Parkinson’s poetry

Parkinson’s disease

I wish I could walk normal again

The doc said I have Parkinson’s

Shaking in my arms and unsteady on my feet

Constant dr appointments

I thought at first this is just a bad dream and I need to wake up

Pills only help so much

Some days are good some are bad

I learn to accept it

Things that used to be easy are now becoming difficult

And I’m only thirty three yrs old

Trying to pour a drink or tie my hair has become difficult

I got to laugh and stay positive

Thankful I’m not facing this alone

Sleep can be hard staying asleep

It’s always there

I still fight as long as I can

Waiting rooms and dr visit are my new normal

It’s like an earthquake I constantly shake


Hi @Audre2425

Welcome to the forum and thank you for sharing.

Kind regards

Sue - Moderation Team

Well done that’s a great piece of work which I am sure many will relate to. Would you consider posting it on the creative corner? I think they would love to read your work and welcome a new contributor. I hope you will feel able to share more of your work. Thank you.

This is my first visit to the Parkinson’s UK Poetry Forum. I don’t know what I am supposed to do to submit a poem.
Do I simply type it in to a box as I am doing now, or is there a specific entry process.

Please advise me, someone and then II’ll get started.

Hello, yes just type it like a reply, all the poems for each month are posted in this way. You can comment on any poem also using the reply box. Welcome to this corner of the forum, I look forward to reading your work.

PS most of the poems are posted in creative corner I recently
Put a post on well being to encourage some new input. So put your poem in the creative corner where you will find everyone’s work

1 Like

I can see you are typing and suspect you are writing your poem, I forgot to mention the creative corner in my reply which you can see as a ps sorry about that but you can copy and paste in the usual way if you would also like to put it in the creative corner

The poem that I ask going to submit is the.first submission in this modern Format. I am returning to the forum after an absence of at least ten years.
My poem is true: It is about my grandtather, who was born in 1870 and died in 1958. He had Parkinson’s while still a relatively young man, although his death certificate stated the cause of his death was Paraplegia. There was scant knowledge of the condition in those days, and no medication: Sinemet was not available until the1960s.

So, I grew up seeing the suffering of my grandfather during the last 15 years of his life, and it is my memories of him that I would like to share with you.


Every day the same for him, each and every day
was in doing nothing, just existing. In his way
he was contented, at least, it appeared so to me:
he never moaned, even though his body was bent perpetually.

I grew up becoming used to seeing him in his chair,
whenever I went to his home, he was always sitting there.
His chair gave him no comfort, it was made of wood: and here
he sat for hours, each day, each week, each month, each year.

His movements were so slow, so laboured; he could not proceed
At more than snail pace, as he had to cling to rails. Indeed,
his struggle to the bathroom took him more than half an hour,
but he always managed by himself, so strong was his will-power.

He often spent his days alone: my grandmother couldn’t cope
with being in the house with him. She left him with the hope
that he’d manage to get-by for hours until she would return.
I wonder now, how did he feel? Did he for company yearn?

On the hob beside him, before she left, she’d leave a pot of tea,
a cup and saucer, milk and sugar, cheese and bread, and he
would spend the day, just sitting there, there was nothing else to do,
except read the Daily Herald; and he had his wireless, too.

The programmes that he listened to on the BBC Home Service,
weren’t easy to tune-in, causing me to feel quite nervous
as he’d twiddle with the knobs until the hissing sounds abated.
Then with pipe in hand, he’d sit and listen, seemingly elated.

He rarely had a visitor, for they would find it hard,
to have a conversation; for not only was he scarred
in movement, he could not produce a single word.
The noises which he made were grunts, embarrassment this stirred.

I sometimes had some friends with me, when I took to him his food.
Some would stand and stare, making comments that were rude.
They tried to stifle laughter as he struggled to eat his meal
Before the food fell off his fork: then he showed frustration real.

Today, this wouldn’t happen, but this happened long ago.
When there was no medication to release him from his woe.
In nineteen fifty-eight he died; his life was so unfair.
I will never forget my grandpa, sitting, always in his chair.

My grandfather, born in the Victorian Era, was a Welsh Miner, whose intelligence was not stimulated: he could barely read!
But, he was to be a source of help to me. Seeing how well he coped with the horrific effects of Parkinsons, without any medication or medical specialists, enabled me to cope with it when in 1988 I received the diagnosis that I was to follow in his footsteps.

My consultant and Parkinson’s Specialist Nurse have given me great care and advice, over a very long period, for which I am truly grateful.

I think that, at the present time, we should include the Doctors and Nurses who run the Parkinson’s clinics in the list of NHS workers who currently are giving their all for the publlc at large.

Thank you.


Manor that is a wonderful poem. I don’t know if you saw my other posts but I omitted to tell you that the main place for poems is in the creative corner. Please consider reposting there. You don’t have to retype it all just copy, go to creative corner June 2020 click on the last reply and paste. My apologies for misleading you a bit but really do hope you will repost. If you are not clear how to do it, with your permission I can do it for you. I hope you will post more of your work

Thank you for your kind response to my poem about my grandfather.
if you would post it for me in poets’ corner, I would be grateful.
I am mot skilled at using the computer!
I have more poems to post, so I will be back!

It’s done, take a look by clicking on the link.


I intend to be perfectly honest
and say what I see as true,
I shall examine my personality,
and comment on what I view.
Looking inward I see the person
I think that I am, but wait!
Will others recognise me
if they view the pen portrait I paint?

I’ll start with my outer appearance;
I usually am quite smart.
My dress is quite sober and modest,
I don’t want to look like a tart.
My clothes are not chic nor outdated,
nor are they frumpy and grim,
I have many comments made to me;
Some say I am really quite trim.

My hair is a problem, it’s ever so straight
and I have to spend money to try
To present myself well to the people I meet:
well-groomed I can hold my head high.
But I cannot relax and be casual, f
or my problem is nature’s decree.
I’m racked by a tension, I cannot be free
of the frightening hold of PD.

As a person I think that by nature
I’m intelligent, happy and bright,
I’m loving, respectful and thoughtful
and faithfully try with all might
To always be seen as a person
who others regard as a friend.
I hope that these traits will continue
until I reach my life’s end.

I can honestly say that through all of my life,
I have never been one to row,
Or quarrel or be so assertive
that it’s led to bad feeling. I vow
I’ve made known my feelings to others,
yet I have been quite content
To give in to others, let them have last word,
my temper controlled, I’ll relent.

I usually am patient and tolerant,
considerate of others’ requests,
I’m able to see others’ viewpoints,
to listen and show respect.
I tend not to put myself forward
or take the front spot on life’s stage:
I don’t need to stand on a pedestal:
self-knowledge is sufficient a gauge.

I suppose if I asked those who know me
to give an alternative view,
It would give food for thought, may help me to change:
perfection is mine to pursue.
I would like to be thought of as one who was fair,
with a positive view of her life.
But my greatest desire is for love to be shown to me,
both as a mother and wife.