprang from my bed to see who had the voice.
Away to the window I flew like a bird,
I tore open the curtains, all outside looked blurred.
The moon on the breast of the hottest of lawn
Looked rather duller and very, very forlorn,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But an awesome PT with no tiny rein-deer,
With no little old driver so lively and quick -
Just an Angel for Aneursym - it gave me a kick!
More rapid than eagles her PT arrived,
And she whistled, and shouted, and it seemed to be revived.
"Now, Speedo! now, Engine! now Insider and Out!
On, Boot Door! on, Brakes! on PT, great Clout!
To the aneurysm patient's house where you'll stop!
Now dash away! dash away! Make it - no flop!"
As Angel shouted before it landed,
When it met with the lawn, she so well commanded.
I'd heard her tell it to land after they flew
With the PT full of joy, and just for aneurysm too!
And then, in a twinkling, I heard what sounded real
The prancing and pawing of each little wheel.
I drew in my head and was turning around,
In the front door Angel came with a bound.
She was dressed in summer clothes, from her head to her feet -
Her shoes were so very full of beat!
A bundle of medicals she had flung on her back,
And she looked like a pedlar just opening her pack.
Her eyes-how they twinkled! her dimples, how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her droll little mouth was up in a grin,
And her face was so open that she could hit with her chin.
The stump of a straw she held tight in her teeth,
And the drink that she'd enhanced encircled her like a reef.
She had a delicate smiley face and she looked just right,
She stood very tall because she was so tall: she looked so bright.
She was really an Angel for Aneurysm, but still she was free,
And I laughed when I saw her, I knew she was for me.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
And handed out the medicals; then turned with a jerk,
And shaking her finger with her ever gift of deft,
And giving a nod, out the door she left.
She sprang to her PT, to her car gave a whistle,
And away she drove like the down of a thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, as she sped without a delay -
"Happy Christmas to all, from me just believe you'll all be okay!"

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Late story

30 June 2014 - This was my first poem when I got out of hospital earlier this month. My story about feeling left out.

If you're awake, let me tell you all about
how I am feeling, how I am living it out

And how I can't talk most of the time -
just rolling my life in the wasted grime

If you're awake, let me tell you of all my life;
you'll listen, I'm sure, without your reply

You'll nod your head, you'll look at me,
you'll make a 'tsk' or 'oh dear' or 'gee'

Then you'll turn and go when I can't leave
from my own house; it's frustrating, believe

If you're awake, let me tell you how much
it's not fair in my life when I can't seem to touch

It's awful, and hard, and makes me feel
so silly, so stupid, no obvious 'real'

When I'm at home on my own, I find it so
much easier to be alone, be unable to go

I don't want to blame you, you're okay, just cool -
carry on and live your own life, no rules

Me? I'm okay to be on my own
I just say that, because you have to be gone

I have no history, I thought I remembered,
but this time it's disappeared, backed off, tempered

If you're awake, let me tell you about my past
because it's gone; I have no recent to last

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Time to forget

This was, for me, interesting. It was very much representative of women, and I feel so glad that older women no longer feel used.

Time to forget

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18 January 2014 - I attended a writer's workshop, and took the bus into town. From the time I got to my local bus terminal, on the bus, walking through the halls to the library, and waiting in the library foyer, I felt invisible. No-one made eye contact, and I thought of the many times this same thing has happened. That inspired this poem.

Do you feel alone in a crowd?
Do you feel unwelcome?
Invisible, although you know
You're nothing less than human.
But no-one looks you in the eye,
It's like they just don't see you.
You don't create an impact,
You don't engage their view.
It doesn't matter what you wear
Or how outrageous your shoes,
Their attention focuses elsewhere,
You're not a vista they choose.
They pass you by, engaged in thought
Few of them ever smile.
They're wrapped up in their troubled world,
Never going the extra mile.
Perhaps one day their world will crash
And then they'll wander too,
Looking for that twinkling eye
That says that's someone's seen you.
They'll smile shyly, desperate hope
That this time someone's seen
They're not invisible - never were,
They're a living, breathing being.

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