Unthought Feelings Deep

So by chance he espied a glance of your grinning soul
And as your witted smile warmed the dying man’s room
Your nursey self took charge to ask the daughter what’s up
While this pobre social worker heart upsoared—vroom!

Twas a broken wiper and no path to offer an assist
With appointments so varied and faraway to keep
Another fare-thee-well and a spare cheek unkissed
Seeing the ring, he buried unthought feelings deep

But when you’re a halfpenny
How do you compete with a coin of gold?
It’s just the same old thing—
A never to be love, the usual story oft told

But the angels came and spoilt this fine story
Took one heart but then left the other so alone
The prayers fell out all over for the one taken to glory
But in the dark the left behind keen and moan

Across the road, the river, the plains, and a state line
The hurt is shared but the yearning put up and folded away
Wishing for her many happy days and nights, cool and fine
And hush, maybe we can share a Texas sunset one easy day

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Following No One

I seem to be slouching
Forward onto my hospice bed
But I still remember my name
And I’m sure the cat’s been fed
But I can’t open the Just Tart Cherry
And the shoulder’s crap as per usual
All the Senators have stopped representing
Their polity with a calm and disdain casual
Tracked my keys into the box
Outside the box of what I can remember
Who I am and where I’m going—
I’m sure Fest Acadien is still in November
Pouring the second merlot
They say it’s good for my heart
I should move over to Alexandria
If I’d ever own what it is to be smart
Summter lingers on here is Austin
Need to replace the ac filter soon
I hope the rains pass soon
I wanna to see the Harvest Moon
But I know what’s coming
And I should get ready
But I’m so tired these days
And my thoughts are unsteady
To pack all this important stuff again
Boxes in boxes, memories in stiff cardboard
I had followed her here, a path made easy
But now to move for myself, O Lord
I’ll die here in Casablanca
Or any likely foreign shore
Not ready for the next chapter
Not alone, at least; not anymore
But time to let Jack out into the night’s stew
Hey Mr Tambourine Man
In the jingle jangle morning…

Progression

Now she’s gone
And it’s just me left here.
No, I don’t really think
I’d like another beer.
It’s a progression
In the park where
We used to walk over,
Is now all covered up
In a new spray of clover.
It’s a progression
And memories of us
Are now hard to hold onto;
The doctor says perhaps four months
Then I’ll be gone too.
It’s a progression
All the happy turns sad
About the time of sunset.
You wouldn’t like it here;
That I had agreed now I regret.
It’s a progression
Our kids are good;
I think we did pretty well;
Now nurses and lawyers—
All grown up from Farmer in the Dell.
It’s a progression
Yes, it’s time to rest
And for you to go.
I love you for coming,
I just wanted you to know.
It’s a progression

Musing

You asked of late how I was,
I failed to answer.
I was in the company of Misery,
But not to fret;
Misery has been my companion long these short 62 years.
We are old close-kept friends,
But such marvelous blues:
Steel, royal, sky, ice, midnight,
And the pale blue-white of late sunset:
A miserable color as neither pure nor hearkening of dark.
But my friend—
I am well enough to run a half-mile
And smart enough to take a dosage of sufficient aspirin;
I no longer hurt so much,
But for the loneliness.
Misery shares such liberally with me,
We both explore the Small Empty.
In the fullness of Time I have shared great times
And small reverses with co-workers and patients and their families,
But no more.
I’m in between opportunities,
So I remain,
Yours truly,
Musing….

Parkinson

Spilt coins on the carpet
Spices caressing the air
James’ shaking disease commands
We ought to dance like we don’t care

Oui, another pinot, merci
Bacchus masks an old shadow
What, we care not what you forgot
Another Substantia nigra shrinks to narrow

Senora sweetly dozes
As the tears slowly marshal
Daughter brushes back an errant hair
Yes, to a funeral mass she was partial

Two years on hospice
A prognosis most errant
Dementia promises times’ ever length
Tell you when? We shouldn’t…we can’t

Returned coins nestle in a purse
Plates back to the scullery
Love your loved one with Parkinson’s
Keep to today, tomorrow stays a mystery

His Own Way

Begging your pardon
I’ve not a blessed thing to say
Could you look into these eyes—
I watched my Papa die today

He went pretty easy
He went how he wanted
No extra measures called for
No one’s gonna be haunted

Asking your blessing
But what can I do for you?
You share your smile with the angels
Can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?

Papa died clean
Papa died in his own bed
Hospice got their dnr
But Papa went his own way instead

Families walk over the worst when at their best
Your heroic work is done, son, now take you rest

There Was That Tear That Refused To Fall

There was once that tear that refused to fall
It lingered long but turned deaf to gravity’s call
A hospice someone had thanked and departed
Seems the end can be a long time before it is started

Instructions passed calmly for our nurse erstwhile
Morphine administered to salve a torment febrile
Half, then, quarter, then, tenth of breaths short taken
The daughter was only too aware though rudely shaken

Why did God allow such stupid pain to tartly linger?
Cannot God wave it all away with a half-crooked finger?
The line is that it is not ever ours to even wonder
At the lithe petal that can mock the mighty thunder

Mother then at long last breathed her living last
And son and daughter became bereaved newly-cast
And that tear that just would not suffer to fall
Was joined in torrents heeding mourning’s pall
A history written and rewritten for the to-be-departed
Seems the end can be a long time before it’s even started

Without A Doubt

My mind has closed
Though my eyes are wide open.
Nurse Practitioner says six months:
No more.
Time to get real—
Make copies for the lock to the door…

Mine eyes have seen the Glory,
But that’s not for me.
Got to complete a DNR
For sure.
God, it’s too real—
There IS NO CURE.

Can hardly catch my breath
But my heart is full.
Medicare or Medicaid?
It’s such a blur—
Lilly can handle it
Of that I’m sure.

Yes, God has quit:
Apostasy has its rewards.
My memory escapes,
But I pray for clarity.
I know I don’t make sense—
I embrace your kind charity.

“Weak, I have become”
“Strong with the Force I am,
But not that strong—“
No doubt.
But it doesn’t take a Jedi
To let it all hang out.

The wide yon abyss calls—
Ringed in heather, grace, and lavender;
All the papers are signed—
Please pardon my scrawl.
Laissez le Bontemps Roulez
Y’all!

Ritardando

Chubby cheeked cherub
Racing with the wind and the cat,
All is simply simple.
All is hugs and parents’ smile.
Now homework weighs so much.
Nary a grin in quite a while.
How goes it?
We’ll see.
So she is now gone
Like a faded away chord.
The little angel has flown;
A young lady is now aboard.
How goes it?
We’ll see.

Now abed in New Burnt Oaks;
The white coat says six months or so.
Daughter is my power attorney—
Do you need anything Papa…no, baby, no.
But do you remember racing the wind?
But do you remember hugs all day?
I’m so sorry I can’t run with you now.
I’m sorry things have turned out this way.
How goes it?
We’ll see.

Now I am gone away
Like a faded away minor chord.
Daughter chases grandson across the yard.
Both are very much simply adored.
How will it all go?
You’ll see.

Hospice Junction

So ready to cry in your arms,
But today’s broken heart is so déclassé.
I hold my iPhone in my clammy hand,
But mustn’t text when you’ve nothing to say.
Broken low down here in Hospice Junction:
I see pretty flowers wreathing the pretty birds.
I hear some pretty lady chaplain
Breathlessly whispering her fine holy words.
Some seventy-two have now come and gone—
The team completing some of their unending chore.
They’ve resurfaced that old tattered roadway, and,
And, another admission: how do they go on any more?
The Sun and Dawn drags up another new day,
Nurses and the all will shoo away the Dark and the Harms.
And they won’t get home until way after dark
O so ready to cry in your arms.