Golf loving Paddy from sunny Glambole
was truly a gentle fun-loving soul
but he was a big bloke,
he took a well-aimed stroke
Sara the caddy yelled "wrong hole, wrong hole”
First Placement in Tania Kitchin's Humorous or Bawdy Limerick contest
A classic stroke
Of my paint brush
Turning the painting into
A masterpiece so as
You can turn your
life with specific skill
Go find it, now!
I went out in the sunshine
to feel a little glow~
but Texas cranked the thermostat
to way above “too low.”
My forehead felt like frying eggs,
my cheeks began to bake,
my brain said, “Girl, we’re melting,”
like a marshmallow on a stake.
I tried to walk with dignity,
but staggered like a mime~
the sun was doing the hokey-pokey
with my sense of space and time.
My vision wobbled sideways,
my thoughts turned into soup,
I swear I saw a tumbleweed
perform a hula-hoop, loop-de-loop.
And if you hear me muttering
about dancing sycamore trees~
just pat my arm and hand me
a cold drink, pretty please.
Her tongue, like a hand; she did lick my skin.
Alas, out of touch, I’d avoid her chin.
The stride was well worth the time -
From chin to the head, sublime.
The stroke of the clock, when we both, slow grin.
I sat in your office
Feeling you as one I could trust
Vulnerable need, open
You, doing what you must
I thought you saw me
Equal and educated
But no...I...another patient
A person, heavily medicated
With a stroke of your pen
You wrote away my value
Hallucinations, depression
Convicted, on the way to the gallows
What have you to do with me
How dare you see HIS hand
How can your dim eyes see
Your hardened heart, understand
I am not in need of your care
I finally accept your view
Your experience of me
Is nothing new
...crazy, worthless...but anointed...what else can I do
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-06-2026
Note: The way physicians see mental illness
.
stroke
look 'hind yuh
'tiz ex
your
stroke
stroke
stroke
")
So Panglosses got their departments
And Candides have their garden fun
The citizens in their apartments
Enjoy the morning dazzling sun
Things go as planned, but so it must
In the best of all possible worlds
Which hadn’t yet been blown to dust
Saved by the mighty Gods
Who like to show the master swing
The ball rolls straight into the hole
The guests applaud, a tray of drinks
Is brought to ply them all
And in the evening breaking news
Some platitudes I see
Followed by the most flat reviews -
Just how it meant to be.
Doing the leaf-stroke
across my pool
I spit
I sputter
I choke
on wet wintry appetizers
scarlet petals dance
an unknown wind strikes the rose ~
does it shed its smile?
cold water swimmers
have got a VERY apt name
they're called 'The BlueTits'
Somewhere over the mountain, hidden away,
There’s a land that is calling; I must not delay.
Somewhere over the mountain, that’s where she’ll be,
In the alpenglow, Mary's waiting for me.
They said I'd never recover from my stroke
A nightmare from which I never woke
A big chunk of me gone, a lower plateau
But I left the home, and off I did go.
It's our lot to grow old, not due to our sins
Trails go cold and entropy wins
But I'll boat down the waterfall where snowmelt flows,
I’ll find Mary in the place that nobody knows.
The terrain is forbidding, the ridge like a knife
Can't undo time, can't crash the afterlife
No country for old men, no breaking the rule
But I have to attempt, to give up is so cruel
Somewhere over the mountain, I wish it were so,
Mary is singing where wildflowers grow.
The starling will guide me, the meteor will show
The path to the valley where lost rivers go.
I went over the mountain, then took a fall
a thousand foot down off a sheer valley wall.
They buried my story, because no one must know.
They say I died then, but I died long ago.
The smooth ink stains bleed a crimson red with each stroke
The pages' colors publish a perilous message against the black granite surface
Black, red, white
Its message is clear
It's time to stop writing
An idea was imprisoned in such a bind
It bounced about within the precincts of the mind
What did it mean I heard you say
I didn’t know about it right away
For it was not alone in there
And had to survive a longish stare
But what was missing in its story
Was the truth in all its glory
What will be written for the ages
In history as you turn the pages
Will it be corrected with a stroke of the pen
Or will the stroke win in end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
I thought this life could get no worse,
But life's new chapter contains a verse,
Brought together a certain way,
A poem is born what will it say,
Life's a story going on and on,
Those tragic moments I thought were gone,
Without pre warning there was no sign,
Apart from this I was feeling fine,
Of all the body it chose this place,
The whole left side of my ageing face,
You think the worst! it is a stroke,
Typical diagnosis from a bloke,
There is a condition I did not know,
It's not a stroke your off deaths row,
It's called Bells palsy it can be caused by stress,
Weakens facial muscles your looking a mess,
So what comes next in my life of gloom,
A suspect package "what's this inside?"
BOOOOMMM!!!!!!!
Thoughts pierced the whites of my brains,
Tainted blood flowed out of my veins,
One half of me then paralysed,
My speech now completely disguised.
Why was I stubborn with the drugs?
My right arm now too weak for hugs.
Beat fast, my heart under my cloak,
Just too bad I now have a stroke.
Recovery now cost fortunes,
Drag I must my distortions,
Since death may even be my fate
Like rats in a trap, I await.
27th October, 2024.
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