My friend Mike Bell (who I first met way back in 1993) has Parkinson's Disease. This is a degenerative disease that doesn't discriminate about age, gender or race. Mike is my age and has a gorgeous wife and young family. Coping with the changes and all that entails for him and his family is an ever-changing journey that has at times been a challenge. Mike, in typical fashion, is doing whatever he can to raise awareness about this disease, as well as fundraising for research into finding a cure and making the prognosis for those who are diagnosed with it, better and more hopeful.
One of the myriad of things he's been doing is writing a poem a day for a whole year. The hope is that he can publish them and sell the anthology for Parkinson's UK. Mike has used this to work through his feelings about what is happening to him and those he loves but he has also found inspiration for some of his poems from local people (e.g. the lollipop lady and the kid's football coach) as well as more serious topics such as the refugee crisis. I'm very fortunate to have been the inspiration for two of his poems and I'd like to share them here today.
The Wild Atlantic Wanderer: For JV
Why walk such distances,
with only the weather
measuring your steps,
over The Downs,
as breaths are taken
in exertion and sights?
with only the weather
measuring your steps,
over The Downs,
as breaths are taken
in exertion and sights?
Why walk without
a destination,
but the next stride,
on loosened chalk paths,
side-stepping puddles.
a destination,
but the next stride,
on loosened chalk paths,
side-stepping puddles.
Why walk from your fixed place,
packed-up, back-turned,
to be rained-on, blown,
to find loneliness,
to be met by hearth
and hearty places?
packed-up, back-turned,
to be rained-on, blown,
to find loneliness,
to be met by hearth
and hearty places?
©Mike Bell Poems
And after reading my description of this walk HERE he wrote this gem...
Rathcormack to Rosses Point
Her grit-slipped
roads there,
on a tyre-trolled
headland,
roads there,
on a tyre-trolled
headland,
of wind-quick
wounded-dunes,
she briefly sat
on a surf-piled mound.
wounded-dunes,
she briefly sat
on a surf-piled mound.
©Mike Bell Poems
I just love them! Mike publishes his poems on his website www.mikebellpoems.com and I know that he'd love you to stop by and have a read of them from time to time.
If you fancy donating to Parkinson's UK, Mike jumped out of a plane today to raise funds. You can donate HERE.
Enjoy to poetry!
Lovely poems.
ReplyDeleteThank you Jane - really appreciate the words (yours!) ;)
ReplyDeleteAnd I really appreciate yours x
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