Dementia poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of dementia poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on dementia are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I refuse to follow you. I refuse to borrow your words, your ideas, your beliefs. Limiting preachings of fragmented minds. I refuse to follow you. I refuse to adopt your meanings, interpretations, definitions. Confining parameters, conditioning. I refuse to follow
To disconnect oneself you push apart, from the stasis, like flesh from the bones. Coming home becomes dreadful when you discover yourself. A dark energy impels you in a cosmos which was drifting towards eternity. A fight between space &
Mano a mano taut our mutually limp and gnarled fingers bony hooks draped with blotched flesh – varicose veined, decubitus descent, and aged arthritic anatomy like a scorched oxbow lake cruelly desiccating topography! * * * * * * *
The displaced years cling to your body like an extended death. I wanted to see what could not be seen by clutching. the lifeless doubts. Emotions play: potentials are threatened. Remaining alert becomes a punishment. I grieve for the dementia,
When hope returns, will you be in alternative mind? Like a praying mantis brooding for a prey in a bowl of momentum while I have a sense of alienation collecting a cloud of Memories ripping open the gates of tears
Life may be a pleasant journey for the moment but one is unaware what is in store the next moment Move along with Moon and stars and try moving ahead of sky you will surely leave others far behind without
“Dedicated to my niece Noura” It was a Monday September ten 2007 When Noura gave me this feeling of being in heaven Her mother phoned me saying: “Charlotte is babysitting Noura but Noura is crying!” A taxi took me to
With fondness I recall love that was: Lyrical like the breeze that kisses my forehead, That tanned my skin is pleasant warmth! With drums and tantrums they celebrated the union of two souls, And then the matriarchs spurned the love
Dedicated to Brother Leonard Peltier The invisible rain Irrigates your roots Flowers contain Scents of your thoughts Wrapping mother earth With life saving birth Energetic space Father sky’s embrace Peltier Leonard The brave great guard For those who care To
Waiting, wailing, weeping! When..when..when ??? The expected turns out to be the unexpected!! What have I done? Why do I merit this award? Months and months of agonizing waiting… rewarded with a still- born! Only to have a heart torn?
A present overwhelmed with fear is easy to realize when all you have is secrets you wish to keep oblivious- from those whom you care for and seek their forgiveness These realizations are lessons learned through regrets- remorse, and most
Windless dry air blankets the horn of this continent A familiar stare from large ebony eyes embedded in one cherished frame From the scorched earth an anguished image peers out with born innocence Simple wishes glimmer from sunken optic caves
Once when the forest wept, We hid under a tree, as if protected. Twice we saw the force of the storms, Cycle so stunning, even as it poured. Three pinecones fell to the ground, When they splashed, what a sound.
The spill of sheen after deep throat explosion. Not as special as the day appeared. Afraid of complete annihilation? Was it possible? Untenable? Living in a cavern full of bats? A key slept in a lock unmoving the golden doors.
unrearthing the fallen saint you wash your feet and enter the temple of forgotten god: cult of escapc from tangled half- truths with dramatic entry of hysterics you fail to accept yourself, the grieving death – mask transcends a fresco
As the sun peeps out over misty morning hills and the dawn chorus calls with its piercing shrill, the demons of the night skulk slowly away, a sidelong glance at the few who got away. He rises and stretches and
Victories out of lost battles… Soundless sighs of unwelcomed past… Past that tried to travel to future… Future of those who were busy… Busy with their lives… Lives they meant by dreams… Dreams out of their sleep… Sleep that never
Don’t stay away my dear, Valentine’s Day is knocking at the door. I am leaping with joy, When you would come and say hi ! Self-consolation is not fruitful, anymore, It is intolerable to tolerate your departure. Saint Valentine, may
Run, run and run, Life is a long run: Neither you and nor me Can win it and be free. Except the ultimatum, That’s Death!—–which is sure to come. No winner and no runnersup, Neither silver nor golden cup. Newly
There is poetry in the, Heart of the ocean, A longing in the soul, To be enfolded in its waves, As they create a ripple, Of pulsating thrill in me. A calming tranquility, Fascinating wondrous hues, Magnetic is the attraction,
Under the milky moon light With Cool Air breezing gently all round Twinkling of stars up the horizon Light background music playing Heaven appeared an inch away Holding the clean empty Glass Filling the glass with wine Sipping it leisurely
When my spirit feels malnourished. Something in me finds the strength and courage To Read the word so I can help my spirit man flourish. Medicine for the people of the oppressed. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
They fill my stomach, block its sky lIke reams of paper hasserai acid shades of autumn leaves sent aloft without a breeze they cloud my brain they rain, un-rain and rain again. and stall each lane of acumen thrashing, crashing,
I’m no fun anymore, Not to be with or even around, I bitch-spewing hate is my second Favorite thing to do, Only topped by drinking, Reeking of cigarettes and whiskey, And I like dim places where the outlook is Bleak,
They sent me to straighten my morals, I was a difficult little girl, And my parents were tired of me. “A devil’s child she is! A liar! A thief! Disgusting!” So, after many scoldings and bashful nights. They sent me
There was once a time, That I ran with a band of mercenaries. Sometimes I sit back in my leather-bound chair, And remember all of them, clear as day… The quick, sly Boston lad, Haphazardly dodges and shoots His way
Most difficult thing in the world is to Pardon Most easy thing in the world is also to pardon Difficulty stems from the thought that the one you have trusted has deceived you Trust in him originated to the fact
I tried hiding my tears behind the smile I had…expecting you to read my mind!!! Disappointed again!! my heart never takes things light … it pains.. When it comes as possessiveness versus pervert guesses, the latter becomes my image now
SCENES FROM A EUROPEAN MOVIE (OR THE ETHICAL EQUATIONS POSED BY PAUL KLEE DANCING WITH A GERMAN SHEPHERD) “Art makes visible the unseen” – Paul Klee Along the edge of the Gothic archway, starlings disturb the air, only slightly. Its
PaI just plucked an orchid of adore, Fragrant blossom so rare in odor, Desires full flourish on the body, Nestled in that space, ever ready My lips, a humming blue night bird Hungry for passion, not by a word, Hanging
It’s nice in here, warm and cozy And dark and oh-so-quiet Except for the strange ‘thump-thump’ And the occasional words of love. I’ve heard mama talking to me Telling me of the world out there She talks about squirrels and
My mind is loose cannon. Nobody has control over it. Not even me! It shoots off fireballs in all directions in the fond hope that it will hit something. Sometimes it succeeds in doing so. And, sometimes it hits wrong