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Donall Dempsey Jan 2016
ALZHEIMER'S ZONG

'The soul bone's
connected to the heart bone! '

'The heart bone's
connected to the mind bone! '

'The mind bone's
connected to the bone bone! '

'The bone bone's
connected to the thought bone! '

'The Thought bone's
connected to the Time bone! '

'The Time bone's
connected to the memory bone! '

'The memory bone's...'

'The memory bones...'

'... memory's bones...'

'Now where have all
the words

...gone! '
*******

I used to look after someone with Alzheimer's and she used to sing this over and over and chuckle to herself until the words and she gradually faded away and there was no enough memory and wit to sustain the song or her any longer.

It just gradually erased her but when she could sing this....she sang her heart out as in defiance and had great fun doing so. She knew something was wrong and that something was funny but she didn't know what yet she did know...it was so frustrating for her and used to drive her to distraction. This little song was her way of fighting it back if only for a little while and at the time it worked.

A very cruel disease....takes that very human element memory and the ability to skip back and forward and across time inventing and reinventing ourselves because the person is not a static 'thing' but an ever changing....ever becoming fluid state of being. At the beginning it was a funny little way of fighting it then by the end it was sung with a manic desperation...words were always on the tip of her tongue but they were the wrong words...the almost words...the not-quite-alright words....the not-alright-words...the what-is-happening-to-me words. Before she was a highly articulate woman but now words were slipping away from her as she kept trying to lash them together to make a raft of sense to escape the Island of No Words which her consciousness had been shipwrecked on. The clock became the "time teller thingy" and so...on & so on.
Donall Dempsey Jan 2019
ALZHEIMER'S ZONG

'The soul bone's
connected to the heart bone! '

'The heart bone's
connected to the mind bone! '

'The mind bone's
connected to the bone bone! '

'The bone bone's
connected to the thought bone! '

'The Thought bone's
connected to the Time bone! '

'The Time bone's
connected to the memory bone! '

'The memory bone's...'

'The memory bones...'

'... memory's bones...'

'Now where have all
the words

...gone! '
*******

I used to look after someone with Alzheimer's and she used to sing this over and over and chuckle to herself until the words and she gradually faded away and there was no enough memory and wit to sustain the song or her any longer.

She called it her Al's Sigh more zong.
Raj Arumugam Aug 2011
all monkeys
of all nations!
stop your chatter
and listen to me mutter
my ancient tail

1
in earlier days
**** Kong
went to Hong Kong
to look for kang kong
and there she met
King Kong

the first second
they saw each other
their hearts went
****! ****!
the second second:
****! ****!
in short they fell in love
with each other’s Zong Zongs
and night and day it was all Sing Song
and the earth trembled
with their rumble of love
and construction workers thought
the piling was done
and straight away
***** skyscrapers appeared
and so incidentally was born
modern-day Hong Kong

2
within three months
**** Kong felt
in her womb
a Trong Trong
and an incessant noise:
Pong! Pong!*
Pong! Pong!
and on the tenth month
by the lunar calendar
out came Pink Kong -
and so consequently was born
the game of ping pong


and so ends my story of beginnings
and now that
my tail is curled
you can all go home
you ding dongs!
...just fun verse....
Natalie  Dec 2018
The Zong
Natalie Dec 2018
He floats there near the bottom,
Dragged and anchored like a ship
To seabed by rusted fetters,
Down where ***** shuffle a slow
Ribbon dance, twirling black seaweeds
And long grasses,
Where they snap out a rhythm
In solemn beatnik fashion to mournful
Whale songs like low saxophone moans,
And where the disapproving clucks
Of dolphins’ tongues echo
In quiet communal protest.

His body floats bloated in brine,
Cheeks puffed like wet bread,
Skin grey and shadowed blueblack,
His face slack,
Broad chest beaconed out of dark waters
By dim pleated streams
Of ocean light.
An elegy for those slaves thrown overboard
during the Zong Massacre of the Middle Passage.
Deep Dec 2020
Try and linger
Jingle-mingle,
But do not wait for Love
remain single-wingle,
The ping-pong of life
the zing-zong of marriage
Is an hopeless affair;

So made up your mind
If possible, make it rewind
the break-ups
you got over with hiccups,
Remain single-wingle
Zing-zong and jingle,
Remain single-wingle,
Zing-zong and jingle.
I don't know what I wrote
Cecelia Francis Feb 2016
Again the train makes
a standard stop at what
the **** am I doing

So I get off.

Dinshaw argues that
the text is feminine and
the writer masculine but what
does that have to do with anything?

Good lord, the frilly words make
crochet lace and the others
make the rest-- now doesn't
that make sense: a scent
of cents means money!

The sign of the signified says: Why
the **** is this happening? You read
into me and translate accordingly but
can't seem to interpret a bit of it like the
first poem in Zong, but I'm not sure if you'll
remember what that quite looks like

You reading rather feminine lace
together an image of Mulcahy from
the Coombe that's not a bit like the
man! With a laugh who could
blame a drunken thought?

All the stupid girly **** gets dealt
with in a familiar manner stripped
bare teeth tearing the cloth in the process
of progressing to **** it like the little
**** it is: exactly how it deserves

Your moon princess turns
into folklore where nothing
is left but an ancient language
written in a mother tongue
in languish whilst unspoken.

You read languidly like
sparknotes slow speed reading
some well known notion readily

Of me standing stark naked
--out of clothes-- at a
random station

There is a violence in translation.
Probably the most elaborate chord progression I'll ever write.
Daan  May 2018
Verdoken
Daan May 2018
Na heen en weer en her en der gestuurd te worden,
het horen van de straat en zien van duizend borden,
moest ik me even afgezonderd voelen, alleen zijn,
zalig, zielig, eenzaam, op en af koelen
in de zachte wind van mei.

Mijn hoofd is klei, mijn handen zacht.
Ik heb geen dag gewerkt en dat ook nooit verwacht.
Maar vroeg of laat droogt het op en zit ik vast
in onveranderbare vormen.

Lijden volgt op volgen van de normen,
hoewel afwijking ook kan storen,
ruik ik liever met mijn oren
of zie ik met mijn tong.

Zong de vogel ook maar in de winter,
sliep ik ook maar voor middernacht.
ik droom meestal later maar vind er
nooit iemand die lacht.

Ik sluit me op om te ontwaken
uit de vloeiende stroom van onbeïnvloedbaar gedrag
wanneer mijn uitgewanden staken
en ik genoeg heb van de dag.
Slaapwel
aryanalynae  Jun 2018
Happened
aryanalynae Jun 2018
That leather jacket
What happened.

That zig zag zong
Our playlist of songs.

Staying up until the sunrise
What happened to that look in your eye.

We know what happened.
Sometimes I wish it didn’t

— The End —