Days Pass - Joan Etoile

Measured by medications
The wheel of the pill dispenser 
Goes inexorably round
And is filled each week in a ritual
After breakfast and blood pressure testing.

To see that it’s safely down
To the recommended level.

On go my glasses as
The pills all look the same to me
There are so many to marshal 
Jumping like fish from the foil packets
Elusive under the furniture. 

Now which of them are for breakfast and
Which ones are to go with my tea?

Joan Etoile

Image : Pixabay - ID 27707

Walking amongst you - Tony Bradley

I've been advised to walk backwards, and sideways
in order to improve my balance, and gait
I always avoided PEOPLE watching me walk
'cos it's never been normal, not even straight .

Backwards, sideways, on the beach
but only when I'm on my tod
'cos if too many PEOPLE actually see me
they'll be talking together, saying I'm odd .

It's essential that I do it, said the specialist man
so I'm persevering with it, a bit each day
I go out of view, or 'PEOPLE' will laugh at me
and white-coated ones might carry me away.

Tony Bradley

Image : Pixabay - creozavr

Tinnitus - Trudie Shannon

It’s always raining in my head
Sometimes there are cross-winds
And often interminable white noise,
Static that comes before and after storms.
Always raining, from light hissing drizzle
To persistent shards pounding the windows of my eyes.
Sometimes when the night is weighty with silence
I hear the globules of rain flaunt descant and harmony as
They drift around the contours of my skull in vivid orchestration
Often the wind rises exponentially
Obliterating my hope for potential creativity.
Yes, it’s always raining in my head.
Within the landscape of my cranium I have the auditory pulses
Of every season
Soft April showers
The cascade of summer flood
Autumnal gales
And Winter snow’s vibrato hiss.
Always, always raining in my head
With static, that interminable white noise
That comes before and after storms.

Trudie Shannon

NHS - Richard Fleming

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning …

The ward is a war-zone, a battlefield
where daily dies our confidence,
our grounds for hope, our energy.
Each start of shift, we rise to face
an enemy whose strength exceeds
our fearful expectations.
Poorly equipped, still we advance,
driven by our integrity,
while, on all sides, the dying plunge
downward through a corrupted sea,
their last breaths greenly frothing out
from choked throats as they spiral down.

Our masters moralise and watch,
hand-wringing as the casualties
increase in numbers day by day.
Spruce Generals, they spend hours with charts
while we must soldier on each day.
To those who fill the wards, the sick,
for whom there is scant hope, we fight,
but these are not good deaths, instead
men thrash in panic towards the end
as a green sea invades their lungs.
We do our utmost, still they die,
the old, the hardly old, the young.

Through night-shift trenches, barbed-wire days,
we grimly trudge, barely awake,
round-shouldered, prematurely old,
towards our shift-end scrubbing-down,
a brief respite and restless rest.
The virus takes no prisoners
and those it spares are subtly changed:
their swagger gone, they rise each day
aware of their fragility
while, night and morning, we return,
dog-tired, to grapple with our fear
because there are no conscripts here.

Richard Fleming

Something's Gonna Get Ya - Stephen A. Roberts

The dinosaurs never watched TV
But they knew they’d die eventually
Just something in the air they sensed
Wasn’t right, it was no coincidence

Bronty craned her neck to see
The approaching calamity
The Sun had gone she wondered why
No Pterodactyls crossed the sky

Tyrannosaurus wasn’t bored
He was working on his hoard
His massive bones were later found
With a pile of creatures all around

Even Stego the herbivorous charmer
Felt an itch beneath his armour
And worried that there might be a chance
That he’d soon run out of plants

So each of them found their own way
To face their final judgement day
And one by one they fell down dead
Asleep forever in their fossil beds

Stephen A. Roberts

Today Was The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life - Lyndon Queripel

Well, first of all I woke up late
I’m usually out by half past eight
The thought of work depressed me so
I decided that I would not go
Tossing and turning in my bed
I tried to go back to sleep instead
My eyes were tired, burning red
And there was an aching in my head
It was afternoon when I got up
And put some coffee in a cup
When I looked around in dismay
To find there was no milk today
The bread was in a stale state
And way past its sell by date
I turned on the t.v,the news of course
Yet another war, more military force
Followed by the weather forecast
The Sun would shine but wouldn’t last
Then I had to switch it off fast
Next was a party political broadcast
Thought I had some mail for a minute
But there was only a bill in it
I tuned the radio, forget the D.J’s name
It’s funny how they all sound the same
“The Top Ten Countdown” said the voice
Well one man’s music is another man’s noise
The telephone rang and I answered
“Sorry, wrong number.” is all I heard
So I looked out the window and the door
Nothing seemed any different than before
I read the paper, who’s wed, bred and dead
Then feeling rather tired I went back to bed.

Lyndon Queripel

Suffering - Tony Gardner

I caught a little virus
at the local shopping Mall
It just jumped into my basket,
wasn't chasing it at all
It's knocked me sort of sideways,
and I'm feeling awful rough
I've got a raging headache
and a horrid, hacking cough.
My throat it seems on fire
You should hear my fearsome sneeze
My energy more equal to
a languid summer breeze

But do I get sympathy ?
You bet your life I don't

I'm surrounded here by tablets
Lozenges and Vicks
Paracetamol and Lemsip
Still I'm feeling sick
My lovely kids can't give a toss
they're busy on their phones
My faithful dog keeps pestering me
for Walkies and his bone.
I'm in a truly awful state
But there's worse I'm telling you
My wife just told our neighbour
"Oh, he's only got Man Flu".

Tony Gardner

Two Things That Should Never Mix - Kathy Figueroa

He wasn’t supposed to be born that way
But it wasn’t something he could choose
You see, his mother was a party girl
And really liked the booze

So he was awash with alcohol though,
As an embryo, shouldn’t have been drinking
Now he’s got problems and owes it all
To the fact his mother wasn’t thinking

“Fetal Alcohol Syndrome” or “FAS”
Is how the condition is commonly defined
It not only affects folks physically
It also affects the mind

Poor concentration, focus that flops
Around like a flag in the wind -
Pregnant women simply shouldn’t imbibe
Or else against the unborn they’ve sinned…

…By taking away their capacity
To have lives that are happy and productive
And ensuring a host of problems that are
Socially alienating and destructive

FAS means there’s no ability to understand
That there are consequences to actions
It also often means trouble with the law
Because of negative attractions

Being naïve and malleable, never
The master of their own mind
Their only hope is for an environment
That’s protective, structured, and kind

Some brutally hard facts,
Ones which no one likes to say,
Are that the condition is preventable
…And won’t ever go away

Alcohol and pregnancy are
Two things that should never mix
Lest there be problems that doctors
And prayers simply can’t ever fix.

Kathy Figueroa

Young Smokers - Diane Scantlebury

As he gazed up from his buggy with wondrous eyes,
A plume of mushroom shaped smoke
Hovered darkly above his head,
Poisonous fumes from the glowing stick
His mother clenched between her lips,
He marvelled as she exhaled,
Every puff obscuring her face
In a peek-a-boo game he’d played before,
She’d reappear suddenly with a throaty cough
Then bend and sweep him up,
Pressing his face into the familiar
Acrid perfume of her jumper,
He was too young to have a choice
Or to know that her selfish habit,
Would eventually cause
His untimely death.

Diane Scantlebury

That Virus - Kathy Figueroa

Once I lay on
A hospital bed
Coughing and hacking
And feeling half dead

I'd gone to the ward
Called "Emergency"
But had to wait and wait
Though ill as could be

My body was wracked
With thunderous sneezes
Gasps, gurgles, and
Scary wheezes

I was choking, gasping
…Struggling for air
And wondered, if I died
If they’d notice or care

In the distance, a machine
Kept going "beep, beep"
The ceiling fan hummed
I couldn’t fall asleep

The doctor finally saw me
But just said "Come back if it gets worse"
I figured that, by then,
I’d be travelling by hearse

Somehow, in spite of them
I managed to survive
And it feels darn good
To still be alive

That bronchial virus
Was an awful thing
And a cruddy way
To welcome Spring

Kathy Figueroa

That Virus was first published in The Bancroft Times newspaper on August 20, 2015.

Diets - Julie Gallienne

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in August 2012

Is it a sin
or a guilty pleasure
to cheat on a diet you seem to have been on forever?
Deprived of the foods
we believe we deserve
is it any wonder
we head for defeat?
Intentions declared
with enthusiasm
we head
the well followed path
that many tread.
Some have succeded
where many have failed
held up as examples
they have willpower nailed.
A beautiful body
is the prize to be won
but the race we are running
can never be fun.

Julie Gallienne

About A Bunion - Kathy Figueroa

I thought I’d pen a poem
All about a “bunion,”
But t’would be easier
To versify “onion.”
They’ve something in common
Though, and I’ll tell you why:
Both “bunions” and “onions”
Are bound to make you cry.

Kathy Figueroa

Ten is the Magic Number - Diane Scantlebury

Ten is now the magic number
I’ve become a statistic,
Ten years of survival
If I’d blinked hard
I could’ve missed it,
Why ten should be so special
Why not six or seven?
I suppose if it was only nine
By now I’d be in heaven,
I guess I should be glad to be alive
And be grateful for the significance
Ten has given it,
Pleased to be a lucky one
In the fifty percent that’s made it,
Be happy that the wheel of fortune
Has spun the right way for me,
For one in two is always better
Than one in four, or three.

Diane Scantlebury

Meditation - Diane Scantlebury

So deep, I sink
Deep breath, inhale
Exhale, relax
Letting thoughts be still,
No sound inside my head
Let outside clamour,
Muffled noise
Unable to break in,
Deeper, I sink further
To a place of inner peace,
Conscious, yet unconscious,
Lifted and light
My body transported,
Finger tips and lips tingle
Eyes closed,
Breathe in, then out
Comfortable and chilled,
Almost asleep, but awake
I am aware of my surroundings,
Yet locked into
A warm, comforting sanctuary,
I don’t want to come back,
Until reluctantly my eyelids
Slowly flicker open,
Hello world
I’m still here.

Diane Scantlebury

The Great War - Aindre Reece-Sheerin

Aindre added this note to his poem which is why it has been put on an 'adult page'; "Please note this is not for the faint of heart or weak stomach."

The Great War - Aindre Reece-Sheerin

Great Uncle Patrick fought in the Great War
wounded very early on he told stories
of what went on with the Black and Tans
and how badly they treated Irish people

all the while his war wound would surface during
every other sentence as he had shrapnel
still inside his lungs and even on
an August day he sat by a roaring fire

roll of toilet paper in one hand and
gesticulating expressively with the other
then up it would come from the depths
Cough and Spit he called them
the two Flemish comedians

and into the paper he would spit mid sentence
calmly continuing the conversation, folding neatly as you like
leaving room for one more go and once the paper was sufficiently weighted
to the back of the fire he flicked it with a deftness unrivalled
and sit there and hiss and sizzle until it dried and then burned

hacccccaahhhh gurrrraaaach (spit)
over and over this would happen without any
formality, just routine and telling jokes all the time
until to bed he would go and then the real pantomime began

The house was always immaculate
dark brown stained doors stained glass front window
tiny rooms but with a huge kitchen
and always some scone or cake on the go

I remember being asked if I would stay over one night
and throughout the night he would call out Oh
Jesus, I'm done, I'm going Mary
Mary being his sister and my Great Aunt

A woman of kindliness unsurpassed a woman of substance who
wore bright blue bloomers and proud of them showing them on the Sea Saw and equally proud of being called Miss
never married, but a dancer supreme with numerous suitors

She shared the home and put up with the daily task of listening to many stories over and over and watching as we (I did anyway)
split out sides laughing at the eccentric actions
that only our family would take in our stride

he told many a near knuckle joke and so popular
was he that any Wake (Irish Funeral) and first
on the invite would he be

A hairdresser by trade and sported a fedora
drove a Volkswagen Fastback
drove it until Great Aunt Mary took his licence away
we would again laugh saying he kept death off the
roads by spending most of his time driving on the pavements

Sitting in his rocking chair with his checked blanket
and boiled sweets, a good and gentle man
God fearing and on that one night only
that I stayed, over and over he called

'it won't be long now Mary
oh Jesus, I'm dying
Oh God help me'
and I called out, 'I wish he'd hurry up
so we can all get some sleep'

He survived for many years after that
and I remember he offered to pay me
for staying the night and I was upset
but really I should have paid him for the entertainment

I can still hear him struggling to breathe and bringing up
phlegm laden cough after cough
I do not ever remember him complaining
and can even smell still the turf on the fire and hear the sizzle
of the gunk he had no choice but to bring up day in day out

Aindre Reece-Sheerin

A Melancholy Tale - Joan Raleigh

This sad ode has a bit of a sting
as I recall when I used to be thin.
The memory’s clearer than I’d like it to be
since my hour-glass figure became history.

Years ago I would trough-in chips
cooked in oil and cheesy dips.
Then I’d plaster butter on my bread -
‘laid with a trowel’ my husband said.

Drinking wine or a rum and coke
went well watching tele and having a smoke.
I didn’t know back then that in time
gravity was lurking along the line.

I guess I should have exercised,
instead of stretching to oversized!
But I know now I’ve learnt my lesson
and doing a regular training session.

I’m counting the calories, each damn one,
before my feet are eclipsed and gone.
The programme’s tough, to build muscle anew,
and the fitness instructor’s quite nice too!

Joan Raleigh

5 A Day - Jenny Hamon

5 a day is what they say
We need to keep ourselves healthy
By hard as I try
I cannot lie
I can never eat more than three

The vitamins are good to have in our food
They keep coughs and colds at bay
But I find that the roughage
Knocks out all my stuffing
If I try to eat 5 a day

So who made this idea for us to adhere
Have they tried to stick to the rule?
Cos if they can
Without visiting the pan
They must have the insides of a mule

I will try to eat more fruit and veg
And maybe cut down on the fat
But just an apple a day
Keeps the doctor away
And I’ll be happy with that

Jenny Hamon

Diets - Julie Gallienne

Is it a sin
or a guilty pleasure
to cheat on a diet you seem to have been on forever?
Deprived of the foods
we believe we deserve
is it any wonder
we head for defeat?
Intentions declared
with enthusiasm
we head
the well followed path
that many tread.
Some have succeded
where many have failed
held up as examples
they have willpower nailed.
A beautiful body
is the prize to be won
but the race we are running
can never be fun.

Julie Gallienne