Hello. I have 4 poems to post. I hope that’s not too many.
The first two were w ritten some time ago, and the others just recently.
- PARKINSON’S CAN
Parkinson’s can pull the rug from under you,
Topple you, as far as you can go.
You explain best you can the desolation,
Unable fast enough the right words
To pull from your mind, now slowed down to a crawl,
Moving at thirty in the fast lane.
Tears flow faster, as communication halts,
Understanding no longer exists.
Parkinson’s can transport you to an island,
Dump you there; yet somehow you must fight.
- Meet Pete
PARKINSON’ S PETE
Parkinson’s we must defeat,
This clever cunning, call him Pete,
Who rules our lives with rods of steel,
And in his heart nothing feels.
First of all we shout out loud,
Pull Pete out from behind the cloud,
That shelters him from close up view,
So expose him to others too.
This is Pete, see, everyone
Do not forget what this one’s done,
Ruined lives the world over,
Coward then runs for cover,
Only soon to reappear
Fill his victims so full of fear,
They swallow pills year after year,
To stop Pete approach too near.
In the open he takes care
Not to be witnessed anywhere:
But if you see him, chase him off-
Of this bully, I’ve had enough.
3 ME AND PARKY PETE : 12years on
Twelve years have been, twelve years have gone
Since that day then, when all went wrong.
Slow and steady, Pete’s won the race,
He’s run by me at steady pace.
Hello, Parky Pete, the one I mean,
Parky Pete it is, just now come clean.
He holds us tight, given the chance,
Leads us all on a merry dance.
“And here I am, your good friend Pete
To embrace you all - that’s some feat.
You are my works of art, for sure.
My presence here you all endure,
Knowing full well how much power
I wield over you, each sad hour.
As the clock ticks on, tick tock tick…
I do not miss a single trick.”
Parky Pete is no faithful friend,
But causes havoc from start to end.
He crept up on me from behind,
Notorious, clingy, creepy kind
Of trouble to be avoided, see!
See just what he has done to me!
“Pete here, ha ha, the devil’s mate,
I stand around and wait and wait.
You come out from your safe home,
See me not, standing all alone.”
He’s done his worst, he thinks his best,
From him I badly need a rest.
No longer can I stand up straight,
But lean to the side, such my fate -
A monument to his hard graft;
The Leaning Tower of Pisa - Pete laughed!.
- ON THE ROAD
The conversation bends and twists through a warren
of multiple paths, touching on the best route from
time to time, but hardly there till
some intersecting path slows progress, until we are back on the right road.
Who is it that determines the right road, I wonder to myself while listening
intently, while trying to keep up with everyone,
as some nip down side alleyways, while others are temporarily thwarted by unmarked cul de sacs; who knows where to go?
I take a break, though saddened by my new found inability to
keep up, to follow the conversation, both straight ahead, and also,
as it heads down various avenues, as it proceeds, interestingly,
disturbing truths, long held in the highest esteem.
Break over, I rejoin the others on their tortuous journey to unearth the truth of the matter.
I have rested my troubled brain, for which it is grateful.
A little rest might carry us, me and my brain, a long way; It may well do,
but both body and brain are so tied up, held back, so slow.
They are slow, but still in working order, with much to offer. My ears
are unaffected, and hear perfectly well the whispers behind my back-
not cruel whispers, but whispers nonetheless, off-putting,
saddening even - why not speak out, ask if in doubt?
I continue on my way with heavy heart, in search of a new abode,
aiming to keep up, to follow the intricacies of the paths chosen,
to play a useful part in life; and to overcome the physical pain, the mental anguish, caused by my much hated illness.