I have spoken before about the creeping suspicion that I am in the early throws of dementia. I forget an awful lot of things (I have a lot to remember, mind you) and I suspect that I might be a bit repetitious from time to time – rendering my present self even more boring than the previous one.

I opened up my computer today and the word processor asked me if I wanted to save or delete something. The fact is that I can’t remember even writing it. The words sound like mine and they are familiar, but I do not recall actually arranging them. The possibilities are as follows..

1. I wrote them for someone and forgot to send it to them

2. I wrote them for someone and sent it to them but forgot that I had done so

3. I wrote them and published them here

4. Both (2) and (3)

5. I wrote them in my sleep

All 5 options suggest a certain level of mental deterioration but I apologise for now repeating them if any of the first 4 options apply.

***

Our arms, our legs, our minds entwine

We dare to bare our souls divine

We take our poison with our wine

Dying slowly. Feeling fine

Slowly. Slowly. Little death

This final touch. This final breath

This final moment. Final kiss

We dive into the great abyss

We shed our skin. We cannot hide

Our love. Our happy suicide

***

Esther recently made another call out for limericks. Yesterday (or was it the day before?) the prompt was ‘wrong’, and since so many people find most of what I write to be, in many ways, wrong, she seemed to be calling my name.

I sent her a couple and, for the sake of appearances, present one of them again here. Though slightly altered in order to fight off boredom.

A note of explanation. I know it wasn’t yesterday or today that I wrote this and offered it to Esther. I found this in my drafts folder. Today. I must have forgotten to post it. Or perhaps I had a reason not to.

***

Is it wrong? Is it right? Is it rude?

For one to spent time in the nude?

If one is hot

I think certainly not

So much cooler than being a prude.

***

The words ‘hot’ and ‘cool’ may be taken to suggest double meanings. I will leave it to others to decide if that is appropriate.

I’ll grant you that it’s not 18th century poetry, as was suggested here. It’s a bit of a stretch to call it poetry at all.

As usual, it’s just whatever comes out of my head that requires the least possible effort. My life’s work has been something of a celebration of laziness and, in the end, I’ve not got much to say.

Thanks go to Kate, anyway, for shaking me briefly out of my slumber.

***

An epistle I can whistle

I’m just talking to the street

I can hum it, I can strum it

I’m just walking to the beat

A letter to the editor

Hello. I’m doing well

I’ve got these words inside of me

I’ve got a tale to tell

I’m praying what I’m saying

Might make some sort of sense

Did you hear me say it yesterday?

Was it past or present tense?

I’m so mad. A little sad

I’m so normal I could cry

A little song. A singalong

One more verse before I die

I’m grinning at the sunshine

I’m barking at the moon

My little rhyme is keeping time

Though I’m singing out of tune

Hear me mumble as I stumble

Watch me mix a metaphor

You can look. Please watch me cook

Because it’s you I’m cooking for

***

I don’t get involved with many writing prompts these days. I don’t really get involved in anything much around here anymore. I choose, instead, to just lurk in the shadows. But during such a lurk I did stumble across a Tuesday Writing Prompt and, even though Wednesday had already began, I decided to write a few lines – mainly based on the fact that it was advertised as only requiring 5-10 minutes of effort (coincidentally approximating my maximum attention span).

I had to post something, anyway, just to show that, even though my own midnight beckons and I hear the beating hooves as the horseman approaches, there may be life in me yet (though possibly not much poetry).

**

And now behold
A story told
Another page has turned
The sun has set
Have no regret
Your God is unconcerned
Behold the sky
A midnight sigh
The cosmos takes a breath
The sun will rise
No compromise
Each birth must end in death

**