I've realised over the years that I write words down to process the stuff of life. I come and go on here. I'm grateful of your company.


A simple round of Scrabble,
Has me soul searching
In still sore places

I am surprised by this?

You are 83
You have always been my crown
I bathed deeply in your calm waters
In the trusted deep love of your eyes

The game, is part of this house
My childhood home
Part of me
It was here during school holidays
On waiting out illness
And rainy indoor weekends

I trusted it.
But, it let you spell ynnep
Which you saw as reasonable

I let it go
At 83, I let you nestle under the wing of age
But my thoughts like the word are all back to front now
You are not this man
Those were my thoughts
I'll take my penny payment now

I am not ready to let you become this man
Not yet, please

Not yet can this king become a slave to age.
This man, who breathed math.
Who I idolise.
Who's wit would make me weak in joy.
Who lived for intellectual discussion.
Who built a life from hard times.
Stay a while longer.
Not yet.

Not yet do I want to hold his hand,
Soothe his repetitive questions about
Who are you?
Where is my wife?
Did I shave today?

So take the penny back for my thoughts -
Spell it backwards, sideways,
Put an odd letter in.
Just see it!
And tell me you were only joking,
Because a mistake like that has impact.
The true cost hurts my fragile heart -
The cost of acknowledging ,
That you too, are human indeed,
And subject to the injustice of age
And a ynnep doesn't cover it

Poetry by 1LFD
Read 155 times
Written on 2020-12-27 at 01:01

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Steven Riddle The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderful! I really enjoy your voice in the poem as you come to grips with what is before you. So nicely done!

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well done, very sad.

ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Ken D

Poignant and skillfully articulated.