Wednesday, December 14, 2011

RETRIBUTION

the old poet sat in late autumn darkness
in his wheelchair
sitting at some seniors aquatic centre
in wonderment

feeling in close PROXIMITY to dementia
waiting for the mystery of rehab
unable to swim
unable to write

IMMOBILE and restless for the next step
his mind surrounded with thoughts
that lost their language
a place to keep...until finding another use for it

tracking the interiors around it
where the mind is the secret
a transparent collision of memories
swallowed up in the cracks

transfixed with roaring sounds of silence
screaming above the truth of aging
below the pedestrians on the sidewalk
unable to take another shower before the swim

troubled by the aging cross-dressers
masquarading in search of new bodies
who prostitute their souls with charity
without RETRIBUTION

10 comments:

Laurie Kolp said...

A sad situation expressed beautifully, Wayne. I especially like the 5th stanza.

Ramesh Sood said...

Thoughts losing their language.. brilliant... very nice heartfelt poetry..

Lady In Read said...

love the interesting use of these words.. proximity to dementia...loved that especially.

anthonynorth said...

This is so poignant, encapsulating the writer's fears.

Sheilagh Lee said...

Very sad

Mary Mansfield said...

wow, very powerful poem

Alice Audrey said...

This is something that's been on my mind lately. Very well said.

Jingle Poetry At The Gooseberry Garden said...

powerful.

Jingle Poetry At The Gooseberry Garden said...

Greetings:

Hope all is well.

Come join our poetry picnic today,

Random poems are welcome in case you don’t have a theme fitting one.
First time participants can submit 1 to 3 random poems,

Best wishes.
Happy Holidays.
Looking forward to seeing you share.
xoxox

sharplittlepencil said...

Probably everyone fears the onset of dementia, but writers and others in the arts feel it more keenly. To be trapped without the ability to remember and use one's thoughts, losing track of one's own soul. Powerful, Wayne.

I was confused by the final stanza, I must admit. Does he think the swimmers are cross-dressing? I'm at a loss - pls. send me an email if you are up to it! Thanks so much, Amy
http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/12/18/home-at-last-the-sunday-whirl/