A few more poems from volume one

If I’d backed up my thoughts on hard drive

Or memories on a stick 

I could reboot my brain and start again

With processes sharp and quick

Any viruses would be overcome 

All connections would be good

I’d search for words on the internet 

So my conversation was understood

There wouldn’t be breaks in transmission 

Or deletion of files in error 

I’d save all the data that matters

And banish my every day terrors 

Photos would all be in albums 

Stored with the relevant name

Oh, I wish I’d backed up my hardrive

Or could reset my factory settings again

Changing channels

Looking for the remote again

It could be anywhere we know,

I’ve checked the fridge, every usual place

But it’s evaporated without a trace.

Ken’s forgotten what he’s looking for

He’s getting quite distraught 

I try to change channel manually 

More complicated than I thought. 

And so we’re on channel 808

It’s certainly not Eastenders

Not the remotest idea where it’s gone

Mobile phones are other contenders.

It’s a regular occurrence 

Guaranteed to trigger stress,

At least we’re back to channel one

It’ll turn up somewhere soon I guess!

Forgotten letters

I flick through a notebook,

And find a memo you once wrote

It makes me cry.

Not the words,

For they are a disconnected list,

Tasks to perform, materials to order,

It’s the sight of that familiar handwriting again,

Knowing that now, you can’t even sign your name.

The confident strokes

Of a confident man

I’ve almost forgotten.

How many birthday cards today left unsigned 

Now dementia erased that part of the mind

And taken another scribe.

It’s a stark and visual reminder 

Of how things once were

When daily tasks were ticked off with ease, 

Now making the list- an impossible task

Such is the might of this disease. 

Logical order

The day’s reminders, 

An Aid memoir. 

The well thumbed pencil written notes

That suddenly strike me to the core.

Elementary skills

Stolen over years

What will be the next to go?

reason for my tears.

Performance of care

Not missed until they’re missing,

Not heard unless they shout,

Behind the scenes, 

The work goes on,

Of this there is no doubt.

Propping up performance,

Changing lighting for each scene,

Standing ready in the wings,

Poised to intervene. 

Forgotten cues are prompted,

But never interrupted early

Giving ‘Stars’ their chance to shine

The performance happens daily.

The audience is unaware, 

The backstage dramas taking place,

Helping into costume, 

Painting on a face.

An understudy well prepared, 

To step into the shoes,

No leading light, just the support act,

Who knows the lines and cues.

The acting is of instinct, 

The role has no audition 

There’s no dress rehearsal

There is no script –

To learn for this position. 

An in proviso drama of tragedy and wit,

The music of the orchestra 

Playing memories in the pit.

This stage is most convincing, 

The Audience mostly unaware,

The pull off this performance 

Takes passion, strength and care.

Watching the camera angle, 

Best side to the light,

So the play goes smoothly 

And returns for another night.

Directing operations,

Giving ad-lib choice,

Helping the actor find his words

An accent and a voice.

There’s no name on the billboard,

For us behind the scene 

No space in the Greenroom,

No accolades for the backup team.

The Carer never takes a bow,

And shies from curtain call,

Important role without a face,

But the troupe all know how,

Without them the show can’t carry on

We’re invisible props that don’t fall down.