Thursday, March 1, 2018

What's the Remedy?

The following poem needs no explanation.  It's a true accounting of everything that took place last Friday morning.  If anyone has a theory as to why this happened, please let me know.  I go for further testing next week and am hoping that I will get some answers.  I pray that I don't ever have a repeat performance!


I never thought this word would cause such fear & trepidation.
I never thought each step I took might bring a complication.
And, oh, it brings back memories of days when my own mother
Would somehow find a way to fall, what was the cause, I wondered.

But now it’s me who's falling like I did the other day.
I climbed the basement stairs and then, fell backward all the way
And landed at the bottom where the floor, it made me stop,
Bewildered why I fell at all, had almost reached the top.

I do remember falling and to myself, I said, “Oh, shit!”
Those words they would reverberate while falling, that was it.
I don't remember landing, just that I made a thud,
And wondered just what product I would use to clean that blood.

I don't know how my husband walked me slowly up each stair…
Got on my coat and to the car, just how he got me there.
I kept on asking what had happened and where we were going,
And each time he explained to me the things I should be knowing.

I do recall emergency, the lights, but little else.
I don't remember ex-rays, scans, felt I was by myself.
I guess that’s further proof that I had I suffered a concussion.
The signs and symptoms are clear-cut, an obvious deduction.

I do recall a rigid brace that kept my head from moving.
It kept on rubbing on my wound, believe me, NOT amusing.
But when they finished all my tests, were sure that I was fine,
The brace was gone, relief was sweet and happiness was mine!

My head wound was at last addressed and closed up with some staples,
And I was free, the worse for wear and with Frank's arm enabled…
To go back home complete with sling, so tender but not broken.
But still, I felt through all of it that I was in slow motion.

Now these events they all took place last Friday in the morning.
The question is just why I fell, it took place without warning.
That bothers me, of course, but even more no memory…
Of all the things that happened, tell me what’s the remedy?

Monday, February 26, 2018

It's His 70th Year

My husband is about 2 1/2 years younger than me and I've been waiting for him to finally catch up with me.  So, today is his 70th birthday and I'm happy to finally say, "we're in our 70's."  The following poem is his birthday poem.

by Patty Lynn

You've finally reached the pinnacle, the pinnacle of age.
At last you’ve joined the 70's, you know how long I've raged…
For you to join me here, I've raged, with me, to share my plight,
An oldster just like me you are, yes, youth is “outta sight”…

Because it's so far back, you see, but can you see, now can you?
Yeah, gone the days it all was clear, no matter what the venue.
But don't lose heart ‘cause you & I, we're in this place together,
Through rain or shine I'm yours, you’re mine, regardless of the weather.

And you'll adjust, what choice have you, the 70's are great!
You stayed there in the 60's for so long but couldn't wait…
To be among the peeps like me, who have this marvelous view.
You know, the view of which I speak, the forward looks for you…

‘Cause this one is a shorter one, yes, forward, that’s the way,
A shorter distance on this side, complete with hair of gray.
But you’ve had that part covered, and for some time you've been...
Aware of how time’s slower now and not like way back when…

There never was enough time to do the things you wanted
And tasks were hard to do in time and often you felt daunted.
But now your time’s in surplus and what seems hard to do
Is just because you're old now, you're not expected to…

Accomplish what you used to do, forgotten are the methods.
Besides we're different, we're excused from doing what's expected.
The two of us still do our best, but tire easily.
But that’s OK, it’s our new way, we do things leisurely.

So, Happy Birthday, Sweetheart Frank, I'm glad you’ve joined me here.
We BOTH are in our 70's but, please, don't you shed a tear.
The years ahead will still be good with limitations, sure,
Just face the facts, old age it lacks, but, honey, there's no cure.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018


It's been so long since I've written a blog post, that I ask you to indulge me one
more time with this rather silly poem.  It's at least something.  As a very wise person said, "Something is better than nothing."  WOAH! That sure is deep!  This little poem is just that, it's, well, better than nothing.

By Patty Lynn

I think it’s just despicable no poems of mine I've posted.
I haven't felt the urge to write, but still I haven't coasted,
Because I've had occasion to write poems for special people,
A wedding and a baby's birth, those things, they make me gleeful.

And since those poems were written for some special friends of mine,
I don't feel it appropriate to share them and combine…
Those poems with this my blog, you see, so this one's independent.
I know, if it was my poem shared like that, I'd be offended.

So now I've got to pick a theme and write a little ditty,
A subject you'd find interesting with rhymes that are so pretty.
I’d wow you ‘cause you'll never find another one that’s like it.
You'd say I really hit the mark and that you can't deny it!

I guess I better start my poem, in short, I'd best get started...
Before you think I'm stalling here, my good intentions thwarted.
I know it’s been a little while since I have been inspired
But rest assured that rusty me will do what is required.

It doesn't matter if it's been a week, 6 months, a year.
Before you know it I'll have made it so completely clear...
That I possess the kind of gift that's always at the ready…
To take the stage, is all the rage, my writing talent’s steady.

And you will see the majesty with which I write my poems
That makes you say there’s few like me whose work, it stands alone.
But here I am, write more, I can, but space is surely lacking.
I've filled the page, I'll disengage, in short, this poem's sent packing.