Thou art a gnashgab mewling wretch,
Thy face doth like a codfish stretch!
Thou art a boil-brained muck-sprout,
A maggot-pie with addled snout!

Thou fustilugs, lily-livered mumblecrust,
Thy wit hath gathered quite some dust.
Thou art a motley-minded lout,
A hedge-born knave without clout!

Thou warped and wayward sock-knocker,
A cumberworld, a scobberlotcher.
A flibbertigibbet, saddle-goose fool,
Who'd lose a battle with a stool!

Thou art a shrivel-headed apple-john,
A dalcop, pribbling bobolyne!
Away, thou canker-blossomed pest,
With thou weather-worn poorly-mannered jest!

©️Lizzie Bevis

your empty words are not heavy
…they’re  hollow
it’s the hidden meanings that trip me
though your sharp words fail me
they may slice but can’t cut me
and if I were to fall
I’ll slip down your tongue
…hang off your lip
if you were to speak at all

The bull necked man
with a single thought
could only muster one retort
“****” he said
and a million Wildean thoughts
cascaded in my head
and ultimately I said
nothing

Mama
Hugs me
Whispering soft letters
That sing together
And let off a gentle glow
They warm me up
And heal my scars

She builds me a sailboat
And I float
Float
Float
Up into cotton candy clouds

She is my sail
She makes smiles creep onto my face
Floating along
My world of haziness
My boat dancing
In the soft breeze
Which caresses my skin
Her whispers singing
Against it

Then I hear splashing
The waves are now rolling
Higher then I can handle
Their insults weaving their way
In and out

Pebbles are tossed at me
Until they are boulders
And my sail is sinking
And my boat is sinking
And I too, am sinking
Down
Down
Down

And now
I drown
In my sea of tears
The waves
Still thrashing me around
And I sift about
Like sand
Letting them
Drag me

I go
In and out
Of school and insults
In and out
Of my home, and warmth
Their words go
In and out
As they settle in my skin
And bleed out of my eyes
Leaving marking on my face
Until I hold onto
Every word they say.
Til I too am a wave
Washing my brain
Filling it with pain
Sifting around in the abyss of my head
I've sunk

As I begin to lose
my sweet memory
The flotsam and jetsam
and ephemery.

The regrets, the injustice,
the pain and despair
The resentments, the insults,
the hurts and the fear.

The timeless reminders
of not good enough
That pale yellow post it:
“Hasn’t got the right stuff.”

That time that you said
what no one would say
“I don’t really love you
now please go away.”

Most of it gone now,
I can’t quite remember
It whispers to me
from a foggy December.

Am I better off for it?
Perhaps in some way
Have I gained from the loss?
It’s a bit hard to say.

I need no longer sit here
and artfully languish
In all the sad fury
of my piquant anguish.

Like my father before me
I’m one of those old timers
Reaping the benefits
of beneficent Alzheimer’s.