She Does Deserve Great Sympathy
Ageing Bella in the house at the corner outdoors she is not often seen
She was a potential swimming Olympian till a motoring accident she had at eighteen
Brought an end to her swimming career back in ninteen seventy three
And condemned her to life in a wheelchair she does deserve great sympathy.
She could not compete in the Olympics and swim her way into renown
And become the toast of the Nation and the heroine of her Hometown
It robbed her of her chance of having children she has never been any man's wife
one might say she was quite unlucky that accident ruined her life.
She is quite an attractive woman her brown hair flecked with strands of gray
She had spent years of her life in a wheelchair seven to ten years before her prime day
when I meet her she smiles and says hello but sometimes she looks rather sad
I can only empathize with her a terrible life she has had.
Thirty six of her fifty four years in a wheelchair since her widowed mum died five years ago she has lived on her own
Lady luck is surely against her a terrible life she has known
Confined to a wheelchair due to a car crash on the highway which robbed her of her chance of fame
In swimming she was a young champion and for herself making a name.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Related quotes
Not Wheelchair Accessible
I have something to say but no one will hear it because I can’t get in.
The place to speak is not wheelchair accessible.
My whole life I have been on the outside looking in.
Because most business owners brains are not wheelchair accessible.
When I’m on the street corner just waiting for bus some one walks up and hands me a dollar because they think I’m begging another mind that is not wheelchair accessible.
I know most people have to look down to see me, but they don’t need to look down on me. A person who is unable to see past the physical is a person who will never see that I’m not the one with the disability they are. Do you hear me or are you not wheelchair accessible.
On The Retirement Of Ian Thorpe
I heard on the radio in the sports news today
That Ian Thorpe the great swimmer has give competitive swimming away
A winner of nine Olympic medals five of them gold
Of his greatness in story and song we've been told
Australia's greatest ever swimmer if not the World's best
He was never found to be wanting when put to the test
But at twenty four years he said enough for me
At the World Championships and the Olympics him we'll never more see
At the prime of his life one might say a young man
But at top competitive swimming top swimmers do not have a long span
In the World of swimming he is an all time great
And his world Championship and Olympic victories Aussies did celebrate
A world renowned swimmer since he was a boy
And life after competitive swimming may he now enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Battles His Dogs Of Despair
The years have left him looking gray
And he has known a far better day
Around his balding head he has lost more hair
As he battles his dogs of despair.
Though from it's side effects weight he does gain
Medication it does keep him sane
And though all of his good days are gone
His fight is to keep keeping on.
And to live for as long as he can
For what use is a dead woman or man
So he will live till the reaper's call
The one who claims the life of all.
One who has contemplated suicide
When his will to live all but had died
But he is one who has hung in there
For to battle his dogs of despair.
In life 'tis not easy to win
But he never threw the towel in
He bravely faced life's road ahead
Fortune do favour the brave 'tis said.
Mental illness it has ruined his life
Robbed him of the chance of a wife
But to his great gift of life he says yes
As he battles with illness and stress.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Seeing A Photograph
A photo of an ageing face stirs an old memory
He is plainly not a shadow of the man he used to be
His balding head is hoary gray his hair it was dark brown
When we played football as teenagers in the park in our Hometown.
He was a sprightly youth back then two years younger than I
On looking back the decades the years just seemed to fly
He played football worked in the fields and walked miles every day
But like me he seems the worst for wear the years have left us gray.
Perhaps we would be strangers now if by chance we did meet
We might not recognize each other in passing on the street
We age a little every day time of us all takes care
And leaves us looking in the end the very worst for wear.
A photograph of one I knew from many years ago
And he has aged as I have aged time on us all does show
We played football together when we were near to our life's prime
But in the end we all lose out to ageless father time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Crippled In Love
Do you remember when
You really loved me.
I danced through months of joy.
Now
That callous magician,
Time
Has waved his wand.
And I'm crippled
Without your bond.
Through years of pain.
The life we planned
Died inside.
To understand
You have to bleed.
Like me.
Not hide.
From love running free
Now
In a wheelchair I'll be.
For the rest of my life.
Mentally.
poem by Kevin East
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Visalakshi-2
Her husband died of a car accident.
It took place about three years ago.
Now she is free of encumbrances.
Hence I could talk to her as freely as
I did fifty two years back in her village
Where I met her, where we fell for each other.
I managed to get her phone number.
The last meeting of us was in her house
With her spouse, some twenty years ago.
She has married seven years after
Our episode, in the year I married,
Both being unaware of each other.
I saw her there after thirty two years
By when a lemon skinned beauty queen
Has turned into a dry skinned wrinkles.
I got her over phone and shared her grief.
She was upset, implying her bond with him.
She declined my offer of any meeting,
However incidental it might be.
‘Let us forget ours as a child game
With no renewal at this stage and age’
She said. Anxiety driven, she enquired
About me and family and my life.
Now she is seventy and weak as she told.
She is as old as me who am still robust.
It means we both were sweet seventeen
When we loved each other that went to
Being together with clothes stripped of
In her bolted room with a resolution
To elope, till we were caught red handed.
How quick a woman vomits her ex lover!
24.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Courage is setting yourself free
As she maneuvered
her entourage
of a motorized wheelchair
trained assistance dog
and personal assistant
into the Olympic size swimming pool
at the health club
I thought that it was
a nice idea
to come and sit
at the edge of the pool
and that it would probably
be therapeutic
or at least a refreshing
change of place
for someone in a wheelchair
but she scooted her vehicle
into front of the first swim lane
and as she was chatting to her assistant
the dog just sat there by the door
resting
her assistant reached behind her and
lifted her torso up and placed
her at the edge of the pool
as I was sitting in the
nearby whirlpool
at 4: 30 in the afternoon
I became curious
about what they were going to do next?
was the parapaligic
going to just go in the water
and sit or was there something more in store
when she was tossed in the water
I realized she must have been a swimmer before
you could tell by her upper body
that she had once had a sleek form
that swimmers have
powerful shoulder muscles
she started with a back stroke
her thick arms making a V stroke
her clenched fists
providing an engine to paddle her body
down the lane
since she had no control over her legs
the graceful placement of her head
during her swimming stroke
face up in the pool
forced her knees to come up
to the surface
this improvised technique
had half her body moving furiously
and the other half
the useless half
being dragged behind
she had an unusual turn
in which instead of using the wall
of the turn to propel off
she turned first sideways
and then circled back
and went on her way
but as she finished the turn
I saw a peaceful look
on her face
she had found
freedom of movement
once again
in a swimming pool
one of the most dangerous places
to be in
when you have lost control
of most of your body
poem by Oscar Mireles
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27 Years! ! ! ! !
27 years of my life-
I lived like a wife,
waiting for my husband kiss;
Which i always missed.
27 years of my life -
Waited all the nights,
To share my happiness and sadness;
And i felt it was madness.
27 years of my life-
I spent with unknown husband,
Who has time to work;
And I felt like a jerk.
27 years of my life-
I spent with boredom,
And being a loyal wife;
I lost my freedom.
After 27 years of my life-
I still feel something missing,
I still keep looking;
And still waiting.
And the next 27 years will pass by:
Without my husband near by.
poem by Anju Addanki
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Glitter / Fated
The day I met you was the beginning of my life
It was a sensation of liberation
A phenomenon of fate
That brought us together
We swim together in this bitter sea
Longing for a glittering outbreak
To guide us through the conduit
In a seemingly perfect life
And now the path partitions
Once we split, will we ever meet again
Once we meet, will you still be the same
And it will never be the same
This glitter was fated and there is no light
I’ve become one forlorn soul since you’ve been out of my life
It seems virtually impossible to keep swimming in this bitter sea
Our memories are too heavy and I can’t carry by myself
Ever since you left survival’s become so severe
Will these messages reach you one day
Are you still swimming alone
Do you still recall the glitter we once perceived
Will you wait for me at the end
I’ll keep swimming until we meet again
Wherever you are, our life was fated
poem by Aiden Florence
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An Aged Veteran Of World War 2
I'll tell to you a story of one I vaguely know
An aged veteran of World war 2 some sixty years ago
A poor worn out old warrior the years have left him gray
In the early stages of forgetfulness his memory in decay.
Part of his right leg amputated ten centimetres below the knee
As a result of a grenade a horrific war injury
It ruined his chances of finding love and winning for himself a wife
And all of the dreams he's ever had of enjoying a happy life.
In his electrical wheelchair on the sidewalk a sad look on his face
A frail and an elderly citizen and familiar to the place
Decorated for his bravery under fire more than six decades ago
An old man waiting for his end that few now wish to know.
He lives in the retirement home from the shopping centre a short drive
The killing fields of Europe he was lucky to survive
But he did not return home unscathed as his missing limb testify
For a lesson that's unlearned millions of young people had to die.
An old man in his late eighties the hard life on him show
And I see him fairly often though me he does not seem to know
Yet when we meet to his sad face there comes a smile and he always says hello
A veteran of World war 2 some six decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Life is this
Swimming is
Not excise...
Swimming is
Not hobby...
Swimming is
Not work...
Swimming is
Life...
Yes...
Swimming is
Life...
For all fishess....
Boat and ship
Without breath...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Remember
I remember being ten years old
And wondering what I would be?
I talked it over with my father
And he said, “We’ll see.”
I remember being twenty years old
And wondering all about life.
I found myself getting married
And learning to be a wife.
I remember being thirty years old
With 2 sons at my side.
I saw a few strands of gray hair
Which I tried to hide.
I remember being forty-five
And birthdays coming too soon.
I was teaching kids all about music
And waiting for vacations in June.
I remember when I turned fifty
And my body started to change.
The hormonal and emotional challenges
All became so strange.
I remember becoming fifty-eight
When retirement came my way.
I thought to myself, “ Now what do I do? ”
On every single day?
I remember becoming seventy
When breast cancer came to me.
I decided I wanted to live some more
So I created poetry.
All that I remember from that point on
Is where I am today
Using this pen that’s in my hand.
It’s become my way to say
Thank You.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Father Joe Murphy
When i was a Schoolboy Father Joe Murphy was a young man
I recall him and his Brothers Doney and the late Johnny Dan
And though of my existence he hardly would know
One cannot help but remember the great Father Joe.
Fifty five years as a priest something to celebrate
The man has been blessed in his great gift of faith
To his own higher self and to his god true
We must give him credit since credit he is due.
Devoted to his god by good example he lead
At living a good life one who does succeed
A credit to Millstreet and the pride of his clan
The great Father Joe is a wonderful man.
In this age of the cheapening values in life
With warring and famines and poverty rife
A story like Father Joe's a great story to hear
There's still hope for humanity it does appear.
Fifty five years a priest is something well worth a boast
To Father Joe Murphy we will drink a toast
He was in his prime years when i was quite young
And surely his praises deserve to be sung.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Jimmy
Well I kinda feel sorry for jimmy
Yeah but you dont know the whole story he wasnt a nice guy
Whaddya mean?
Let me tell ya
Jimmys in a wheel chair and I dont care
He used to walk his dog
And then hed beat him good
Like his pretty wife
And now theyre up and gone
And jimmys in a wheelchair and I dont care
He was the president
Of a company
He kept his workers poor
Hed lie and cheat and steal
Well when justice strikes
Well every once in a while
It makes a bullseye hit
Well every once in a while
He used to yell and scream
Until his son would cry
Then hed run him down
Well he dont run no more
Jimmys in a wheelchair and I dont care
He got big and fat
And he was ridin high
Makin lots of cash
Trashin others lives
Now jimmys in a wheelchair and I dont care
Lord he had it comin
Now hes cryin in his beer
Lord have mercy on this man
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Macedonia
Stare, bare, ware, mare, care, fare, hare, pare, rare, tare;
And, trying to see beyond!
But, i have something to tell you,
And like your muse in the land of Macedonia.
Blair, chair, air, fair, stair, hair, lair, flair, wheelchair, pair;
You just don't know it because, you can't get there!
And like this girl on the wheelchair.
Wheel, feel, steel, reel, peel, creel, heel!
And to meet with you;
But in six days time you will understand my mind,
For the actions of your love are now recorded.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Think Well of Her
It was years ago when I first met her.
She was the siren of Laguna Beach,
Well endowed, a body to be envied by all women
And, licentiously desired by all men.
She walked like a cat;
Mysterious behind her large, darkly
Tinted glasses, causing people to turn
And watch as she silently passed them by.
She was not pretentious, she was herself,
As she was born to be.
She was not young but, at that time of life
When all was an intoxicating awareness
Of love and beauty, wrapped in a ferver for life,
Living it to its maximum.
I saw her again, many years later,
Confined to a home-health care facility;
Mobile to the limits of a wheelchair.
The shadows of time deepened,
As a flickering dance of advancing days
Hovered about her face.
I remember her, once glorious in her youthful beauty,
A blaze of eloquent passion. Now, she seems a dying ember,
In the gray, slow-fire ash of old age.
I think well of her, as I thought well of her,
With all kindness and tenderness,
Just as a man remembers, through the scroll
Of decades past, those places and people
He enjoyed and loved the most.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Fifty Years Of Marriage
With dye and hair colouring they cover their gray
Their fifty years of marriage they celebrate today
Through fifty years of marriage they have argued their way
In their love hate relationship one well might say.
Their better days one can say for them are long gone
And they age without grace though time is ticking on
Their children are grand-parents and the years on them show
Since they too are ageing and their fastest pace slow.
Fifty happy years together by some we are told
But others who know them well and with their words more bold
Will tell you they never did see eye to eye
But why they stay together one must wonder why.
They have stayed together for so many years
One can hardly say of them the lovely old dears
Since they both are quite quarrelsome and grumpy as well
Perhaps without quarrels life for them would be hell.
Fifty years together and the same bed they share
Yet even in public places at each other they swear
Such marriages as their's suppose never were rare
They are not the World's only dysfunctional pair.
Today their descendants will celebrate the marriage of their Pop and Gran
And applaud this wonderful woman and man
But the truth of their marriage they will never tell
How they seem to enjoy giving each other hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy To Live On Her Own
For twenty years married to a horrible man
In human years that does seem quite a long span
Her son and her daughter eighteen and nineteen
One might say that her better days she has seen.
A woman who does know about male abuse
Her husband when drunk often beat her though that's not an excuse
For such criminal behaviour to his beautiful wife
Some women with men have a terrible life.
He was not a good husband and a rotten dad
Herself and their children he did treat so bad
That he has left her for another she does feel quite glad
Though for his new woman she feels a bit sad.
She knows all about the anger of a man
And to marry again it is not in her plan
Some hard times in life one can say she has known
And now she is happy to live on her own.
poem by Francis Duggan
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