Nursing Home: Keith

He’s thin and slighty stooped

but the grey hair’s thick and wavy

and he moves at normal speed —

except when he’s with her.

Holding her hand 

or arm around her

he leads her to meals

or out to the sunny garden.

She turns to him

a gentle, vacant face.

He greets us cheerily,

eyes full of comprehension.

We realise he lives here 

to be with her.

He looks happy. 

So does she.

Submitted to Poetry Pantry #101 at Poets United. 

Cross-posted to my verse portraits blog, Impressions You Left

Nursing Home: Bobbi

Bobbi walks quickly 

along the corridors,

keeping to the edges.

One day she tells me,

whispering:

‘I hurt my hip. Now 

I have to keep walking 

or it seizes up.

I feel conspicuous

and embarrassed.’

She is slim

in her neat slacks

and cardigan,

sweet face framed

by a short pageboy.

Her eyes widen

a moment and I glimpse 

fear, want to hug her 

but will not intrude

on her frail dignity.


Submitted to Poetry Pantry #101 at Poets United.

Cross-posted to my verse portraits blog, Impressions You Left

That red wine: May haiku 2012

full moon

blurred white through cloud

I miss you

7/5/12

(from the facebook group UmitBattal POOR - HAIKU© )


I recall

only the red wine

not the glass

*******

that red wine

the essence of joy

stands alone

*******

wine lingers

the glass that held it

breaks apart

*******

the glass

falls away

from the wine

20/5/12

drizzly rain

from morning to night

angry words

25/5/12

When I Come to Bed

He’s waiting 

naked and grinning.

We’re not too old for a frolic.

(This never happened

in the nursing home.)


I'm submitting this one to dVerse Open Night #45 — where you'll find lots and lots of good reading from a great community of poets.

Obama the President

Oh how ecstatic.  

At last, I thought, 

And liked him so much, 

his Yes We Can slogan 

reminiscent,

It’s Time!

But it hasn’t turned out 

‘What chance

have they given him?’

someone asks.

I don’t know. 

Couldn’t he have closed 

Guantanamo? am I naive?  

Anyone, of course,

better than George 

personable, and his family

And has a brain

ought to have been 

the Messiah some of us 

but in truth 

seems weak.

And a damn sight more 

warmongering 

What good 

killing Bin Laden? 

him and Hilary and co 

all sitting around 

watching it on TV, 

like murder was GOOD 

chilling banality. 

No I don’t say Bin Laden 

was right or good or anything

But still. 

‘Two wrongs don’t make’

those values

long gone now.

A 'cut-up' poem, made from a prose timed writing in response to a prompt at WordsFlow writers' group.

Lament

It’s a lonely sound,

the plane going over

up there in the night.

So is the gathering of wind

from the corners of darkness

into a rumble, then a howl.

I want to cuddle with my love,

sleep near his warmth all night.

He wants that too, yet we’re apart.

Submitted for dVerse Open Link Night #43

Tanka Challenge

In the midst of the Poetic Asides April PAD Challenge, Robert Lee Brewer also issued a tanka challenge.  He has just announced the winner, out of hundreds submitted. It is by Jane Schlensky, you can read it here, and it will be published in a future issue of the Writer's Digest magazine. He also listed the rest of the 'top ten', and what do you know — one of mine came second! 

Here are all those I submitted. The first is the one chosen. I hedged my bets and made some of them 5/7/5/7/7 even though I think that the least important 'rule' for tanka in English. I'm particularly delighted that the one chosen has shorter lines.

tonight

she is lonely

writing

new love poems

to an old love

********

when I am dancing

and you are looking at me

with your eyes shining

for a moment I forget

that we are old people now

*******

once upon a time

when the fairytale ended

and they did not live

happily ever after,

they found another sweetness

*******

a still night

the hum of his bike

goes for miles

she hears him leaving

the rest of her life

*******

she dozes

a gentle touch

on her arm

awakens her

she sees no-one


PS  My place-getting tanka was later published in the Writer's Digest of September 2012.

High Care

I try to recreate a homely feel

within the nursing home. It isn’t real

and their new schedules take you when I leave.

It is the very contrast makes us grieve —

this isn’t home. Nor is the old home now

without you. I would bring you back — but how?

I must surrender you to better care

than I can give, although it seems unfair

and you believe I have abandoned you.

In fact it was the only thing to do.

I want to smile, not weep when I am here

visiting you. Let’s find some new joy, dear

for still we’re never one whole day apart,

and surely home is in the other’s heart?

A response to the dVerse FormForAll prompt: Clarian Sonnets, 
though written too late to be included in the line-up there.

Also linking to the dVerse 2019 Sonnet Challenge.

The Clarian Sonnet is my favourite kind of sonnet – though the Neruda-style free verse sonnet runs it close. (Which is interesting, as the one is so modern, the other so classic.) The Clarian seems to me somehow less of a virtuoso performance than the Shakespearian, Petrarchan or Spenserian, so that the reader's focus is hopefully more on what is said than how it is said. In the others, even the very best of them, my attention is split equally between both. I love playing with form, but I like it to be in the service of – even subservient to – meaning.

Things you think: April tanka 2012

Things you think

you will always remember —

some you do.

The bedroom by the sea

had bamboo walls. I was eight.

3/4/12

Yes, only one tanka this April.

Bleak nights and cold: April haiku 2012

Good Friday

we eat the Hot Cross Buns

his blood sugar rises

6/4/12

bleak nights and cold

swirling dust and dry leaves

Melbourne city

**********

city streets

thin dust in gutters

icy wind

17/4/12