Afternoon Delight
What a wonderful day it's been. I finally got some sun!
I had to go for a mammogram, not my idea of fun.
Some nice new clothes and a bit of "slap" gave me the lift I sought
with some earrings and a necklace that I'd recently, proudly, wrought.
I took a cab. It wasn't far, but all of it uphill
and went through the procedure, uncomfortable, but still
it's not that bad, I've been through worse and often do each day.
What can't be cured must be endured, or that's what people say.
The journey back being easier I decided to walk a ways.
The sun on my skin felt wonderful and I revelled in its rays.
The snail's pace I accomplish means many pass me by
and a friendly smile may be returned if you catch another's eye.
While welcoming the summer heat I enjoyed each cooling breeze
and dappled shade that beckoned me beneath the city's trees.
I stopped to gaze in pure bliss at flowers along the way;
my journey through the city streets was like a holiday.
Ignoring the traffic's rush and roar I sat for a while to rest.
Almost home, but I needed it; I've come to know what's best.
I was only out for an hour or so though it seemed a great deal more
but I couldn't have liked it better on some far flung ocean shore.
It's been so long since I was out - I'm a deathly shade of white -
that I treasure the simple pleasure of my afternoon delight.
© Aug 2004
Little Fruit
Springtime proudly promised much
but summer brought its shadows;
undeveloped fruit now falls
to lie in winter meadows.
© 2005
Endless Night
Written during a time of deep depression.
For nigh on twenty years now I've watched this awful thing
whittling my life away, draining me of zing.
I lie, limp and languishing, upon my bed each day
as time, once abundant, slips seamlessly away.
Perhaps I should capitulate with a modicum of grace,
give up this pointless struggle, take up my allotted place.
Dreams will be unfulfilled, fears realised
but, cursed from the very first, I can't say I'm surprised.
Grey skies glower down, bare trees brood,
all is dark and sombre, echoing my mood.
Fate, have your way with me,
I've no more strength to fight;
I'll follow unresisting
into endless night.
© 2005
Arrhythmia
I think I need a metronome. Me - who lives for rhythm!
It's a heart thing: arrhythmia. Krupa on an off day.
Irregular and pretty weak it keeps me ticking over.
Just as long, I have to say, as I stay horizontal.
©2006
Cinderella
It's called a Cinderella thing and is it any wonder?
This illness means my social life is all but rent assunder.
No energy to go outdoors, to wash the dishes, sweep the floors,
to cook a meal - but that's all right; I've very little appetite.
The heart, it seems, is compromised, the brain fares little better;
muscles, nerves, capillaries, pursue their own vendetta.
It's difficult to climb the stairs, to wash or dress or do my hair,
to sit or stand or try to walk; I've barely energy to talk!
My fingerprints are vanishing so gripping is quite tricky.
I tend to drop things quite a lot unless, of course, they're sticky.
No grip to do the smallest deeds, like threading needles, stringing beads.
Paper, too, escapes my paw and floats, serenely, to the floor.
They say that I should pace myself but really, that's a joke.
I do so little anyway, compared to other folk.
How can I make them understand? Their world is like a foreign land -
a land I once inhabited but now I might as well be dead.
Reliant on deliveries I get what others choose.
Robbed of independence it's more than pride we lose.
© 2006