Glaucoma Poems: “EARLY GLAUCOMA”

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A

Trip to the West of

England Eye Unit at Exeter

Hospital today, to see if any more

of my optic nerve has sadly passed away.

I take my drops every night, as it’s the least

I can do to save the sight- that is now left to me.

It becomes more prec     than ever to see the

beauty of my wife a     hildren, and watch

pages turn in their rich life book, never

forgetting that your early diagnosis

has now given me, the

                                                          very best outlook  

Michael Ashby

(This poem is on display at the West of England Eye Unit (WEEU) \ Glaucoma unit.

 This poem was tweeted and shared on Facebook by The Glaucoma Association on National Poetry Day

Glaucoma Association ‏@TweetIGA

It is #NationalPoetryDay so here is a link to a beautiful poem ‘Early Glaucoma’ by Michael Ashby: http://michaelashbypoems.com/?p=688 #poetry #glaucoma

and retweeted by Farmilo Optometrists)

 

Diamond Jubilee Poems: “THE JUBILEE DIAMOND”

The Jubilee Diamond Poem

The Jubilee Diamond Poem

“THE JUBILEE DIAMOND”

They call her Elizabeth

The jewel in the crown

She outshone rubies and emeralds

In her coronation gown

-

Enriching the common wealth

She glitters on the world stage

A wife, a mother, our monarch and Queen

                                                    The royal gem of our age

Michael Ashby

The Official Website Of The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee


Funeral Poems: “I WANT TO BE BURIED WITH MY MOBILE PHONE”

I want to be buried with my mobile phone

So I can ring in the changes at my new home

With central heating and a marble en-suite

And lots of thermal socks for my poor cold feet

 

I’ll be able to give in to a takeaway

And watch favourite movies on a rainy day

And if I’m feeling a bit under the weather

I’ll talk to you until I begin to feel better

 

I’ve got party hats, fairy cakes, and songs to sing

In case somebody should chance to drop in

Which is much more likely than you’d think

As my coffin roof is on the blink


I’ll be leaving you now as I’ve got a waiting call

It’s from my new friend over by the cemetery wall

I watched the service yesterday through my periscope

They buried him with his mobile, their little joke

But he’ll have the last laugh, when his bill drops through their door

Fourteen hundred and forty minutes a day, for eternity and evermore


Michael Ashby

 

Modern Christmas Poems: “CHRISTMAS LUNCH ON THE RUN”

(Starter)

I awoke, one wintry morning

I were feeling rather plump

Then I remember, it’s December

And me heart… began to thump

 

(Main)

I’m a Christmas turkey

And me name is Fred

But some rotten bugger’s

Gone and hit me on the head

He’s plucked off me feathers

And stuck something gooey up me bum

And now the cheeky chappy’s

Rubbing butter on me tum

 

He’s put me in a dish

Flat on me back

But now it’s my turn

To go on the attack

 

The shortsighted fool’s

Forgotten to truss up me legs

So when he turns to the oven

I make a run for it, minus me kegs

 

I dart out the cat flap

And rush across the snow

Growing horrific goose bumps

As I go cold turkey, go

 

(Sweet)

Then I met a chap called Santa

Who offers to warm me in his sack

Then ‘e gives me a woolly jumper

Knitted by his Aunt Ethel for his Uncle Jack

 

So I’m back running free now

A bit sheepish, in the fields, with me mates

And if you ever see that chappy

Who hit me over the head

Be sure t’ tell him, where,

To stick his ruddy nuts and his Christmas dates


(a silly,funny christmas poem)

 

 

Cancer Poems: “PROSTATE WITH GRIEF”

Damn the weakness of my urine flow

Damn the number of times I have to go

To the toilet in the middle of the night

Willing my knackered hose with all my might

In fact there’s absolutely no point at all

In returning to bed before I fall

Asleep in the bathroom slumped on the pan

A very stark warning to any young man

So enjoy it while you can drinking ten pints a night

And pissing over walls and out of sight

 

Michael Ashby

prostate cancer uk.org

“CROSSING THE BAR” poem

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,


But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew out from the boundless deep

Turns again home.


Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;


For though from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.


Alfred, Lord Tennyson

(6th August 1809-6th October 1892)


(I was introduced to the background of this famous historic poem last week -written in 1889-and was moved to find that it is thought Salcombe bar in South Devon was it’s physical inspiration. The sand  bar  becomes exposed during very low tides. The sea is heard to “moan” as it breaks on the bar.

This poem- which took eighty years to write- gave Tennyson his poetic passport to a peaceful ending, on his  mortal voyage in an aged human vessel.)


“HUMAN ON A LEAD” poem about dogs

 

"Hi George!"


It is most regrettable to need

To keep a human on a lead

But it is a somewhat unstable

Bipedal breed

 

After early ablutions

And chewing crossword solutions

Human will indicate a desire to run free

By attempting self-strangulation

And near asphyxiation

To escape temporarily

From dogmatic regulation


But, to protect the potential pedigree

Of humans’ prospective progeny

You must always pooh-pooh on protestation

And wee demonstration

Remember to bark with authority

And mark canine superiority

By continuing to keep human

On a very tight lead

Much later, when it comes to dinnertime

You will almost certainly hear an audible pine

As human attempts to profit from your palate

Such predictable beggings

And nuzzling of your leggings

Are best ignored until they abate


And when due subservience

Touched with a hint of reverence

Is exhibited with deference once more

With natural order fully restored

Why not consider a small reward?

Like a humble human biscuit from your paw

The day is long run

As you ruminate on your tum

With your soul mate in your deluxe doggydozey bed

And should your luck be in -now is the perfect time-

For your romantic partner to gently lay a paw upon your head


But what’s that?

Canine interruptus?

A human knocking politely on your kennel mansion door

At such a delicate time

Please don’t stress

Just feign a touch of deafness

And focus on getting breathless

And for once

Let another dog follow your lead

(This poem is dedicated to George and all the other selfless dogs

who- no matter how inclement the weather – walk their

faithful humans at any time of day or night, often missing

their favourite programmes on Doggyvision… and letting their

meals grow cold.)