Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Dan likes yellow flowers. Daisy likes white. Dan likes running round in circles. Daisy likes running straight. Dan likes jumping up and down. Daisy likes swaying in the breeze. Dan’s ninety-two and Daisy’s ninety-three. They’ve been courting since the day they were born and one day they might get married.

She built a castle long ago round her heart. Weeds grew, imparted a wildness to her look. Thorns guarded the door. And time stood still. He knocked at the door, crept into the darkened room to remembered love. “Amy?” Old eyes gazed up, old memories replacing new. Weeds fell away.

Monday she started falling, trying to tie her shoelaces all by herself, then called for help. Monday’s care-givers are always late; should have waited she thought, but falling lent a sort of elasticity to the dream, though not her body; seemed like Friday might break her. On Sunday she rose.

I don’t know where time goes, Only it flows Like rain. I think I lost your photograph Left it in a book I gave away. Water washes pictures from the page While ages pass and lemon grass Grows sepia with age. Don’t know where time went But we grew old. Giving thanks for time to grow older

The sky’s gone gray They didn’t say It was going to rain today. We’d planned to go See flowers and so It really isn’t fair. My Gran would say It’ll do okay There’s still enough blue there. But we just moan The clouds have grown The sunshine’s growing cold. My Gran would smile She often did The sun’ll come out in a while. Enough blue sky To patch a sailor’s Britches make them bright. I wonder if We get the choose The way that we grow old. Maybe we just Wake up one day And see the sky’s turned gray. Written for ReadWritePoem # 25 from the first thing someone said to me after reading the prompt.

The broken window won’t let me in. The slide’s on its side in the garden With carrots and turnips climbing through dreams Where broken glass refuses to let me pass. Childhood ends when your thumbs turn green. The broken window’s outside the house And shadows fill the rooms But a mouse is hiding underneath geranium blooms And the stadium roars for victories unseen. I think if I pretend I’m inside I’ll see the toys and games and realize That nothing’s changed. Old lady sits in her chair and knits While carrots and turnips and climbing frames Slide through her dreams. Written for ReadWritePoem # 12 - nonsense sentence secret code

Old bones grow stiff in winter. So says the man. So says his dog. And fireside warmth is comfort to their souls. But now the ground is softer. Squirrels roll. Birds scream and play. Grass-blades are turned to carpets and the sullen mud retreats. Spring-time is nice. So says the man. So says his dog. And twice a day they walk. Old man sees woman, stops to talk. And little dog meets dog. If it should rain they’ll hurry home, his house or hers, and people will drink tea; water for dogs. Old bones stop growing stiff when spring returns.

Prim and propper, she sat on her deck-chair, gloved hands folded, feet together and a handky perched on top of her gray head. She seemed a picture of misery. The beach scene unfolded, bright sea under featureless sky, pale sand scuffed, children’s feet and animal paws, seagull claws and happy laughs and caws; she ignored it all. Trousers rolled to his knees, barefoot (and hairy of foot), Grandpa kicked the beach-ball between seashell goals and laughed as he played with the child. Then they came together to sit by gGandma’s knee, their love the key. Prim and proper, she smiled.