#dementia poetry

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Home

-

On the way down,

I had fantasies about

Forcing fingers past my lips,

Ripping my jaw open wide enough

To scream the way I felt I had to.

As if the world was

Imploding-

With cigarette smoke and ash.

On the way back,

I no longer saw flashes of blood splatter.

My vision was filled with

The pink of your sweater.

The way you begged me to find happiness,

And to do it for myself

Felt like somebody holding the sky up,

To keep the shards from

Desecrating me.

You spoke to me without judgment,

Shared my excitement,

And cried when I told you

I was looking forward to this.

I didn't want to die,

I don't think.

I wanted to go home.

And I believed I no longer had one,

Until I saw you.

x

#writing #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #poem #heartbreak #spilled thoughts #love #sad thoughts #mental health #original writing #original poem #dementia poetry #dementia #grandma #i love you #with all my heart #forever and ever #no matter what #home is where i say it is #home #prose poetry #poetry #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #my poetry #poems about feelings #poems about family #i miss you #go back home

[hathaway-hayes]

104

Somewhere -

There’s an old man not so silently Grinding his teeth Whilst rocking on his porch

Seeking a seventh-day constellation In a six day week.

And at some point -

He mumbles, he swears it’s there like: The rainy-day money stored In a book long forgotten.

Maybe it’s in Xian.

Maybe it’s in Denver.

Maybe it’s in Mom’s cooking.

It’s definitely in antiquity, A grief on every other Wednesday, now, And wish for the gray to go away.

- Hathaway Hayes (2024)

#writerscreed #twcpoetry #poeticstories #poetryportal #burningmuses #writtenconsiderations #spilled ink #writingthestorm #poem #poetry #poet #poets on tumblr #writer #author #writers on tumblr #aging #fear #dementia #Gerascophobia

[babylon-crashing]

bogus

Q: Do you ever find yourself ruminating? What do you ruminate about?

I feel sober … delirious … a crass imperious, like a needless meltdown or a skirt with buttons sewn down the ass, leaving queer imprints each time i sit down. Don't frown. I have floppy sweat, sweaty flop and this deeply odd dimple. Here are two blinkable eyes drowning in my mop top. High dreams, click bait, a smoking glitter glue gun. Don't laugh, this glamour is serious, like the foundling you're fondling. Hell's bells in the palm of your hand. Don't question this fog's piss. I've turned totally bogus, as the kids say. Fog? Dementia that swells in me, hot as any glue from a gun.

As I’ve noted elsewhere my father has dementia and I, being the oldest child in the whole extended family, am perhaps showing early signs of it too. I say, “early signs,” as if I were operating with some sort of money-back-guarantee of reaching a million miles before needing to be sold for scrap in exchange for something slightly better.

This is what I think about, perhaps at times a bit too much. Self-pity is an odd toxic beast. Some folks say that dementia is a blessing since it causes the patient to forget that they’re slowly losing everything about themselves. I don’t spend a lot of time on-line these days, not because I don’t care but because there are times that I’ve forgotten that I have a blog and that revelation is sorta a total bummer.

If, at some point, I stop posting here for good it will probably mean that I’ve lost the path to get back home; midway, as Dante would put it, through those deep dark woods where no search party will ever be able to find me.

#bogus #poem #sonnet #poetry #conversations with imaginary sisters #spilled ink #Dementia #floppy sweat

[vanx-97]

I'm so tired of having these fights

I think I have lost my mind

Who are you and who am I?

Why do you make me wanna die?

I get the feeling that you don't care

You being nice has gotten so rare

Your disdain is all you share

Of your hate I am well aware

Do you love me? Or did you forget?

Am I just a blur inside your head?

How many moments do we have left?

Will these words still rip our flesh?

On the inside I feel dead

On the inside you seem confused

I know you try your best

But all these memories you still lose

Will we be able to find peace?

All the war, the destruction, and the grief

All this havoc that we wreak

Will these be the memories I get to keep?

#depression #mental health #mental illness #sadness #alzheimers #dementia #how much longer #pain #hurtful words #verbal abuse #dark poetry #poets of tumblr #poems and poetry #anxiety #poeticstories

[writingwell]

on the drive out here she told me getting old is hell

the wind sheaths her skirt, brushed cotton past her knees, revealing the melted-cream shape of her thighs. she has stopped wearing slips every day. I tug her coat closer around, wish I could stop her in the doorway and zip her up like a child.

how much does this cost? her fingers fumble at the billfold’s clasp, she counts silent and off- key, frowns and starts again, slower. I could say ‘you already paid for it’ or ‘let’s settle the check later’ but it won’t stay. sure enough, carrying the baggage up to the room, I hear her going through her purse again, looking for money.

you know Carolyn used to save every penny— we gave them an allowance as children, small but it was important they worked for something. Carolyn kept every cent, but your mother spent every last thing that came to her. she couldn’t close a fist around a nickel.

I fist the socks she had folded back into the suitcase, slip them into the dirty clothes hamper when she turns around for the bed. it’s a process, climbing up onto the mattress. one of the great-grands

wants to call her, hear her bedtime story. I have to hold my phone up to her ear because it is too smooth, too alien for her to grasp. she sounds tired, what have you done to her my cousin texts me after.

she lays her head down, her back to me. I smooth the sheet and step away. a reasonably-priced room and a stranger’s sheets seem to be how she wakes every day

I don’t know where I am. ‘you’re with me’ I tell her. you’re going home. one of these days.

©laurabontrager

#poetry #mine #laura bontrager #mommom #getting old #dementia

[pathetic-gamer]

Found a word doc buried deep in OneDrive that's titled "people tweeting about loss and grief," which i can vaguely recall being other people's tweets spliced up into a poem for myself, but holy fuck. ouch. what the hell.

There is a time at Christmas when it's just you and your mom in the kitchen and she tells you the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.  Trapped in a story. Go wherever they want, even to see phantoms in the corner. I spent a lot of time on a hard chair pulled up close to the recliner while we waited for ships and trains.   I would give anything for another conversation with my mother in the kitchen, sad or not.   The holidays host a standing fear of that drive being reinstated, ignited by the memory of last time and the surge of dark curiosity.   A Silence that was bursting with a legacy of sadness, regret, hurt. Neither of us could think of a joke & the silence was like a fist clenching around my heart.  No one told me anything sad this year, and it wasn’t the same. Cherish the sadness while you can, my friend.  All of us live in the quiet tragedies of god.   Grateful for all the moments the train was late.   No one stays to help.  

#poetry #i don't want to tag this as my writing because it really is just other people's tweets from like 6 or 7 years ago #but: #my writing #(so i can find it) #I do remember the train one being about loved ones having dementia

[theanoninyourinbox]

once i was someone

or was i?

once i loved them

how many?

i am pulled up

or am i falling?

once i was someone

who was i?

#my art #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats au #hello from the void #prose #poetry #graypool #dementia #symbolism #pulled apart by your own mind #she was such a good mom

[upon-the-eighth-night]

In another life I am not hiding In another life I am safe In another life I am okay In another life I am in my grandma's kitchen baking with the sunlight dancing on cookie dough, I can't stop smiling, I can hear her laughter and she remembers my name

#poem #poetry #original poem #poets on tumblr #original poetry #writers and poets #dementia #grandmother

[whisperthatruns]

Snow Moon & the Dementia Unit

Dad called again to see how his daughter Kathy’s doing, and when I tell him I’m doing fine, he asks,

So you’ve talked to her recently? What did she say? and really, what could I say then

about the moon crowning and slipping back inside a cloud, my body as full as the sky’s bodies, bodies

that live off their own bounty, until their bounty’s gone. It’s theorized that Earth’s magnetic poles flip

over time, leaving it vulnerable to harmful sunlight, accounting perhaps for the mass extinctions

of dinosaur and Neanderthal. Dad, I might say, it could happen again. Sometimes I wonder if the carrot is behind us,

especially when I’m around rich people. A girl doing lunges in lululemons up the hill reminds me of immigrant

ladies ascending church steps on their knees. A red RESERVED on a real estate sign in the neighborhood I like

to drive through. Red text in the prayerbooks Dad reads aloud like a champ: Mercy! I worry I might value silence

over people. That birds, with all their bougie bougie and breaker breaker, are the best communicators.

That Bobcats and Caterpillars are neither. That I’m killing my jade plants. Mom pawned her big jade teardrop

necklace in the 80s, right after Dad tried to off himself lying behind a running car in the closed garage.

The car died first. What did I know of their despair and why did I know so much of it? Breathing the air and being

the air. She’d say, I don’t want your advice, I just want you to listen. Each time I shower, I think of the inventors

of the waterboard torture, along with those who commit and suffer it. For Dad, birds of the air

and birds of the water are one bird. All trees, one tree. How long do they live, he keeps asking.

How is my daughter Kathy doing. And honestly, Joachim, husband of Anne, father of Mary, mercy,

I cannot answer.

Kathy Fagan, text from Sean Singer’s daily email, The Sharpener

#kathy fagan #snow moon & the dementia unit #poetry

[momoetry-blog]

slipping

Slipping, slipping, slipping I see it more and more You know it too I see it on your face We ignore it, let is slide Plaster on our smiles Continue on Answer your questions Again, again, again It’s fine.  I would answer a million times- Time is all I want Greedy, greedy, greedy Your laughter still comes We all laugh with you But afterwards, I want to grab you Beg you not to slip…

View On WordPress

#dementia #grief #life #loss #poem #poet #Poetry

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Tomorrow

-

You called today.

I stared at the phone,

Fear in my stomach.

That familiar worm of hope,

Wiggling its way through my heart,

Lodging itself in my thoughts.

I answered with hesitation-

And it was you.

Tears pricked my eyes,

As we spoke and laughed for hours.

Every silence sent a pang of fear through me.

Please don't say you have to go,

Who knows if this is the last time we'll speak,

I've missed you.

I've missed you.

You raised me.

You sounded healthy and happy,

I sounded hopeful and hurt,

And we both knew time was fighting to get between us.

Yet we talked, and talked, and talked.

I love you.

I'll call you tomorrow.

The silence that lingered after placed a rock

In my throat,

No amount of struggling could swallow.

Tears flowed over my flushed cheeks,

My heart raced in my chest.

I've said goodbye to you in hundreds of ways,

Spoken about you to hundreds of people,

Hurt for you for hundreds of hours.

I'll take this silence,

I'll hold on to it forever.

I'll never change

That horrible ringtone.

And I'll ignore the pain I know is set for me,

Because I made you laugh.

I made you laugh.

I made you laugh.

x

#writing #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poem #heartbreak #love #mental health #spilled thoughts #sad thoughts #dementia #grandma #I'll love you #with all my heart #forever and ever #no matter what #family #family poetry #dementia poetry #loss poetry #original writing #original poem #spilled feelings #spilled words #spilled poetry #spilled writing #i'm so happy #we got to talk again #i miss you #i have so much to tell you #but that can wait

[lonelythimble]

long after

his language is gone

he speaks in fragments

of a man

"i walk two miles a day

to see my mother"

when all else is forgotten

only love remains

in these hopeful prayers

for our joy

"any offers";

"somebody has already decided

you will never have to be alone

these pious declarations

congratulations, congratulations, congratulations

in sweet triplets,

billah billah billah

age fades his tired resignation

and bleak obsession with death

to a cheekiness,

peppering repeated jokes like mantras to lightness

"from the land of the giants"

and a chuckle full of heart

wheezing exclamations of a joy so vast and pure

with wet eyes that could know nothing else but laughter

he speaks in rhythmic rules

handing down meaningless wisdoms

suggestions of another time

"he has no choice

he has to grow his mustache

the girl will say

i will not marry you

you have no mustache

i will let you grow a mustache"

he lives in wonderous truths

in times unknown to us

while i am here

watching the autumn light creeping in,

casting white hair into

wisps of angels

painting old skin soft and lively

lost in the poetry of it;

to be sat in a room

with the same faces,

recycled

the same antics

gathered in cacophony

fussing restlessly in love

this dance of

parent, child

parent, child

of shaking laughter

and musical chairs

#my grandfather #dementia #family #desi poetry

[vermillianno]

your glistening tear

falls on my face

and for a second I remember;

my heart overflows with fear

i trip upon a grotesque realization

of the loss of someone so dear

"to what does this taste belong?"

a saline substance caresses my scent

brim-filled with sorrowful memory

the name slips my tongue

as the taste is unstrung

And I, a lone puppet, am flung

back to the stringless recesses

and as all semblance

of my remembrance

dissipates, deteriorates

into the darkest, deepest,

stark divide of the cosmos

i wish for you to cherish

the last flash of my supernova

no matter how far away you are

my last show for my brightest star

for even if my mind no longer knows

the melody of your life

or the way your silk hair flows,

my hands still remember

the star you drew on my palm

and my lips still remember

the feel of your scars

and so my heart will beat for you

and my lungs will breathe for you

until the last connection is snapped

and I am forever trapped

in a world void of your love.

a world void of your love.

world void of your love.

void of your love.

of your love.

your love.

love.

.

#a little poem i wrote in between classes today #ive recently been plagued by a fear of dementia #and its been on my mind #so i tried to put into words what i imagine the gradual loss of memories to feel like #until you lose the world and those you love most #this is by no means complete or good at all #but i just wanted to throw it into this abyss #for funsies ;> #poetry #writers on tumblr #writing #dementia

[vanx-97]

I see him, but I don't think you can

He takes you away, leads you by the hand

Time is running out fast

From your hourglass, he took your sand

So much to say, but why?

It won't stay inside your mind

I used to be there in your memories

I suppose we all get left behind

I'm a stranger, you don't know me

I'm just no one, fading slowly

I can't stop him, oh if only

But I won't let him leave you lonely

It hurts to watch, it really does

To watch him take the one you love

Alzheimer just wont give up

Eventually he'll have both of us

#mental health #mental illness #alzheimers #dementia #depression #bipolar #sadness #sad poetry #dark poetry #forget me #smittenbypoetry #poetryriot #poeticstories

[justthoughts03]

You’ve gone away somewhere where even God can’t find you…

-where are you my love?-

-Dementia-

#poetsontumblr #reflections #love #poetry #spilled thoughts #tumblarians #poets on tumblr #lovestory #prose poetry #love yourself #dementia #lost #stranger #maps

[jaina-chaosweaver-of-fate]

Slowly slipping away, Losing things day by day, What once was good now you can't say, Losing slowly what gave you your way.

#Daily poetry challenge #Day 398 #I read the supercorp fic Forever Girl and it is so painful. Beautiful and worth a read but painful. #Don’t read if you’re not in the right headspace. #Dementia #supercorp