[stylist] Cry

[Ashley Bramlett]

Hi Jackie,
I hope it gets published for the contest you entered in. Nice poem and it 
definitely brings out the emotion and uncertainty of the disease of your 
brother.


-----Original Message----- 
From: Jacqueline Williams
Sent: Monday, May 28, 2012 2:32 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] Cry

Lynda,
Yes, this made me cry. I was only able to open one attachment, which has
happened before to me. But the one I read, "Mother," really jerked me
around. I want you to read the one I wrote about my brother, Rocky," who was
diagnosed with Picks disease about 9 months ago.
I can say nothing more than what I have written in my poem. I have attached
it, twice, but it does not seem to be there for me to open. Therefore I am
also pasting it in which will totally destroy the format which is part of
the form-repetition, phrases, reflecting the short repetitive quality of the
dementia, and the grief.
I have submitted it to the NFSPS 2012 contest, the subject being, "When bad
things happen."
My kid brother, thirteen years younger, is being taken care of so far at
home by my wonderful sister-in-law.
Jackie

Rocky Oct. 10, 2011

An accident, a bicycle hit a barricade bad news for one
already depressed having patches of dementia
A broken neck, a halo, it was bad news for one depressed
having patches of dementia and vacant blue eyes.

Vacant blue eyes, a brother's, peered out.
Antiseptic room, lucidity came in fits and starts-
for a day or two. It came in fits and starts, but
words
were scarce, almost inaudible. Some days, in fits and starts,

he laughed at me. Those blue eyes, happy, laughed with me.
Good news-released to home. He found his bicycle at 5:00 a.m.
An accident, a bicycle hit a curb- bad news for one with broken
neck,
a halo displaced. It was bad news.

Bad news, now broken ribs, the fusing of his vertebra
without the fusing of his mind. Without the fusing of his mind,
the now was all. The now is all. At
times,
blue eyes connect, he laughs watching me eat.

We laugh together when he watches me eat. I cry inside.
Home again, all toys locked up to save himself and all.
I cry. Six weeks to heal the fused vertebra- he loosens the
"doughnut."
Will my brother return? Will my brother return to all those

who stood beside him, who love him? It is bad news
for one already depressed having patches of
dementia-
with a mind already putting up signs of vacancy on plots
in fields once holding his fertile imagination.

At home again, lucidity comes in fits and starts,
and endings now. It is not good news
for those who love and hope. For those who love him-
hope remains- those laughing blue eyes will return.


Jacqueline Williams



-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Lynda Lambert
Sent: Tuesday, March 06, 2012 1:34 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: [stylist] Cry

I am sending you 2 poems, written about my mother at age 80. Some things
that make us cry are silent tragedies that are going on around us every day,
not noticed by many people, not written up in newspapers, and not recognized
by anyone for a long time.

Lynda Lambert
104 River Road
Ellwood City, PA 16117

724 758 4979

My Blog:  http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com
My Website:  http://lyndalambert.com











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