Reibus

Age, illness, poverty, some even face homelessness. I think quite a few people face what this poem is written about. Life had been up and down, and living it seemed a nightmare Imagine how you spend your day and you don't have friends who care You used to work, enjoyed your time, you used to love what you did But now you'd dropped off your world... you didn't ask for your skid You had surgery, you had a stroke, you didn't even know Your memory vanished, your speech had gone, you didn't know where to go One by one people walked away, you didn't know about 'when' Your income dried up, recovery too long, you'd never be normal again Hugs that you'd loved were gone too soon, writing became just your life The only thing that you now could do to stay out of strife You shut yourself into your little room, your voice disappeared too Your tears were just for you now, you hid them because you knew You thought about what was up ahead, where ...

I wrote the poem  "Time to forget"  back in  February 2014 . It's included in this prose. Does this sound like someone you know? She had nothing important to think about. Everything which had been valuable to her had gone. Including her children. They didn't even talk to her now. Lee could remember her history, but it no longer meant anything to her. She remembered her childhood. She knew that she had loved it, but now her parents were dead. Her husband had vanished, wherever she didn't know and didn't care. She had never disconnected the bond between her children and him; she had - then - felt that was important. However they now took him in, she didn't care about. Her only friend was her dog. Beautiful, she thought. She was 13 human years old, but in dog years she would be 91. Or maybe a bit older. Jess would die this year. Maybe. But Lee'd read a poem. She opened her favourite internet website, found the poem. She had loved it. Maybe it was...

The Redcliffe Peninsula Poet's Group is having a concert for the Valentines Day this year, so I wrote this little love poem. This tells a tale of unreal men. Looking out on the full, full moon on the eve of Valentine's Day I thought of my love, a wonderful man and wondered what he would say Would he tell me how much he had loved? Would he tell me who he'd fell for? Would he mention my name, would he compare me? I watched the full moon start to soar It swirled around with the man on its face looking down upon Earth He blinked, then smiled, then winked at me! I felt like I'd just been re-birthed! "Are you alive?" I asked the Man "How do you really live?" He smiled at me and took a deep breath, knowing what he would give "Trust in me," he said to me in a whispered voice very light "I can tell truth, not lies at all - this word is about this night." I sat down on Earth, feeling so tired; the Moon man blew over me Hi...

From my long years as a volunteer at Drury Lane Theatre where I grew up, I had heard the music so many times from the show "Fiddler on the Roof". The song "If I Were a Rich Man" always got me singing with it. I recently heard it again - so this time it lead into a warble of being rich, whether men or women. If I were a rich man... I'd think I'm lucky Just turn off thoughts of this I'm not a man I'm not ever rich I'd like, though, to live on in bliss! My name's not Fiddler (though sometimes I wish) I've never been on a roof Except when I built My own first home... The sale was a burden of proof! If I was a woman... that's gender correct... Do I turn this saying off too? I've got female breasts And other women stuff But I'm treated like I said "I do" I used my brain many years ago I'd tested okay most times If I was thoughtful Thinking ahead I'm not sure I'd still use these ...

Anita felt very grumpy. She had to go up to the local hospital for another test, but she didn’t really believe that they would find anything unless they did the real tests. She knew, she thought she did, what might be in her body, but she had sighed, got frustrated, even got angry, when she’d been up there before. No, they didn’t find anything, and yet she could tell them why her stomach was painful, why she had backaches, why her legs cramped, why there were hours when she couldn’t even see. Every single day she woke up early in the morning in pain, curled up with her stomach feeling like it was due to burst out, her head feeling like a migraine after putting up with the rest of her body for so long – and she believed that! She would lie on her side and concentrate on breathing in, breathing out, long slow breaths which she hoped, every day, would relieve her pain at least a little bit. It was a week since she’d last gone up to the hospital, to Emergency. She’d given them her ...

This seems like how I felt around about this time. There are other stories I wrote this year, similar things. Have you ever felt this way? It was a volcano, waiting to erupt in her body. Her vision was getting blurry. She started to lose her balance. She knew something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t know what it was. It felt like a volcano. It must have been. Her double vision crept over. She could not walk or write. She couldn’t pick up her mobile. She looked out of the window, trying so hard to see what she could have seen every day. She couldn’t. It vanished, into somewhere that she didn’t know. She felt scared. Her blood pressure rose. She was angry. She felt rage. Her body curled up, and she couldn’t stop it. She felt a tremendous headache that wouldn't stop. Please, she cried to herself, please, I will lose consciousness! She lay down on the floor, closed her eyes, tried to regain her breath. Tears ran out of her eyes, across her face, onto the fl...

I'm not a huge christmas fan, but I loved to write a poem about my aneurysm at christmas time. (Clement Clarke Moore wrote originally about Santa.) 'Twas the night before Christmas, all aside from the aneurysm Not a creature was stirring and no one had rheumatism. The stockings were hung - although most didn't exist (In hopes that trees would be added on, but mostly were missed). The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, While visions of Santa danced round in their heads. With me in my nightie, alone with no kids, I'd just settled my aneurysm for a long nap without skids, When out on the lawn there arose such a noise - I sprang from my bed to see who had the voice. Away to the window I flew like a bird, I tore open the curtains, all outside looked blurred. The moon on the breast of the hottest of lawn Looked rather duller and very, very forlorn, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But an awesome PT with no tiny rein-deer, With no littl...