like the crows of castle keep
they pick the bones
of my recall
bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind
littered with the harsh forgotten
like the bones of the dinosaur
I’m becoming
struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble
my thoughts
parch and wither
lonely silhouettes
against an unforgiving skyline
fading visions of my past
of my life
my home
of yesterday
harder and harder to remember
the degrees of separation
growing ever greater
smoldering in the fog
of my reflected past
splashes of vivid color
on scraps of paper
blown in the mounting winds
of my confusion
dread rising
that I will soon not remember
what it all meant to me
a stirring fear I will forget
lost in tormented emptiness
that all will go black
this is not just a poem
it is much more
this is a light
searching in blackness
for familiar things
for persons beloved
that I do not recognize
this is a fractured tome
a cry of frustration
a tear of loss
a whispered prayer
an epitaph
to my fading map of then
of cherished memories
that now falter
and dim
slowly slipping
unintelligible
into the cacophony
of the crows of castle keep
dVerse Poetics: On Shades of Black
Bang on, brother–senior moments can lead to dementia, the place of automatons, blankness to infinity. This can be twice hell if one is a poet, for once we lose the meaning of the words, we all become dolphins, swimming through a chaotic world without arms or opposable thumbs.
It is my greatest fear Glenn. As long as I have cognitive function, I have choice, and with that, freedom. Thank heavens Washington is a “Death With Dignity” state.
You described your anguish well Rob.
It is a fear I cannot shake Linda. I, like you, have seen it face to face. I don’t know for certain, if I would have the strength to continue?
Nice description: “they pick the bones
of my recall”
Thank you Frank.
My mother died from complications of alzheimers. Her death was a gentle death. I do not fear the reaper.
I am truly happy for you and your family Toni, that your mother’s death was gentle. I do not fear death at all Toni. In so many ways, a gentle death, given all my health complications, would be most welcome — when that moment arrives. What I do fear is dementia/Alzheimer’s. I do not want to be a burden on my family — and it is not how I want to spend my final time on earth.
Wow! I enjoyed that immensely Rob. I felt the fear and the panic of losing what once was. Well done!
Thank you Christine.
Like searching for answers that are already gone.
Yes Ken. And you had them just shortly before. Makes me nuts! 🙁
Your struggle with light searching the darkness was skillfully woven throughout the poem.
I liked this line:
bones against the cruel clay
of an arid
barren mind
It’s what it feels like at times Dwight, but I march on with my writing and my art — and will until my lights go out completely.
Familiar experiences and fears, Rob. I often feel like ‘my memories gather and squabble / like the crows of castle keep’. You’ve captured the struggle in the lines:
‘struggling
with what letters are made of
my words crack and crumble’.
Freaks me out Kim when I am unable to pull a reasonably familiar word out of my head. Sometimes I may have just thought of it just a short time before, when I am in the act of writing. Or I forget how to spell a word I have spelled comfortably before. My writing is slowly becoming more difficult because of this. Drives mr crazy!
Ouch you describe it all too well, you’ve known it close!
profoundly written about a disease we all dread …
I write constantly and create my mixed media art frequently to keep the mind, creativity, and problem solving chops active Kate. I fear losing my “self”.
Oh, that is indeed a scary prospect — you have worded it so well in this evocative piece. The castle keep is quite a metaphor for this image and experience. Well-penned!
Thank you Anmol!
Your words indicate you’re still well among the living.
But it’s a fear that haunts us all–both my mother and her sister victims of Alzheimer’s–I do not want those waning years for myself.
I am fine at the moment Kerfe, but I struggle from time to time with memory, and I am brittle diabetic with arteriosclerosis — both significant contributors to Alzheimers. I continue to pass both the Wolf-Klein and Schulman tests every 3 months, so no alerts at the moment. My doctor says it is just because I am nearly 73 — memory will suffer.
May that light continue to shine… i have seen too many fade with age…
Thank you Björn. I write everyday, and create my art frequently, in hopes to keep it shining as long as possible. I need some more time with my grandson, so I will find a way to keep going.
this is not a poem
it is much more
Isn’t all poetry much more?
I know the fear. It is a normal response. I see it all the time and my mother had dementia. I keep my mind active as much as possible.
Theoretically Mary, but there are a great many poems that are much less.
It’s my observation one of two things happens as we near the last journey — we lose either physical ability or mental ability. I lost my mother to the “long goodbye”, and fear it most, I think. I don’t fear death, but I fear what it’s wearing when it comes to collect me!!
(BTW, glad you’re enjoying “River Horse”. You might like his “Blue Highways” as well. when he circumnavigates the U.S. on the highways that show in blue on road maps.)
I understand Bev. I already lost the physical health jackpot, but hanging in there. I grow fearful I may be losing both — but I fight on by writing and creating my art to the degree I am able. Another fascinating way to journey. I will need to check it out. Thanks for the tip young lady! 😉
A fierce pathos, with evocative images that envelop! Well-done, Rob!
Thank you Frank! 🙂
A most terrifying poem, Rob. This is my greatest fear.
Mine as well Sars. That is why I write, to keep the mind focused.
I am soooo late to the reading…but oh so glad I read this, Rob. You’ve described aging….that fear we have of losing our ability to recall….that fear of dementia. In my seventh decade now….I choose to think that because there is so much behind me, that is why I can’t recall some things. Recenting attending my 50th college reunion, I realized quickly I could not recall some of the “times” others would recall in conversations starting with “remember when….” I think that is why photographs are so dear. The play Our Town has a scene, where a person is allowed to revisit one day in their life, and they are told to not choose a “momentous” one….because even returning to an everyday day would be emotional and stirring. I understand that….because even looking at photographs of me in young married life, just a photograph of a “time” or “posing” that I don’t recall, I look so young and can’t really remember that.
A wonderful piece you’ve written and the crows in the belfry (castle) are an apt description.
I am so very glad this resonated for you Lillian. I relate to the whole of your comment here. I think “it takes one to know one”! 🙂 I treasure my photos and I am do frustrated I couldn’t save all mine. A most unfortunate occurrence during our move in 2014 saw a big box inadvertently tossed out. I was heartsick. But I love the ones I still have. Looking at photos of myself as a young man in my 20’s, 50 years ago, is so strange. It is a completely different person
The imagery evokes the dread. Our past is part of the present but can feel cut off like a language we no longer speak fluently that can be lost.
The death before dying.