Something is Happening

Something is happening.
That is becoming clear to me.
Is it life shattering?
For I’m just not how I should be.

My writing seems so small.
I find I’m cramping up a lot.
I feel as though I’ll fall.
Temperature control is shot.

I can’t co-ordinate.
So much crockery is broken.
I stay awake so late.
I’d sleep on, if not awoken. 

I feel a lot of pain.
Did I mention constipation?
Fatigue hit me again.
This triggers my consternation.

I may often feel stressed.
My migraines are terrifying.
I struggled to get dressed.
I cannot get up from lying.

These symptoms come and go.
And, frankly, there are many more.
To the Doctors I go.
They must perceive me as a bore.

Perhaps it’s in my head.
For there seems no consistency.
My Doctor must see red,
When each few months he hears from me.

But it’s all I can do.
These ailments are so impacting.
I just want an answer.
Clarity that is exacting.

I do not know the source.
This experience makes no sense.
So will I last the course?
Or will I fall at the next fence?


 

It’s true that I am scared.
It really could be something bad.
Yet when I am prepared,
Real information makes me glad.

I monitor myself.
If this is happening to you,
Prioritise your health,
And push your Doctor for tests, too.

Something is happening.
That is becoming clear to me.
Is it life shattering?
For I’m just not how I should be.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.

Hope Grows

Determination is desired.  Make a decision.
Hope grows. 
Open up to optimism.  Oust obvious doom.
Hope grows.
Feel the fortitude from within.  Find your foundation.
Hope grows.
Antipathy is no asset.  Acceptance is all.
Hope grows.
Savour the simple, small things.  Be solutions focused.
Hope grows.

Construct a community and live creatively.
Hope Grows.
Go green.  Gardening grows gratitude and gracefulness.
Hope grows.
Manage time.  Truth; we have today. Twenty four hours.
Hope grows.
Participate with people.  Play.  Party.  Plan good things.
Hope grows.
Together.  Talking is treatment.  Tell people.  Type it.
Hope grows.

Hang on to hopefulness.  Hear your happy inner voice.
Hope grows.
Sorrow makes sense but do not select self-pity.
Hope grows.
Ban belligerent behaviours and beliefs.  Cease blame.
Hope grows.
Engineer expectations that fit the evolved you.
Hope grows.
Learn to love.  Listen to your body.  Laugh the loudest.
Hope grows.

Study something.  Create sanctuary.   Be serene.
Hope grows.
Know your needs.  Nurture the self.  Nourish healthy living.
Hope grows.
Contribute.  Care for others.  Accomplish your cause.
Hope grows.
Welcome well-being.  Think wisely.  Worry just wastes time.
Hope grows.
Help others.  Hold those dear to you.  Hear your heart beating.
Hope grows.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.

Winter’s Magical Eve


Villages lit by twinkling lights
The chill wind shocks with frosty bites
Window displays of gifts and trees
While garden ponds begin to freeze.

Festive garlands and mistletoe
The moonlight shines upon the snow
People gather around log fires
Icicles hang from cold church spires.

Christmas Eve comes but once per year
A time to think of those most dear
Choirs arrive to sing songs of joy
In honour of the baby boy.

The Queen the next day makes her speech
Commonwealth love that she will preach
Creatures sleep or they hibernate
The depth of winter holds their fate.

While children dream of Santa Clause
Adults enjoy this time to pause
For on this special winter’s night
Our gratitude and love shine bright.

© Deano Parsons. 2018.

Autumn’s Pleasant Presence

The winding pathway reveals the passage of time with aplomb,
Portraying nature’s cycles on its paved and pitted surface.
Each season’s portrait depicted in perfect detail;
None so priceless as the pathway in pure gold leaf.

Autumn rainfall pours into potholes of impure puddles.
The plip, the plop, the splatter and the pattering of rain,
While pleasing breezes push away the clouds.
Plentiful golden leaves form pleasing shapes and patterns.

Beneath piles of crisp leaves packed high,
Shrouded in privacy and peaceful autumnal comfort,
Hedgehogs sleep, preen and play in their hidden leafy places.
Safe and protected beside the precious leafy pathway.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2018.

Construct Obstruct

Nothing.  Nascent note-maker’s nemesis.
Scant.  Seeking stark symbolism somewhere.

Without.  Where words wander while we wonder.
Devoid.  Daydream’s dance distances details.

Block. Blinding badlands build bold barriers.
Absent.  Available art avoiding.

Fix.  Finding features for focused forethought.
Method.  Mindfully meet missing meaning.

Outcome.  Overcome obtuse obstructions.
Create.  Commission considered constructs.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.

Lighten Up

Sometimes things cause me to reminisce
Over the past and the me I miss
Some people say ignorance is bliss
I did not know I could feel like this.

There are mountains to climb in each day
And few directions to find my way
When my symptoms just decide to stay
And the bright sun is replaced by grey.

Sometimes a photo of me before
Takes me back to when I could do more
But now it’s easy to find a flaw
And believe that I am life’s short straw.

Yet no matter how tough life can be
There’s a light that shines eternally
Alight within all humanity
It’s the light that makes us family.

So on days when all you feel is pain
When it seems your efforts are in vain
When Parkinson’s punches you again
Look to the light and forego disdain.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.

Stuck Without Access

This poem is about a rather funny, though also a little frustrating, incident that happened to me at the end of a working day, in 2019.

I appear to be stuck in a room.
Outside there is a village meeting.
I hear sounds of joy and groans of gloom.
My chance to leave was only fleeting.

The villagers are gathered next door,
To discuss community issues.
My need for dinner grows ever more.
All I have are pens, pad and tissues.

You see I was here doing my job,
Counselling clients throughout the eve.
At home my dinner is on the hob,
Which is why I am ready to leave.

But I’m not one to disrupt debate.
It would be impolite and unkind.
I thought it better to go home late,
While villagers say what’s on their minds.

It now feels this meeting won’t conclude.
I am now starting to feel confined.
I’m sure they didn’t mean to be rude.
Disabled access, not on their minds.

I was delighted to leave at last,
Though I cut through the last of their talk.
Around tables and chairs I squeezed past.
‘Ditched my stick due to no space to walk.

They did not mean to block, there’s no doubt.
With no space for my stick I could fall.
But I managed to get myself out.
There’s a lesson here now for us all.

Be aware of how hard it can be,
When there’s no space to walk with my stick.
Disabled access must be kept free.
Please review this matter, very quick.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.

Life’s Leafy Pathway

A pathway of autumnal glow,
When Nature bows her head for rest.
While trees prepare for season’s flow,
Like rust upon what summer blessed.

The morning dew drops hang like gems,
As chill winds cause crisp leaves to fall.
Such a welcome the pathway lends,
To all the people one and all.

Who can resist to kick the piles,
Of golden foliage so deep.
The sound of rustling all the while.
Nature’s stage sets ready for sleep.

Woodland creatures stockpile their hoard.
They watch as walkers tread the path.
In ‘wellies’ people cross the ford.
In mud and leaves the children laugh.

The pathway weaves its way through trees;
A journey through nature’s story.
The whirling wind lifts crimson leaves.
Nature’s bunting in full glory.

We must protect our woodlands now,
For businessmen seek to plunder.
Our Politicians let us down.
They just let bulldozers thunder.

Our natural world holds our lives,
While along life’s gold path we tread.
At Westminster those that decide;
Their profit versus life and death.

© Dean Parsons. February 2018.

A Mother’s Eyes

Sadly, my mum died in 2020 but I published this poem about her caring support of me, following my diagnosis of Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease. I’m glad she got to see this.

With my mum, in South Africa. 1972.

A Mother’s Eyes.

She tells me she prays for me each night
She insists that I will be alright
She believes a cure will end my plight
You cannot hide the pain in a mother’s eyes.

She says it’s unfair that I am ill
She gives me her love and strength of will
She walks with me as I climb uphill
You cannot hide the pain in a mother’s eyes.

She lifts me up when I feel disdain
She holds my hand when I am in pain
She points to the sun when I see rain
You cannot hide the pain in a mother’s eyes.

She listens to what I need to tell
She responds with the right words so well
She says there is hope beyond this hell
You cannot hide the pain in a mother’s eyes.

She insists that I try to stay fit
She says she’s tried to make sense of it
She says on down days I must use wit
You cannot hide the pain in a mother’s eyes.

She admits that God must hear her plea
She offered to bare my ills for me
She is my amazing mum, you see
You cannot hide the pain in a son’s eyes.

(c) Deano Parsons. 2019.