The Blues Redefined
From now on you won’t be able to create a paean,
An elegy, an acrostic to a beloved queen.
With palsy hindering writing simplest thought.
Thinking of a text, in prose or in verse, will be for naught.
Heart frozen and dispirited by this situation,
Akin the dregs of a syrupy potion,
Doomed to oblivion,
My fertile mind sent to a retirement pavilion,
No crueler punishment against creativity
Yet no better impetus for artistic endeavor or activity.
My friend, how sad is our lot!
A boon to our virility this is not.
So long penultimate flower, dewy,
Our partner’s sublime monument,
Feted when we were sinewy.
A handshake or a signature,
Belongs to the past and not the future.
Life for us will never be the same,
Having gone from spry to lame.
Our life, from fun has morphed into gloom,
Our plans from upbeat to doom.
Rightly or wrongly, this new paradigm will define us.
No need to keep whining and feel sorry. Let us
Pick up the pieces and move on
To some strong living waiting and a bright past to stand on.
Excerpt from The Voice, published in August 2018.