Saturday, 5 September 2015

Refugees and slim slow slider

I sit here, caring for my Mother in her final days, or weeks, sometimes with tears but mostly just accepting.  My dreams are full of the clamour of people desperate to get away from war, struggling to live, just live.  

This poem came:

5th Sept 2015

Crowding people flee for their lives,
And end up dead on beaches.
Mother waits quietly to die, but
Her wasted body still keeps breathing.

And another:

Slim, slow.

Her bed-time chat is
Who should have
This and that
After she’s gone.

Panting, she slowly
Rubs cream into
Her hands
Before she sleeps.

Slim slow slider
You know you
Gonna die.
But here a while.

We spin slowly, a
Single leaf caught
In an eddy.
Never arriving.

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