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I used to think age was a state of mind
Working my whole life nose to the grind
Turbulent years have not been kind

Was there a specific moment life rearranged
When I began to notice change
Overtime life dreams became estranged

Began to move a little slower love not as bright
Cancer demands choices joy is out of sight

Illness take its toll
Pain can change the soul
Bulging disc back spasms knees give out
Numb feet neuropathy pain throughout

Forgetful, lost thoughts
The haves, and the have Nots
Memory once Sharp as a tack
Scatterbrain recollection now I lack

I understand why they call
Alzheimer
The long goodbye
Why, did I come into this room?
Frustrated can’t remember gloom looms

  Legs give out falter unexpected falls
Yelling, screaming, crying, deaf ear calls.
On the floor flat on my back
processing where I am at

Not completely aware
How I came to be there
Mental assessment first things first
Instant flood of pain burst

Anything broken bleeding bruised
Knot on the head, lose tooth, blood oozed
I rub emollients to soften and sooth
Aspercreme BenGay, which one to choose

Triage situation urgent versus emergency
Elderly fall risk develop a contingency
Scrapes cuts occasionally a broken wrist
Off kilter slipped twist landed on the fist
Unable to get up nobody around
Floundering helplessly on the ground,

Surgeries total replacement both knees
Unable to put pressure on both of these
Not as simple as it sounds,
To pick yourself up off the ground
I can roll over
Than what?

Scoot crawl wiggle on my backside
Down the hall iPhone the goal my guide
Traverse down a few stairs a slide cried
Instant pain runs down the spine
Pray every moment for strength I’ll be fine

Solution: need a chair to pull up on
Everybody gone for how long?
Quickly learn to fend for myself
Shoot, the iPhone up high on the 3rd shelf

A horrific thought resides
Creeping seeping an emotional tide
After a fall my friend died  
He hit his head on the kitchen granite table
Wounded bleeding Unconscious unstable

He could have lived the police surmise
Elderly incapacitated facts surprise
Investigation what happened evidence resides
Estimated  time on kitchen floor for three days
In and out of consciousness, craze haze

He bleed to death.
On the kitchen floor
His daughters will confess
Never able to talk to him ever more

Nobody came to visit. Not a single call
Loved ones should not die from a fall


A prominent man of well to do means
Living situation wasn’t what it seems
A celebrated man of stature
Tasked in war enemy capture
A battleship under his command
Near his end, he can hardly stand

father of two his children the man they never knew his adoptive family battleship cast and crew
Perhaps each were too busy with their own  
His death they will atone
So many elderly alone

All the lonely people were do they all belong

Inspired song

Eleanor Rigby
(All the lonely people) 1966
By the Beatles bulging disc

BLT Webster’s word of the day challenge
3-7-25 EMOLLIENT
AN EMOLLIENT IS SOMETHING SUCH AS A LOTION THAT SOFTENS AND SOOTHES
I am 64 and my husband is 77. We’re in a new phase of life and it’s not always pretty . My husband is falling all the time, he rolls over and falls out of bed. I had to put up a bed rail. He’s got all his faculties about him, but his numb feet makes him unsteady neuropathy. This is just a brief little picture of some of the elements we’re dealing with, but surely this is  a typical picture of the elderly today. We are now in the phase when our friends are dying I pray. today is a precious gift. sometimes I worry what tomorrow
Will bring. Is today our last normal day??. what will I need to do to survive when he ‘s gone?. Tomorrow is promised to no one live today to the fullest. It could be your last day.. the worry of the unknown I don’t let it take hold, but sometimes it gets the best of me.. death will come for us. All all we can do is smile when he comes to call..
Gideon Mar 8
I love her, but her mind grows weak.
The doctors say she may have a month, maybe a week.
Together, we tell stories. Me, more than her.
The ones that we laugh at and half remember.
I don’t know what I’ll do the day that she dies.
“Together forever” really meant the rest of our lives.
I hope I’ll see her in the great everafter.
But until then, I sit with her and treasure her laughter.
Gideon Mar 8
After darkness fell, stars shone on the outside.
On Chestnut Street, he came to her bedside.
He sat by her deathbed, feeding her soup.
Her pale thin lips barely covered the spoon.
He told her stories he’s told her before.
She tries to breathe with ribs frail and sore.
After many hours, she falls gently asleep.
He hears her last breath and prays God, her soul, will keep.
Saman Badam Feb 6
On yellow sheet of faded whites and blacks,
With twenties' laughter peaking over hats,
A bride in white beside her groom in slacks,
Across the window, near the bedside sat.

The daises fresh were kept in vase at first,
But peaceful days were lost to tiny hands,
By second year, the days were spent in jest,
The tiny terror tracking trails of sand!

As days passed candles longer stayed at nights,
As lady kept her vigil over food,
So, she and he could catch the starry sights,
But not before the child was tucked in bed.

The lady bakes her man's beloved bread,
With sweetest, crunchy crust and spicy smell.
Just after kissing lady, out he fled,
With coffee aftertaste from morning bell.

The son is playing throw and catch with dad,
While heaving ball no farther than four rolls.
With strut triumphant, holding spam in hand,
Declares that she had saved five cents in sale.

The husband washing dishes after meal,
While heart of hearts with needle, mends the rips,
In summer rains, he repairs the roof-seal.
They both in winter enjoy skinny dips.

The child has fever burning one o' two,
The mother cried before the lord and kneeled,
The father threatened doctor that he'd sue,
To cure his son whatever bill it reeled.

The boy is charged and spanked for ***** mouth,
The boy had grown three-fifths a quarterstaff!
The boy then moved away to room in south,
As bed no longer fits their two and half.

The family sets out for Sunday church,
In tight and formal dress with sulky teen.
And after sermon stop for early brunch,
Then homeward bound for chores yet unseen.

As dandelion the boy has flown afar!
The lady knits as Christmas drifts away.
The lord of house has lost the balding war!
She hides from mirrors showing white and gray.

Awaiting granddaughter’s letters every morn,
And taking longer walks along the lake.
While holding me to breast, they softly warn,
That only death together may them take.

Then moved away from lovely bedside stand,
And packed inside the cardboard box with rest,
In shadowed attic I was left to guard,
The tales of dad and mom were laid to rest.
The life of a loving, wedded couple in 1950s from the perspective of a wedding photo.
dilated tears, those that cut through your eyes – in the
silence of hope, I know love will call for me part-time;
working myself just to prove forever. but it always stays
the same, fighting the headache of it all – smiles dissolving
away like an aspirin in a glass of water

where you rest your mind on everything you had; memories
are just gravestones, where we bury ourselves in – hoping
they too find their resurrection

in memory; I’ve written dreams of love on chiselled marble
slabs – lettered in gold, where we loved each other, close
enough to death; ending if all off as two concrete bodies

love makes death jealous, on how good it plays the waiting
game. the still waiting of a grandparent, who reaches their
own old age, knowing in death, they will finally meet their
lover once again.
                love is age, and that love is beautiful!
Raj Gaurav Jan 16
We live,
We suffer long enough
To die,
Ask a man , old,
Older than those streets,
Who moulds memories in the footpath
Of misery,
1 or a million die in his existence
Still he lives,
He lives In those ashes n graves
And questions,
Is he a boon or so unloved to be betrayed by death,
His bones tremble n crack,
Lifting weight of dead
Dead that were ones alive
To make him stop question
That why he lives,
Now as he narrows down
His vision to embrace,
He personifies
His desperation to die,
Be it the scarf or the pen,
Or Rotting in the fen,
Or bathing in the acid,
Or not so happy ig placid,
Be it the snakes or the worms,
Or leaches in their throngs,
Devouring his curse,
As he crumble down his purse,
He whisper to his lady,
Who lives in her arcady,
They will cross their paths aboon,
As he still thinks,
He will get his death so soon.
Sometimes all we want is death , as time passes we see our loved ones passing away as leaves in fall. We just think is it all what we wanted to live more to suffer more and more of this misery, and in the end we tend to run towards the phenomenon we freighted our whole life,
DEATH!
Zywa Jan 10
A row of benches

bends along the garden paths --


for the elderly.
Autobiographical story "Verdwijnpunt" ("Vanishing point", 2020, Wytske Versteeg), chapter 4

Collection "Actively Passive"
Zywa Jan 2
The ancient duty
to take care of each other:
taxes came from it
so we had to learn to count

Great fun, we count
paving stones and marbles
the candles on the cake
and the money in our name

We understand the world
and classify everything properly
young and old, poor and rich
(stereotypes that grow with us)

until the numbers become too large
so many repetitions and memories
added up a rich life
that must be celebrated

Now no candles
but everyone is present
whether they want a piece of cake or not
and all children are there
Collection "New Ago"
rose Dec 2024
In the dawning of my years, I've found
A love that makes my heart abound
With joy and laughter, sweet and true
I'm happy to age with you

As time marches on, we grow old
But our love only grows bold
Through wrinkles and graying hair, we'll see
The beauty in our love's history

We'll reminisce on days gone by
And cherish every tear and sigh
For growing older has its charms
In each other's arms

I'm happy to be in love with you
To face the years, both old and new
Hand in hand, we'll walk this stage
And grow older, but never age

So let the years come rolling in
We'll face them with a sweet, contented grin
For in each other, we find our youth
And the eternal truth

That love is timeless, ageless, free-
And in your arms is where I'll be
So, let the days turn into years
I'll grow older with you, my dear.
アラン Nov 2024
The end of Memory
Hard and dull, matt surface
Plaster white and bitter
Tasting of no return, no reruns
Just a passing out of reach
Animate to inanimate
Clockwork spring extending

End of memory
Not forgetfulness of a Lotus eater's gape
Nor distance crowded out
With noise and meaning filling
All the gaps
The spaces left for colour and
The lines that merge in a single
Perspective point

Of memory
Gradual fading and graduation
Stutters of old strangeness
Pretences of identity
Nighttime of distant blues
Past sunsets
Or mountains drawn
Childish grey pyramids
Sinking in childish grey sands

Memory
Unspoken and
Matt and
Linear and
Lunar and
Lastly
And
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