[Humour] Poem du Jour (under 60s don’t bother reading it :wink: )

[Flounce]

You haven’t got there yet ​

​

​

"I Can't Remember" by Anita Spoon​

Just a line to say I'm living​

That I'm not among the dead,​

Though I'm getting more forgetful​

And mixed up in the head.​

I got used to my arthritis.​

To my dentures I'm resigned.​

I can manage my bifocals,​

But God, I miss my mind.​

For sometimes I can't remember​

When I stand at the foot of the stairs,​

If I must go up for something,​

Or have I just come down from there?​

And before the 'fridge so often,​

My poor mind is filled with doubt;​

Have I just put some food away, or​

Have I come to take some out?​

And there is time when it is dark​

With nightcap on my head . . .​

I don't know if I'm retiring, or​

Just getting out of bed.​

So, if it's my turn to write you,​

There's no need for getting sore.​

I may think that I have written​

And don't want to be a bore.​

So, remember that I love you​

And wish that you were near,​

But now it's nearly mail time so,​

I must say goodbye, Dear.​

There I stand beside the mailbox,​

With a face so very red . . .​

Instead of mailing you my letter,​

I'VE OPENED IT INSTEAD!​

 

[Dick Knights Mumm]

Far too close to the knuckle …….. funnily I was thinking about starting a poetry thread.

 

[Dick Knights Mumm]

Smokers for Celibacy - Fleur Adcock

Some of us are a little tired of hearing that cigarettes kill.
We'd like to warn you about another way of making yourself ill:
we suggest that in view of AIDS, herpes, chlamydia, cystitis and NSU, not to mention genital warts and cervical cancer and the proven connection between the two,
if you want to avoid turning into physical wrecks what you should give up is not smoking but sex.

We're sorry if you're upset, but think of the grisly things you might otherwise get.
We can't see much point in avoiding emphysema at sixty-five if that's an age at which you have conspicuously failed to arrive;
and as for cancer, it is a depressing fact that at least for women this disease is more likely to occur in the reproductive tract.

We could name friends of ours who died that way, if you insist, but we feel sure you can each provide your own list.
You'll notice we didn't mention syphilis and gonorrhoea; well, we have now, so don't get the idea
that just because of antibiotics quaint old clap and pox are not still being generously spread around by men's cocks.

Some of us aren't too keen on the thought of micro-organisms travelling up into our brain and giving us General Paralysis of the Insane.
We're opting out of one-night stands; we'd rather have a cigarette in our hands.
If it's a choice between two objects of cylindrical shape we go for the one that is seldom if ever guilty of rape.
Cigarettes just lie there quietly in their packs waiting until you call on one of them to help you relax.

They aren't moody; they don't go in for sexual harassment and threats, or worry about their performance as compared with that of other cigarettes,
nor do they keep you awake all night telling you the story of their life, beginning with their mother and going on until morning about their first wife.
Above all, the residues they leave in your system are thoroughly sterilised and clean, which is more than can be said for the products of the human machine.
Altogether, we've come to the conclusion that sex is a drag, Just give us a fag.

————————————————

 

[Change at Barnham]

You haven’t got there yet ​

"I Can't Remember" by Anita Spoon​

Please don't take this as a criticism, but for anyone with a loved one suffering from dementia that is a very pertinent and sad poem.
A great reminder of how vulnerable we all are.

 

[Harry Wilson's tackle]

A short poem.

Ahem.

Po

 

[Shropshire Seagull]

Poor effort 2/10

Well short of Pam Ayres or Victoria Wood standards

 

[jcdenton08]

Poor effort 2/10

Well short of Pam Ayres or Victoria Wood standards

I disagree, I found it very moving.

 

[Hamilton]

Smokers for Celibacy - Fleur Adcock

Some of us are a little tired of hearing that cigarettes kill.
We'd like to warn you about another way of making yourself ill:
we suggest that in view of AIDS, herpes, chlamydia, cystitis and NSU, not to mention genital warts and cervical cancer and the proven connection between the two,
if you want to avoid turning into physical wrecks what you should give up is not smoking but sex.

We're sorry if you're upset, but think of the grisly things you might otherwise get.
We can't see much point in avoiding emphysema at sixty-five if that's an age at which you have conspicuously failed to arrive;
and as for cancer, it is a depressing fact that at least for women this disease is more likely to occur in the reproductive tract.

We could name friends of ours who died that way, if you insist, but we feel sure you can each provide your own list.
You'll notice we didn't mention syphilis and gonorrhoea; well, we have now, so don't get the idea
that just because of antibiotics quaint old clap and pox are not still being generously spread around by men's cocks.

Some of us aren't too keen on the thought of micro-organisms travelling up into our brain and giving us General Paralysis of the Insane.
We're opting out of one-night stands; we'd rather have a cigarette in our hands.
If it's a choice between two objects of cylindrical shape we go for the one that is seldom if ever guilty of rape.
Cigarettes just lie there quietly in their packs waiting until you call on one of them to help you relax.

They aren't moody; they don't go in for sexual harassment and threats, or worry about their performance as compared with that of other cigarettes,
nor do they keep you awake all night telling you the story of their life, beginning with their mother and going on until morning about their first wife.
Above all, the residues they leave in your system are thoroughly sterilised and clean, which is more than can be said for the products of the human machine.
Altogether, we've come to the conclusion that sex is a drag, Just give us a fag.

————————————————

…wrote the fat ugly poet.

 

[Hamilton]

Pat, by John Hegley


I said Pat
You are fat
And you are cataclysmically desirable
And to think I used to think slim
Was where it’s at
Well not any more
Pat you’ve changed that
You love yourself
You flatter yourself
You shatter their narrow image of the erotic
And Pat said
“What do you mean, fat?”

 

[Zeberdi]

In a similar vein to the OP - this poem was doing the rounds when I was working in the NHS back in the late 70s

See Me

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking when you look at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far away eyes?

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice - “I do wish you’d try.”
Who seems not to notice, the things that you do,
And forever is losing a sock or a shoe?

Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you think, is that what you see?
Open your eyes, nurse, you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,
As I use a commode at your bidding, and eat at your will,
I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who loved one another,

A young girl of 16, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a lover she’ll meet.
A bride now at 20, my heart give a leap.
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At 25, I now have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
A women of 30, my young are growing so fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At 40, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At 50, once more babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look at the future and shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known,

I’m an old women now and nature is cruel,
‘Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells,
As I remember the joys and I remember the pain,
And I’m living and loving life all over again,

I think of the years all too few- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
Open your eyes, nurse open and see.
Not an empty old women, look closer - see ME

———————————————————————-

This poem was found among the possessions of an elderly lady who died in the geriatric ward of a hospital. No information is available concerning her -- who she was or when she died. Reprinted from the "Assessment and Alternatives Help Guide" prepared by the Colorado Foundation for Medical Care.
Source: http://www.nursinghomealert.com/seeme.html

 

[Bakero]

Far too close to the knuckle …….. funnily I was thinking about starting a poetry thread.

You started 3 poetry threads yesterday evening.