Ode to PMR

[Trish21]

The pain of age has descended upon my body with cruel prematurity

The aches come with pitiless regularity to every sinew of my being

My gait is compromised into an unbalanced rise and fall

My posture is twisted as my limbs fight with each other for dominance

My eyes once crystal in perception now often as cloudy as descending highland mist

My mood pendulum like swings high and low, low and even lower

Yet still each day on waking I count my blessings, I am alive, I am alive

My body is a sad reflection of what once was

But my soul is mine, PMR you shall not take her

[Mary63]

Beautifully put....poor you

[Trish21 in reply to Mary63]

Thanks

[PosyP]

Trish, did you compose that yourself ? It is amazing ! Reading it really moved me. Have you written anything else, if so please share with us.

The way you worded it really moved me. Please give me more. PosyP

[Trish21 in reply to PosyP]

Thanks, yes all my own work, I have written before.

[PosyP in reply to Trish21]

Well please let us see it. Don’t keep it to yourself, or did you post it at the time ? I’m fairly new so I’m catching up. I keep making idjit errors like responding to posts written 2 years ago. 😃

But honestly your prose is superb . PosyP

[PMRpro Ambassador in reply to PosyP]

Do you find the old posts or do you get notifications about them? I ask because we wonder if there is a glitch somewhere.

[PosyP in reply to PMRpro]

No it’s me.. I wander all over the place, I have a mind like tumbleweed,, just not observant enough to keep myself where I’m supposed to be. But thanks for asking. Only trouble might be if post I responded to was written by someone now deceased, it might be upsetting for their partner or friends. I’ll just be more careful and check the date in future. Thank you anyway. PosyP

[Trish21 in reply to PosyP]

Thank you very much. This is today's post. I am hoping to write more.

[PosyP in reply to Trish21]

Oh good. I look forward to it. No pressure of course. Tomorrow will be fine 😀

[PosyP in reply to Trish21]

It is that last line that grabbed my heart x

[jinasc]

Trish21 - Loved it and it reminded me of this poem which I thought you might like to read this, it was posted on another forum in 2012. I have another somewhere also written by a person was was a Trustee on PMRGCAUK. One day I will find it as well.

PMR & GCA people have hidden talents and it is nice to share.

An Unwelcome Guest

We didn’t ask to have it

We want it to go away

But it doesn’t matter how hard we try

It seems to want to stay

We said it wasn’t welcome

An uninvited guest

It just keeps niggling away at us

Its such a flippin’ pest

I

t hurts when we sit down

And even when we stand

No wonder we get cross with it

But it doesn’t understand

Just leave us all alone

You’re not welcome any more

We want to have our lives back

You’re becoming a real big bore

There’s some relief from our old

friend

The loved and hated Pred

Perhaps they’ll find a cure

But we won’t be holding our breath

We’ve come to the conclusion

It only gets the best

So b*gger off, just go away

We’re tired and need a rest

But here’s to those who’ve beaten it

PMR and GCA

Wouldn’t it be great if we could

Just throw them both away!

6 February 2012.

Lizzie has PMR and is a member

of the Surrey Support Group

I have posted this and Lizzie will get to know, when I get arundtuit..........we printed in our Newsletter.

[Trish21 in reply to jinasc]

Thanks for the response. Yes we are all talented people. I am trying to get back to my pre pmr state of mind and I think writing will help.

[Celebrant]

love it

On Gathering Artists

Alberto Ríos

Who does a job well, and very well—

These are the artists, those curious

Lights.

We are cobblers of the song

And barkers of the carnival word,

We are tailors of the light

And framers of the earth.

We fish among the elements

And hunt the elusive green in gray and blue.

We drink forbidden waters

And eat an invisible food.

In this time of electronic-mail and facsimile

Conversation, we send as our voice

The poem, the bridge, the circuit, the cure

Whose electricity is made from dreams,

Whose song is sung in the colors yet unnamed

Drawn from the solitary études of the soul

And given up in tender to the world.

How easy to spend a day writing a poem,

How hard to spend a life writing a thousand.

A poem, a bridge, a story, a circuit,

Cures, laws, bowls—

The warp and weave and waft of iron

And paper and light and salt:

We labor for a lifetime

But take every day off.

Who knows what to make of us?

We are not the ribcage, but the legs;

We are not the steering wheel, but the headlamps.

We gather happily, if not often. We can’t

Sit still. We hurry off. Good-bye to us,

Hello to us, a tip of the hat

To us, as we go about

The drumming of our stars.

From A Small Story about the Sky, published by Copper Canyon Press. Copyright © 2015 by Alberto Ríos.