Magazine Posts

He went down the path.
An old trail to some,
Towards a place of adventure,
which was yet to come.
A road, he could see,
could very soon become,
a date with his destiny.
He came to the edge
of a wide canyon below.
Venturing forth now, with eland;
down life's trail he went
to become a new man.
The trail he trod,
was his most recent challenge.
A challenge, from his God.
Be a kind person,
the rest of your life.
Provide care to others
as well as your wife.
For her I will be,
the pillar of her strength,
doing it now, for I love thee.

I can hear you now.
You don't have to yell.
We're in the same house,
the place where we dwell.
Must you talk this way?
There is no kindness here now,
so yelling doesn't set well.
A need for a fresh drink,
when you're acting so weird,
pointing at your shoes, I think
is not the message, meant.
I'm not your slave.
Ease up. Please do relent
for I live here too
and I pay bills and the rent.

What happens when a mind you know well,
tips over the edge into the mental Hell
of Dementia? A disease you cannot see,
except the changes to your loved one, Thee.

When I was a young man, I purchased a
car. The car was a 1930, 2 door, Model A
Ford. It was in a friends garage, up on
blocks, with the original wooden spoked
wheels and the tires too. I made an offer
to this family friend. He sold me the car
for $100.
The first thing I did was replace the tires
and wheels, as the original tires were
cracked and wouldn't hold air.
The interior was remarkably fine. No holes
to see. The body had a few minor dents from
a small collision with some immovable object.
Very little damage to a car, older than I.
A battery had been installed in the car
but it also had a hand crank, which was still
there. The gas tank was placed in front of the
windshield and had a device in the fill cap which
showed you what the gas level was. There was
a choke and a spark retard on the steering column.
You started the car by turning on the key and pressing
a Start button, after you activated the choke to supply
fuel. The car was enjoyable to me, at an earlier life.
Now I wish I still had my car. A black, 2 door Model A Ford.

Is it any wonder when
you're not right in the head;
when you need to be social,
but now this therapy is dead.
Do you understand?
Of course you do not
for those with Dementia,
what have we now got?
Nothing! Nothing, I say
will every make this
a very good day.

You're getting worse.
Certainly not better.
Dementia I hate,
Even the "D" letter.

I stand near you,
close by your side,
as you wash your face,
at another evening tide.
A sadness now,
creeps over me,
as my thoughts
are about the reverie.
Caring for you now,
for what I see,
is an older child
with a lost memory.
I will help you,
as much as I can,
but this loss of thee,
is breaking this man.

It's been too long a journey,
as it nears the end.
No more this life of madness
of having to pretend,
to believe in the absolute goodness
of the almighty man.
Return me now to the land
where my life began.

When you left me on that day,
as I recall, it was in May.
Your body was here. Your mind gone.
A long lived couple, now I'm alone.
Alone I will sit, within the room.
No noise here, just like a tomb.
No one to talk to, but I see,
you are lost, in your reverie.

Perhaps you will soon surmise,
seeing the hurt within her eyes.
She can't remember anything.
A lament which will always bring,
a sadness for me to sing.

What can I say
on this beautiful day,
to keep you happy?
I wish I knew,
for I am the happiest,
when I am with you.

He walked alone,
over the bridge,
heading for town,
nine miles away.
He didn't have wheels,
for his work was gone.
He slept in the field,
with his old sleeping bag,
using a drop cloth, beneath
to avoid the dampness.
In the morning hours,
he arose from his place,
to look for some work,
so he could pay his way.
It was, for him,
another most beautiful
day. A day to rejoice,
about his lonely life.
Where else, in the World,
would I rather be,
than being able to write an Ode,
such as remembered by me?