Speaking of poetry …
I wrote the following piece, entitled “Moribund”, after visiting one of my members in a residential home, one of Swansea’s grimmer ones. I didn’t actually think of it as a poem, though it has an intra-linear rhyme scheme. Anyway, here it is.
Old age, last page, mute rage
Antique, pipes leak, joints creak
Talk sense? Long since, past tense
Dry bones, gallstones, low groans
Wheelchair, past care, despair
All day, decay, can’t pray
So bored, implored, “Why, Lord?”
Sunset, cold sweat, bed wet
Midnight, can’t fight, last rite
Just fell, such hell, farewell
Time’s curse, none worse, “Nurse, nurse!”
Deceased, released, at peace.