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Days like these, when she sits there bright eyed
And her constellations whirl in accordance with
Sacred geometry
And the rabbit and horse know their names
Days like these there are breezes in the mountains
Rains in the valleys
And softly, lavender scents the moon

The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
The night brings its own lexicon of perhaps
Useless speculation graces our table
Tears fall in disarray again
The cutlery of thought clanging and ringing in discord
Ghosts in the ivory tower
Ghosts in the ivory tower

Days like these, when the hour hands stutter
And she burrows into the sacristy of almost sleep
Angels sing lullabies
The open gates of her world welcome Summer
Days like these there are beaches in the living room
Sandcastle sofas
And tomorrows grow in the sunshine

The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
Stealing her away, stealing her away
Prayers and bargainings rise and fall
Sepia photographs frame us
Moments of pleasure and joy pause for remembrance
Then all fall down
Then all fall down

Days like these when fate has no excuse or alibi
Love is sole mercy...
Days like these
Fade too soon
For my mother...we are facing her Alzheimer’s together, everyday
Meghan Jul 15
Life is a collection of Post-it Notes
Tiny pieces of paper
making up the collage of my mind.
These days though--
I'm not sure how well the glue is holding
The stickiness is starting to fail
The constant removal,
Rearrangement
Each note's move
Changes the picture,
Changes who I am.

When at last those squares
refuse to stick
Notes come tumbling down
Falling like rainbow colored rain
A final flood of memories --
Then ...
My mind's awash
Thoughts all a- jumble
A gentle breeze,
forceful as a hurricane
Comes to blows the bits away
Post-its scatter like leaves in the wind

All that's left
Is this blank yellow square
Longing to be writ
Once more
I see it firsthand,  I worry about the future,  hold on to every memory, and take the time to create the most I can with the people I love.
With just a bit of coaxing, she would sit up and recite
A poem she'd known since grade school, her eyes so clear and bright

Sometimes she'd need a little nudge to get her to begin.  "When mother puts her apron on", she'd say with a small grin...

...and off she'd go reciting each line flawlessly, with ease
Then when she'd end, her mind would seem to go, as if a breeze
Had ushered it away from us as quickly as it came
And then she wouldn't know the poem, nor anybody's name

But with that came a kind of blessing, at least I know of one
She may not have understood, full well, the loss of Jim, her son
But now, Miss Maudie's free from mortal flesh and bone
And those she loved, who've gone before are welcoming her home

Once more she will caress the man who held her hand in marriage
And now, again she'll hold the son she once strolled in a carriage.

They'll watch us as we travel down this wandering path of life
Rejoicing in our triumphs and supporting us through strife


And we know that they'll be there, waiting on the other side
When at last we've reached the journey's end, of this our earthly ride.
This is an excerpt of the eulogy I wrote for my Great Grand-mother-in law.  She struggled with Alzheimers disease for many years, but handled it with such grace. A true lady.
She does not lose well...

She will not forget.
It will haunt her,
the favorite pencil..
tip softened perfectly,
A paw, pushed it
somewhere to a secret spot.
Out of her vision...her reach.  

A peice of paper elusive, yet there...
lodged deep amidst
A stack
of most important things.

She does not lose well...

Not in terms of Games or Competition..
but the things in
her life
that Envelop
her world.

Tough, Scrappy,
Beautiful
and Oh-So Tender.
Holding all
things dear and
close to her heart

Loss is a place of  
deepest contemplation
for her.
The memories she has stored
through her life
stay alive,
stay vibrant,
stay with her

The immense
joy shared.
Her deepests sadness;
A cachet of stories
reverberate within her heart,
expanding outward
like ripples in a pond.

She does not lose well.

The Creatures
and People
that live within the wholeness of her being...

Even One pulled
out leaves,
like a building block,
a gap, a tear,
a hole in her life.

She does not forget,
Or minimize the Pertinance of Love,
Friendship
A moment that has touched her heart.

Forever an imprint upon her consciousness.
She is permeated with knowledge... the essence of all things.

When it is time for The Loss,
The breakng of her heart can be felt through all time
and space

Being filled with divine wisdom and insight, She is able
to see all aspects
at once.

The Purpose.
The moment becomes filled with rainbows of light.
She will bathe in that Beam...help guide Them Home
.
She knows how.

Knows intuitively what course will
be taken.
She trusts in the Divine. Her piece of solice, amidst the flutterings of her most  tender,
broken heart.

The history, the moments.  Living memories, are paramount  in the connection she has with All.

She does not lose well.

Her grief shrouds her, a mystical shawl.
A veil that will hold her dearly
till the pain is at least bearable..

Then she will
Begin
To tell her stories
once again.
A friend Losing her Mother to Alzheimer's
There’s something caught in my eye
It’s just this picture of you
A casual, faded thing from yesterday’s Summer
This picture of you, laughing
There’s something tight in my heart
It’s just the tug of a memory
Pulls at me like a child fearing the unknown World
I gather it up tenderly
Place it gently, here with my visions and dreams...
All the things that mean
You
And slowly, slowly you’re turning to shadow
Falling softly into waters of forgetting
Sleeping where treasures are guarded by
Mermaid emotions
And what matters becomes crystal clear
Like the waters and happiness and
You
And l wish, l wish...l wish...
Slowly your melodies are all becoming whispers
It all fractures, disintegrates, falls away
But you feel, and you love, and you know
And its breaking my heart
Because everyday I lose you just a little bit more

This cold growing inside me is frightening

I just want to hold your smile in my hands
For just a little while more...remembering
When all our yesterdays were rainbows
And your laugh was the sound of my joy
And tomorrow was a promise kept
Let me comb your hair
Let me comb your hair now
Isn’t that better...
It’s so baby soft
Baby soft slips right through my fingers
No mama I’m not crying
It’s just that cold again, that allergy
Seems l have a lot of them lately
These red, teary eyes
I just want to hold you til it goes away
Can we make it all go away now...
There’s something caught in my eye
Just this picture of you
Picture of you, laughing
For my mother, while we are fighting her Alzheimer’s together, hand in hand.
Sharon Talbot Apr 20
Scream, Memory

Accidents don't happen on holiday,
do they?
Standing in the shower, I stare out of
a tiny window at the setting sunlight.
In a row, children on a rustic bench
chatter through their colored ices
and kick their sandaled feet.
Soon, a tall, bland man appears
with smiles for all--this is his family
and he is happy.
His ambiance is like a drug so I leave
my caravan, barely dry,
Wanting to speak to him and not knowing why.
His good fortune draws one to him,
Yet I find another reason.
He directs me without words
to a desolate room and a gown.
And I remember...that I have not remembered
lately. And my collection of names is dwindling,
memory leaking like a wire basket.
Even before I don the **** robe and lie down
on a cold, plastic bench,
I know what the diagnosis will be.
The cylindrical tunnel looms and his nurse or wife
motions to it as he still smiles.
The machine roars like time passing
And I emerge carefully, not wanting to know.
Seeing my expression, he turns on me:
"It is bad news, but also sad."
He tilts his head like a bird, self-satisfied.
His vacuous delight belies the words.
What the hell is the difference, I think.
And like a falling tree, reality splits the dream
And knocks down my life.
I weep, uncontrolled.
It does not help to swear
nor to hit the wall with my fist.
But would it help to slap the doctor?
People crowd around and tell me to stop
but, as I had to when my father died,
I continue to rave.
For, what is simple to them
I will not make so to me.
I will mourn and censure Fate!
And if I still must,
I will not go gently
But scream all that I remember
Into the fading light.

April 19, 2019
This is the rough remembrance of a nightmare about Alzheimer's, which I had after doing some research on memory. I wonder why I was in a caravan, since I hate those! Does it symbolize our temporary status in this world? The doctor LOOKED nice and kind, like a 1950's hero, but was merciless and cold.
Physically strong and healthy, mentally lost and confused
Prideful and independent, but can no longer live in your home
Trying to remember your past, mixing up the memories
Scared and befuddled, please know we are here

To feel alone and in the dark, in someone else’s space
Thinking the people on film you have met on the street
Certain you are in the town of where you were raised
Never realizing you are not really in that place

I wish I could make this **** disease disappear
The pills are a preventative they are no cure
I wish you could come back to us and have no fear
This disease takes a toll and it is unfair

You are a great person who was always there
You nurtured and encouraged for all of whom you cared
The tables have turned its time to not resist
The ones who love you will care for you best

Sitting in wonderment awaiting your fate
Repeating your words time and time again
Not remembering certain persons places or things
In your own universe so distant, slowly fading away

To see the decline and the empty look on your face
It has gotten the best of you and what you held dear
It is more than unbearable; it's a true heart break
I'm so sorry that this will be the end to your story

Forget me not, Grandma
C James Mar 20
Son, I remember smiling faces who
gathered around the television’s glow. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each one.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang out to
me like precious songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember faces who
gathered around the television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang to
me like songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember who
gathered around television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," sang to
me like, my family.

Son, remember who
gathered around. "Are
you?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," to
me, my family.

Son, who
gathered. "Are
you?" Asked.
"Yes," to
me, family.

Who
"Are
you"
to
me.
For my Great-Grandmother
Lorrin Jan 30
Her wand'ring mind doesn't know us,
but we're written on her heart.
Her spoken words have faltered,
they've stopped and just won't start.
Her shaking hands no longer hold
the ones she once held dear.
Her eyes see blind
and her ears no longer hear.
The memories she had of me
are slipping further each day.
Her glassy eyes are showing
she's here, but gone away.
For the grandma I never got to know, because Alzheimer's took her mind away long before her body.
Mallory Jan 30
Now
I’ve known this place before. Hair line fractures on happiness are pathways to purgatory, and when I say I’ve stumbled across love and watched it leave before, it’s not to say that this is any easier. I just came more prepared. More content sitting down in the night with the dark things, and asking about the places they’ve been. I’ve lost myself again, the way my mother keeps losing words. She misplaces them in my chest and I rip my heart out in attempt to give her my memories. Our memories.

Some days you are a reflection of all the things we’ve witnessed once before. I wonder if you ever think about her anymore, or how history has an atrocious way of repeating itself (up close). You keep trying to string things together to make sense of the unraveling world around you, but your hands don’t know the way around a needle and thread anymore. I wear thimbles like armor, and stitch together the things you say you remember, but don’t. Arrows drawn on the remote; symbols and language you weren’t prepared to have stolen from you. We hold our breath not in hope, but in anticipation, waiting for a shimmer, a glimpse, counting every glow of you left. We catch them in laughter, but we know this only grows exponentially the older we get. I know there was a time when you were more than this, but it’s so human of us to forget. Every time you rearrange words, and names, and moments, I pick them apart trying to find you there, but you are somewhere stuck between the ellipsis. You are caught on the semi colon. How do I hold you up and look you in the eyes as you ghost into everything I can not grasp?

Life is sifting your mind until there is
nothing
left
but dust.
Maybe more of a journal entry than a poem?
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