Community
A Collection of Work
By Neil Collins – “I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about 9 years ago. Poetry is apparently available to me forever. This poetry took me 3 hours to write at the public library.”
Love, life, companionship, happiness, joy, faith, belonging
Hopefully,
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,
Repeat,
Continue.
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.
Remember…
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.
Loss
By Sheila Neylon, (caregiver to her husband Tom – Tom Neylon taught secondary English for 41 years. He played piano in several bands. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of American Roots music. He was an indefatigable collector of LPs and CDs. Alzheimer’s stole everything from Tom and stole him from us. I wrote some poems when he was in hospice care as a kind of care for myself. We were married for 55 years. He was officially diagnosed in 2015 and died May 2, 2023.
Loss
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
Sorting Teas
By Ellen Zhang, MD – This poem is inspired by my time in the Geriatrics Connection Clinic where I heard stories of elderly people who were both patients and caregivers. One of the participants shared a story that blossomed into the poem that I have shared here.
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.
