Light that once sifted through those four glazing bars on your old front door is now granulated
by the dust upset from my attendance.
We use to play tic-tac-toe on the image of those four muntin bars.
Our few favorite spots that we chased down the room as the sun fell behind the horizon.
Those have since been replaced by clutter
and shards of your likeness.
It embanks your house hallways
like sod in trenches.
Is a battleground
moth eaten artifacts that once captured your life.
Your living room:
Is a mothballed graveyard
guilty of the genocide
on the relics of your lifetime
Is an upright coffin.
Where your decrepit outfits hang suffocated
under plastic sleeve.
I can imagine you,
submitting to the orbits of the earth.
Becoming one with this lackluster sty.
Singing your final goodbyes.
When I am old I will say what I think
And not worry to be thought a clown or a fool.
When I am old I will borrow from youth
As guiltlessly as a child robs the cookie jar.
When I am old I will throw away fashion
And dress myself solely in comfort as I please.
When I am old I will share anger I feel
Instead of letting it take bites out of my soul.
When I am old I will walk away quickly
From those who’s motives I find to be suspect.
When I am old I will sleep in my chair
And have picnics on my bed if I so choose.
When I am old I will go to the places
That in youth I deemed not appropriate.
When I am old I will will buy stuff that sparkles
Simply because I like shiny things.
When I am old I will sing when I feel it
And not fret that my voice isn’t pretty.
When I am old I will pet everyone’s puppies
And laugh as they lick all over my face.
When I am old I will stop tearing up like a fool
When parade marching bands with their banners go by.
When I am old I will be sprung from this prison
Referred to as rational adult behavior.
When I am old.
Yes, when I am old.
The bold cupola at his summit reflects
neon lights from bulbs above, crowned
by precious thin silver hair, barely cascading
over a wide and wrinkled forehead.
Two dense detached bushy arches linger
to their original dark brown tone, only a few
white brow hairs are longer, magnified by opaque
thick lenses of plastic orange glasses,
resting on a disproportionately big red nose,
outshining round green eyes in venous sclera.
Falling cheeks of sad old dogs, Dumbo ears
hearing only through pale hi-tech gadgets.
Rotten teeth, some lost to empty spaces,
concealed by infolded arid purple lips,
in the midst of an unshaved beard tobacco
stains, where arch crumbs hide in disguise.
A bloated stomach denotes long lasting
faithfulness to a wife married ages before,
a ring castrating a swollen left annular
as he speaks on an archaic phone.
Dressed in an azure shirt meticulously
ironed, beige corduroy trousers, a maroon
jacket on his forearm, a worn out bowler hat
on the counter. I stare at his hunchback.
He stirs his coffee for much longer
than necessary in search of eye contact,
someone physical to talk to, furtively
swallowing a tablet or two gulping water.
Bringing his handkerchief to the mouth to be
proper, he drinks the boiling hot Italian brew,
with an air of surrender as drops inevitably fall
on his nice and shiny polished burgundy shoes.
Every three seconds someone in the world is diagnosed with dementia, that works out as 9.9 million new cases of dementia world wide each and every year. In 2017 the number of sufferers was said to be just under 50 million, this number is set to almost double every 20 years.
I am walking for a world where people do not have to live in fear of losing themselves before they lose their lives. Where the only wandering that takes place is not up and down corridors, in streets, or in care homes but is that wonder of what life was like for those that suffered. Where the only reason that questions are asked is because people don't have to experience what it's like to have to lose a loved one to this disease. Where hands can feed their own mouths, where brains don't shut down, where people recognise the sound of their own voice, their reflection, where mirrors don't scream rejection.
I am walking for a time when people have a sense of time, of the date, of the year, where they don't live in fear of a diagnosis that stamps them with an expiration date, that defines and underlines the heavy hearted fate they are yet to await.
Where the only memories lost are the memory loss of what these symptoms and statistics sound like.
Where the only thing misplaced is the difficulties faced, because no one has to endure this illness anymore.
I am walking for a world without dementia.
Any and all donations welcome.
The story of their life
is nearing the fag end,
The graph of the health
has a sharp descend.....
The world is rushing
it's own race,
Their lives don't flow
at that pace...
Possessing a rich and gorgeous
past to share,
But hardly find anyone
to give an ear.....
Chicks flew away
in pursuit of their quest,
The elder couple
is lonely in their nest....
and the doctor's visits
Are prioritizing their
"to do" lists....
Waiting for festivals,
when kids pay visit.
Their childhood moments,
the minds revisit.....
limbs poorly coordinating.
Hearts are weary,
Eagerly wait to meet
with other elderly,
To accompany on the walks,
and to talk heartily......
Relaxing and rejuvenating
laughter at the sunset.
The sun sets daily,
the hopes are alive yet...........
Today I Zagged
When I should have Zigged
I settled for safe
When I should have bigged.
An old man's fancy
I'm glad it's still there
That I will always want to
Leap up from my chair.
But time to be grateful
For the way out when it's offered
Now the Spring is Sprung
And my knees have turned awkward.
I'll settle I think
For the Brandy & Port
And not dwell on what I didn't
But that I did what I ought.
Better not to take risks
A week from retirement
In Work, at Play
As the Flirt-er or the Flirt-ant.
Age has as it's envoi
A phrase or two worth while
Leave the Zig-Zag to the young
Make them smile, if you can,
Make them smile.
Tommy Randell 2017 05 16 00:34 BST
I am young,
And I am fearless.
Nothing can hurt me,
And I will not fall in love.
I am dumb,
And I am learning.
I don't know everything,
But I will never fall in love.
I am older,
And I am wiser.
I have her to teach me now,
But I am still not falling in love.
She is peace,
And I am war.
I know I said so before,
But I will never fall in love.
I am hers,
And she is mine.
I've been lying all these years,
Because now I am finally in love.
She is old,
And so am I.
The book we wrote needs a close.
So we are in love,
And you will be too.
Maybe today, tomorrow,
But hopefully very soon.
When you find it -
This I promise you,
Don't say you're not in love,
Because you'll be lying too.