How do you know the discomfort is real,
If warmth or coldness wraps their faded appeal?
We turn the heat on; we turn it off—
That’s the demand of the sick and the frail.
What comforts to offer, what food to provide—
Will he eat soup or just a small piece of bread?
Is there a way to bridge this divide?
Are the blankets soft, do they gently enfold?
Are they too heavy or light, not keeping him warm?
The clothes feel uncomfortable, like stones in the morn…
Are the pills sufficient for health to be controlled?
The worry of caregivers wears heavy and long,
Yet each loving effort feels never quite strong.
With frailty and age, they wrestle with pain,
In their silence, the echoes of sorrow remain.
They cry and they cry… what a life…
You offer your heart, but it feels all in vain,
For the weight of their grief is a never-ending chain.
But know that your presence, your caring embrace,
Brings moments of comfort, a small healing space.
Though your best may seem lost in the shadows of night,
Maybe your love is the gift that will shine.
When I was little,
life was supposed to be filled with laughter,
sticky fingers from melting ice cream,
and afternoons lost in make-believe,
toy cars and plastic dinosaurs battling in the living room.
I’d look up at the adults, safe in their tallness,
never guessing that one day,
I’d be the one holding up the walls.
Instead, my afternoons were cluttered with sighs,
echoing through a quiet house,
where I’d drag your slumped figure from the front steps,
breathe in the stale scent of beer that clung to you
like a second skin.
Eight years old, trying to stand tall enough
to be your keeper.
When I was little,
Mom was supposed to pack my lunch,
Capri Suns and fruit roll-ups,
instead, mom wasn't ever there
I was busy slicing bread,
rationing out the peanut butter,
making sure my little brother had more than crumbs.
I’d wanted crayons, chalk, new paintbrushes, OH! the pink bike, and maybe an iphone
but my pockets held grocery lists,
my hands chapped and rough,
scrubbing dishes, sweeping floors,
Searching for that imaginary line
that had been drawn somewhere
between us:
the parent I wished for,
the parent I became.
I came across
lost seedlings--misfits
abandoned in
a musty bin of a garage.
Then heard
a meek mist pleading,
"oh, fern soil, praise them
with your yard."
"Douse kaleidoscope,
cool droplets,
those days scorched--
furnace dark."
"Thus clover-cove
when frigid snow
abrades
their glinting spark."
Who Cares?
Who cares…
When loved ones with dementia go missing and resources caregivers lack
When the poor are given a handout, not a helping hand to get on track
When lying scammers and telemarketers, seniors cannot hold back
And one bad decision results in suicide or homicide following a hack?
caregivers
red regalia
cheerful chirping choruses
Savior scripted sky
2021 January 20
Caregiver's Whispers
I know enough that age edged
and this ailment agent ridged
you onto this bed.
A bus that never travel places
But loops with different faces
In the morning, afternoon, and night.
While whose owners recite
pay you with their backs and brains.
Even though sometimes
the physiology of your body
and the chemistry of their day
shear a slight fate to swear,
it is totally blameless on any!
Perhaps the yoke of the routines
which bang us amid scenes
because it is priceless
to trade brain in for bread.
So, when you close your eyes,
wink at me with opened heart prize
"Lord what fools these mortals be!" Wm. Shakespeare
I hesitate to be on the same page,
with I the greatest poet of the ages,
but I believe his words to be true now,
fools gathering when it is not allowed.
The fools don't care who they put in danger,
be it a love one or perfect stranger,
they have no conscious when told to stay home,
as out in the streets they carelessly roam.
So, the only way to make them comply,
big fines, long jail time, government should try,
in order to flatten the virus curve,
and help all the caregivers who serve.
If I am wrong and callus so be it,
remember the curve top we have not hit.
"Lord what fools these mortals be!" Wm. Shakespeare
I hesitate to be on the same page,
with I the greatest poet of the ages,
but I believe his words to be true now,
fools gathering when it is not allowed.
The fools don't care who they put in danger,
be it a love one or perfect stranger,
they have no conscious when told to stay home,
as out in the streets they carelessly roam.
So, the only way to make them comply,
big fines, long jail time, government should try,
in order to flatten the virus curve,
and help all the caregivers who serve.
If I am wrong and callus so be it,
remember the curve top we have not hit.
You are stronger than you know
I see the card and I smile
She believes in me more than I do.
I am startled realizing this about myself.
You can get through this
I flip the card over.
Read the name. Had no idea she cared.
Had forgotten we were ever friends.
So many memories
People floating in and out of my life
Some I thought I would keep forever
Left quickly and completely
Others I had automatically disliked
For no reason
And they have stayed forever
Lifting me up
Showing me my best self.
Nothing like the caregivers.
ANTI-THESIS
Competitive economic experience
breeds business as usual
capital-growing cultures
with a special preference historical
for white privilege patriarchal
remembering and designing
left-brain dominant educational systems.
THESIS
Cooperative ecological economies
breed more organic networks
of permacultural health
and nutrition
and communication experience,
with a special historical preference
for ecofeminist Earth-empowered
deep learning
listening
noticing prime primal attachment relationships
between internal ego-
and external eco-
systemic balance,
harmony,
interdependent equity,
RightBrain HealthWealth Prominent,
liberal leftwing progressive,
freedom from isolated loneliness,
depression,
repression,
suppression,
AND
LeftBrain WealthHealth Dominant,
conservative rightwing defensive,
freedom to impressively
robustly
compassionately
nutritiously thrive
without eating the less brilliantly aristocratic help
and remembering to at least say
Please and Thank You and You Are Welcome,
is where civil rights end
and co-responsively begin.
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