This poem is about the images of Alzheimer - it is a mistake to think that someone who is ill with Alzheimer has forgotten how to love. Alzheimer is an illness - a thief.
Those who love us, need us. Go to them.

 Love Me-mory

I am water in a well

Laying deep

I look at the sun

Like a plucked cuckoo

In a strange nest

I don't fit or belong

My feathers are gone

Who put me here

Where I have no tongue

I am a sideboard

Standing by the wall

Stiff and wooden

Yet no-one knows

What is hidden

Look at me

I am a crust

Dried on the outside

Left in a box

Rub me into crumbs

Feed me to the birds

Birds can fly

I am a lost key

That fits no door

Locks have changed

I walk in muddled dreams

In corridors

That never meet

The doors of my life

Are closing

Imprisoned in my skin

There deep within

I do love you

I will always love you

Love
Is not in my melting

It is in my heart.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor 2015

The Bubbling of Poetry

shifts aside all greys of thoughts.

Awakening the ghost of singular gulls

dawning against the fresh pink of morning.

Flocks of bachelor birds tumble and delight,

turning, twisting, in-visible flight.

They play and command the skies.

And with the rising of first light,

stillness sounds ...