Life's Puzzle Pieces By Tom Brodnicki

Seeking to be whole,
Hoping each piece fits,
Fingers picking me up
Only to put me down,
Sometimes confused
On and on…bit by bit.

Once I was whole
Or so I believed
Until Lewy arrived
Picking my brain apart
Piece by piece – first my keys
Why, oh why is it me?

Is this how it ends
Appearing strong on the edge
Surrounded and secure
While lost in the middle
Pieces close together
Yet disjointed and unsure

Shapes of many types
Colors of the rainbow
Once a work of art
Together as one
Until a shove, a shift
Breaks it all apart

So, what happens now
Pieces scattered everywhere
Some lost, some to be found
Life’s puzzle changed –
Never to be the same
Yet hope is eternal – never bound

Pick up the pieces – seeking the best
Pick the brightest shapes and colors
Discard the rest
Create new art – revive your heart
Piece by beautiful puzzle piece
Give your life a fresh start!


Artist Statement:
With gratitude to the CBMM team for their continual search to better mental health for those struggling across a multitude of issues, blending the Arts and Sciences is a marvelous offering. In this vein the old saying “you’re a poet and don’t know it” came to life for me with an invitation to a virtual “poetry slam” that included encouragement to provide a poem of importance or an original work.  While I recognize poetry as a valuable art form I never considered myself a poet.  Taking the invitation as a challenge and knowing I might get “slammed” or emphatically told “you are not a poet and should know it”, I decided to give it a try.
I began with a time of reflection in living with Lewy Body Dementia the past 6 years.  Knowing that many pieces of my life have and will continue to slowly slip away from the professional, personable, and engaging spirit I am generally known for, more questions than answers rumbled though my mind.  Not knowing where it would go, suddenly I began writing poetic verse.  While Lewy Body slows my ability to recall, connect words and often make my point verbally, writing remains a valued gift. Initially trying to abide by the rules of poetry learned long ago in school, soon I threw the rules to the wind and just wrote.
Life’s Puzzle Pieces emerged from a reflection and discovery that beyond the science and excellent care provided by the medical professionals, appreciating and engaging in the arts provide a new weapon in the battle to keep Lewy Body Dementia in its place.  While still a challenge, writing the poem reminded me that there are far more puzzle pieces in place than those that have slipped away.  Writing and sharing this poem has been a very valuable experience in many ways!  Thank you CBMM.
Slow Theft By Nancy Cherico (Family Caregiver)

A theft so subtle at first
you don’t know
you are being robbed,
like having your pocket picked.

You notice
nothing missing,
nothing out of place
but the thief
has already moved in.

He starts
by stealing words,
them out of sight. Then
he siphons off your memory
drop by drop.

Over time
you begin to protest,
to grieve the losses. To beat
and blame yourself.

Not content with burgling
the meanings of things,
the thief makes a shambles
of what you see and hear.

He steals the blueprints for living.
How to brush your teeth.
Get dressed.
Later, how to walk.
Finally, how to swallow.

The scans show what
has shriveled, how little the thief
has left. By then the grieving
has begun in earnest, not by you

because all you know now
is fear or comfort,

but by those who love you
and have witnessed the slow
theft of your mind and life.

Sorting Teas By Ellen Zhang, MD

Last Thursday, you rearranged
teabags in the nursing home.
Neat rows of blacks, greens, florals,
previously skewed in the cabinet
from other hurried hands shuffling them
searching for the right taste,
those other hands rushing
to wheel residents down the hall
or receive phone calls of families
wanting to speak to loved ones.
Your hands are delicate,
shriveling like mossy seaweed,
blue veins are running tributaries,
protruding, pulsating.
One of the staff members
told you to stop sorting
teabags, go back to your room,
read a magazine, or take a nap.
You refused, staying there,
silently organizing and
reorganizing. The scent of mint
and lemons lingers
in the air. You can barely
remember what day it is or how
to fold your own clothes,
yet you know that the jasmine
and lavender teas belong
next to each other.
Who are we to say to stop
sorting teas? After all,
part of you must know
that this is your kitchen,
this is your home.
I sit and ask you
to make me a cup of tea
and that moment lingers
even now as the happiest
I have seen you.

Loss By Sheila Neylon


I lost him twice
First his illness ravaged his mind
All the things which form a life
Abandoned him
Slowly, slowly
Reflection, memory, humor, love.
And then the illness ravaged his body
I could not help him —
In the end I lost
My husband and my best friend 


La Perte  

Je l’ai perdu deux fois—
Première la maladie a ravagé son esprit
Toutes les choses qui font une vie
l’a abandonné,
lentement, lentement.
réflexion, mémoire, humour, amour E
t puis la maladie a ravagé son corps
moi, je n’ai pas pu l’aider—
À la fin j’ai perdu
mon mari et mon meilleur ami 

A Collection of Work By Neil Collins

Love, life, companionship, happiness, joy, faith, belonging

Love finds Life
Companionship finds Happiness
Joy finds its Faith
Belonging Each to Each Other.


My love’s Creation

What God created you with a roar?
Greater than all orchestras
Greater than all sounds of spring —
The wind in trees, rushing water, waves, thunder.
How did he and she together create such newness?

How did I find you?
How was I the one to find you?
How did you see me?

Will we ever have enough of each other?
Will there be enough time?
How long is Infinity?
Thus, a hope for Infinity’s purpose.

I expect we may need an eternity.
We will need an eternity. Yes.
I believe in eternity.

Glad to have met you my dear Barbara.


Thoughts on Alzheimer’s:

Basically, I often cannot remember
Whatever has just happened.
It can sadden me.
I get used to it.
Breathe in, breath out,
Enjoy the breathing, seeing, hearing.
Enjoy your heart’s beat.
You/we made it to being alive, to living.
Enjoy our todays. Our moments. Dear self.

Poetry sometimes just sits down,
and waits outside the door.
Considering the mood
For itself…
For the day.
I ask for help.
“Help yourself” answers today’s grumpy whispery poetry.

… Some friend.