A collection of Poems

The hat that covers the scars

The hat that covers the scars. The dark glasses that hide the eyes. The handbag that holds the past

The mind that slowly dies. The memories of long ago. But! Hurry up we will be late for Church. “We went yesterday”

The hat that hides the scars. The damaged brain. The surgeon’s knife. That saved your life

Now with age the Mind. Can only cope with the past. The present is confused with yesterday. “You haven’t taken me Christmas shopping yet”. “It’s January”

Oh! How Slowly The Mind Dies. The years of hope. When things looked better. The denial that the best had past

All that is left is. The hat that covers the Scars. The dark glasses that hide the eyes. The handbag that holds the past


Dementia the pain it causes

I know your pain, I know your anger too, I feel it with you I know when that distracted look comes, It’s just another fearful moment, What next, when will recognition fail

I know they don’t fight it, as hard as you would like, I know the anger at their lack of resolve, I know the anger I have been there too I know fear of sleepless nights. Was that a cry, is morning here already. Get up they need your help.

You don’t want them in care yet. They are better off at home They will only give up in care. They will stop being themselves. They are better off in familiar surroundings. They are not themselves now. How can things get worse?

The politicians promise. They are committed to help. Ex billion pounds will do, to stop the pain.


It’s not their fault they don’t care. They have a bigger picture to see. But! Some must know your pain they’ve been there too.

I know your pain it’s my pain too. It was there for Gran. Who made tea for long dead Pop’s. It was there for Mum. Who in the end could only remember. You where number two son of three. But! Not a name.

I am distract now. She is calling for help. “You don’t understand”. I can hear him outside. Why don’t you do something?” “There nothing there. It’s in your head”.

I know she can’t help it. It’s real to her. But! You wanted a bit time. Time to write a poem. About Dementia and the Pain it causes. But! She won’t stop calling for help. You must go now, guilt forbids you to stay.

This is how

I know your pain it’s my pain too.