I had a nightmare one night
Of a disease I couldn't fight
Laying in a bed in the ER
Doc's were puzzled; my case was bizarre.
I ended up with a hospital stay
Laying on my back, most of the day
Muscles eroding from disuse
All they would give me was apple juice.
Doctors tried hard, nurses nice too
In general tried to help, a caring crew.
Then I heard a nasty laugh somewhere near
I'd heard that laugh before, I was filled with fear.
Just a bad apple, one bad employee
Could give the wrong meds, to make a mess of me
Still in the dream I wished I never came
Grabbed my light saber, turned on the flame.
The force was with me, so I jumped out of bed,
In a dream you can transition from almost dead
I raced down the hall, IV tube came loose
Flew out the window, escaped the revenge noose.
I folded white wings, landed on a hill
Feeling young again, all by power of will
Then I woke up, I was in a nursing home
A year immobile, a year alone.
That was a dream too, two levels to escape
Pretended I was a marathoner, that got me awake.
But it raises a question, society needs trust
Just one bad apple, and it could be dust to dust.
Lamarck’s ‘Theory of Use and Disuse’,
By giraffes seems subjected to misuse.
They learnt the table manners,
Eating through gaps of manors.
This photo of theirs gets million reviews!
Poetry forms pop up,
knocking on door of mind,
seeking our indulgence,
that we emote therein,
heart’s blissful effulgence.
Poetry forms pop up,
as fragrance in disuse,
that we may play awhile,
in a style forgotten,
yet in our unique style.
Poetry forms pop up,
asking us to oblige,
that our footprints in time,
left for posterity,
be an inspiring chime.
Poetry forms pop up,
just like rainbow colours,
beauteous as a whole
so we tap dance in stage,
words that come from our soul.
soft sunflower breath
days of lingering beauty -
hot shines heaven's eye
in shimmering grace
cheerful chirping of crickets -
silver coin disuse
rusted with disuse
heavy heart hammers in pain ~
spiders build cobwebs
10th January 2023
Eclipse
without sun
I am etiolated,
enfeebled, bereft
my backbone heavy
and limp,
muscles stale and indurate
from disuse
I try to lift my face,
feel the light,
even the dawn or dusk,
even when fog would cloud my vision
but I cannot move, for
my neck is fixed,
vertebrae seized, locked,
eyes that can do no more
than stare ahead
at this monolith, this
menhir, present since
I can remember
that ages me, leaves me
threadbare and faded,
as a moth-eaten blanket
fails to sustain a warm embrace
so I shiver in the shadow,
ensnared in this eclipse,
this dark moon
that will not detach me
from its bleak orbit
Our demand is to accept the novelty,
we must recognize
All things in this world
has expiration date...
We must disuse matter
already worn..
let's live with this guideline,
this wisdom...
Desuetude is a state of disuse.
"The docks fell into desuetude."
Trump In State of Desuetude
Trump would find self in another feud;
He had fallen into a state of desuetude;
Things worsed;
Were cursed;
We wondered who next will be screwed.
Jim Horn
Just a day
The day is partly overcast, shadows and light
chase each other up and down a hillside,
where I came from nature is hardening
and there is already snow in the air.
Tiny lilac flowers grow under- don`t know their names
( do I look like a botanist)
Only the almond tree is bare of leaves, unpicked leaves
Hang like baubles that have lost their shine.
I take a walk on the road it is cartwheel wide and has fallen
into disuse, but for generations to come it will be a healed wound
across the landscape.
In front of me, a bird blue and white has fallen
out of the sky; I pick it up- its beak is grey
It blinks and dies gracefully.
I place it on a stone its soul is still in my palm
and gently blow to set it free.
A breeze makes the leaves tremble.
Christmas for stolid, hermetic recluse
Recidivistic mind all sentimentality doth refuse
Token, lifeless symbols; pageantry will recuse
Pawned, second-hand trinkets now in disuse
Barnacled to limbs drooping to spindling angles obtuse
Garnishments that jilting time accrues
Hung sloppily, stunted timber's temporal dues
Strings of patchwork lights will fuse
Faded colored-cones baring every bruise
Creased garlands as tawny ropes the girth noose
Strands of tarnished ice sickles futility to infuse
Stale candy canes, last year's refuse
Dangling from needles now frayed, loose
A corrugated tin star the pinnacle to abuse
Under the tree, ribbonless, empty boxes complete the ruse
All the colors swirl and mix
Becoming something grey that i can not fix
All colorless and shapeless and beyond definition
I wonder how it got in this helpless condition
The music stopped playing and children stopped smiling
And now its all office work and senseless filing
The grey offices with all the grey people inside
They all just want to provide
The blanket of grey clouds covers the light
And below them people move out of sight
The streets lie in waste and disuse
And people live in houses of self abuse
Towers of videos and junk food are on the floor
You can't seem to reach the door
Its all seem so grey
All i can do is pray
That we can find some color
As I fly away through broken dreams
The reins pull fiercly at my grip
For everything is not what it seems
As these words pass by mothers lip
She gives me all her words of wise
promises me them I must use
As my journey takes me to the skies
All I have learnt I must now disuse
For all those broken dreams
Were only waiting to be chased
I open my mind to my supreme
Life must not be lived in haste
Neap tide rising by minutes
swirls me in upset sand
gritty
irritating
chaffing
catches in creases
of furrowed brow.
Washed up fodder
gifted from the sea
adds to my heap
of disuse.
Backtracks undent the
sand
unmarking my passage.
I know you are here
in the stirring of tranquil air
disturbing the dust
awakening despair
why do you wander these pages
in stealth quietude
softly breathing breath
into shadowed solitude?
I know you are here
in these halls of disuse
that clatter and chatter
with long absent muse
why have you come
after years of dead days
to measure my bones
survey the decay?
~~~
I know you have gone now
and left me to be
for the dust settles 'round this
tome of misery
Waking, realizing dawn was past
Hearing a background noise
Some what like a wet tin whistle
Child blown in a futile attempt at a note
“What kind of bird is that?”
“A red winged blackbird”
She rose and left me lying abed
Wondering what else she lived
That I missed so easily so busily
So lazily dependent on her living
So easily a part of it
As she is so much of mine
The smell of grinding coffee
Led me down the stairs
Some where there’s a poem
To pen on this awakening
To mild frustrated fear
What powers of observation am I
Losing to disuse
Habits help to pass the time before
The coffee kicks life up a bit
Amusing to the muse
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