ON AND OFF DAYS,
with peaks of leaks.
Some days I have an off-day
few days are sometimes on.
Consistent days I have to say
are well and truly gone.
Before I get up from my bed
I have to exercise.
To wake my muscles from the dead
or was that my own demise.
Did I awake from last night’s dream
or am I residing there.
Nothing knocks one’s self-esteem
like living a nightmare.
Long lost now that peace of mind
I had my life throughout.
Age is inclined to be unkind
with nowt to shout about.
Arthritic pain in every joint
can make a teardrop come.
Sometimes I wonder what’s the point
when all is said and done.
I leak and stream from everywhere
it never seems to stop.
I know it’s only wear and tear
from old age and the op’s.
I leak from every orifice
the smell can overwhelm.
With no control on shit or piss
within this aging realm.
Ears ooze wax and nose flows snot
and I regurgitate.
Then I tend to sweat a lot
what a freaky, leaky state.
Bleeding nose and stoma too
and from my bum as well.
To speak these things is still taboo
like leper rings a bell.
From my stoma faeces come
plus mucus and some pain.
More mucus flushes from my bum
like frog’s spawn in the rain.
Once I stopped to ask a plumber
to stop my leaks and smell.
He agreed it was a bummer
for he had these leaks as well.
Sometimes I think it can’t get worse
when not one thing is right.
I sit here making rhyming verse
because it helps me fight.
When my fighting’s over
don’t put me in the ground.
My life has not been clover
I feel that I’ve been drowned.
So put me in the ocean
the wide and clear blue sea.
I have this fancy notion
the wetness will suit me.
The sea would make me happy,
the sea could make me glad.
I would not feel so crappy,
I would not feel so sad.
I want to feel the freedom
that flows with every wave.
A flotsam, jetsam, kingdom
will be my watery grave.
For water ought to be the theme
of epitaph and score.
My nightmare turns into a dream
where I will leak no more.
B. Withers 2011
with peaks of leaks.
Some days I have an off-day
few days are sometimes on.
Consistent days I have to say
are well and truly gone.
Before I get up from my bed
I have to exercise.
To wake my muscles from the dead
or was that my own demise.
Did I awake from last night’s dream
or am I residing there.
Nothing knocks one’s self-esteem
like living a nightmare.
Long lost now that peace of mind
I had my life throughout.
Age is inclined to be unkind
with nowt to shout about.
Arthritic pain in every joint
can make a teardrop come.
Sometimes I wonder what’s the point
when all is said and done.
I leak and stream from everywhere
it never seems to stop.
I know it’s only wear and tear
from old age and the op’s.
I leak from every orifice
the smell can overwhelm.
With no control on shit or piss
within this aging realm.
Ears ooze wax and nose flows snot
and I regurgitate.
Then I tend to sweat a lot
what a freaky, leaky state.
Bleeding nose and stoma too
and from my bum as well.
To speak these things is still taboo
like leper rings a bell.
From my stoma faeces come
plus mucus and some pain.
More mucus flushes from my bum
like frog’s spawn in the rain.
Once I stopped to ask a plumber
to stop my leaks and smell.
He agreed it was a bummer
for he had these leaks as well.
Sometimes I think it can’t get worse
when not one thing is right.
I sit here making rhyming verse
because it helps me fight.
When my fighting’s over
don’t put me in the ground.
My life has not been clover
I feel that I’ve been drowned.
So put me in the ocean
the wide and clear blue sea.
I have this fancy notion
the wetness will suit me.
The sea would make me happy,
the sea could make me glad.
I would not feel so crappy,
I would not feel so sad.
I want to feel the freedom
that flows with every wave.
A flotsam, jetsam, kingdom
will be my watery grave.
For water ought to be the theme
of epitaph and score.
My nightmare turns into a dream
where I will leak no more.
B. Withers 2011