Neuro – Nibbles

Nasty nibbles in the Nigra,
Bite size bits eaten away.
Neurological Pac Man,
He’s here to stay!
He cheats, you say!

Must hold on, delay,
A lesser you, such a crime,
Already lost this game,
Depleted precious time,
No reason, no rhyme.

Neuro-nibbles in the Nigra,
A neurological foray.
A nosh here, a nosh there,
Curse the Nigra I say,
Cure the nibbles, now, today!

Lynn McHale June 2014 Copyright All Rights Reserved

Revised 2/19/2015

My made up word and definition:

Neuro-nibble; short for neurological nibble.  It is what happens in your brain when you have Parkinson’s disease, a neurological degenerative brain disorder.  The brain does not produce enough of the chemical dopamine which is needed by the neuro-transmitters to communicate to all parts of the body.  Therefore, each and every day, day after day, tiny neuro-nibbles occur in your brain as the dopamine becomes scarcer.  At the time, you don’t feel the neuro-nibble, or even sense it is happening. But, over months, and years the cumulative effect takes its devastating toll as the brain continues to degenerate, one little neuro-nibble at a time.

Beauty Felled

Maple leaf - watercolor pencil on travertine tile.

Maple leaf – watercolor pencil on travertine tile.

photo 2 - Copy (2)

Watercolor pencil and ink on travertine tile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garnets, rubies, citrine,
Forest’s crown jewels,
Boasting brilliance.
Beauty dazzles.

Softly surrendering,
Silently drifting,
Smothering.
Beauty fades.

Withered, weathered,
Wind-whipped,
Tossed, tumbled.
Beauty weeps.

Scattered sacrifices,
Last proof of life,
Imprints on sidewalk.
Leaves lament.

Crisp, crunchy.
Rakes eradicate,
Mowers mutilate.
We weep.

Lynn McHale Nov. 16, 2013 Copyright All Rights Reserved

 

My Mother’s Eyes

 

In memory of my Mother who passed away Oct. 6, 2011. Some days I still think I can pick up phone and call her. I love her and miss her.

In memory of my  Mother who passed away Oct. 6,2011. Some days I still think I can pick up the phone and talk with her. I still miss her and love her. 

 

When I look at myself in the mirror,
I see my Mother’s brown eyes staring back,
Knowing Death would be her last visitor.
I close my eyes, sad, my emotions crack.

I want to remember eyes with expression,
Not lifeless eyes devoid of sensory.
I offer no plausible explanation,
This sight forever haunts my memory.

In my eyes, our brown eyes are one.
She is dead, but lives in my mirror.
I long to see her, but Death won.
Each morning two pair of eyes appear.

Lynn McHale 6/1/13 Copyright All Rights Reserved

My Eyes

My Eyes

Note:  I spent my last time with my Mother four days before she died.  She was in hospice.  Her eyes looking back at me from her bed are permanently etched in my memory.

Lynn  McHale   6/1/13   Copyright   All Rights Reserved

Hot Tea and Cancer

 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month
Please get your mammogram.
Support those women fighting breast cancer.
Donate to American Cancer Society or other Cancer Association.
A battle with cancer always remains a part of you. These are my thoughts and feelings evoked from a Facebook posting recently.

My Mother, a breast cancer survivor, and me in March 2006.  I was diagnosed Oct. 27, 2005.

My Mother, a breast cancer survivor, and me in March 2006. I was diagnosed Oct. 27, 2005.

 

It’s a.m. ten to three,
I’m sitting in bed,
Drinking hot tea,
Currently cancer free.

I don’t think about it that much,
New battle with Parkinson’s Disease,
Put away, like tea cup in hutch.
Hot tea with honey, please!

Why thinking about cancer tonight?
Friend posted photo “Stupid Cancer,”
Opened the wound, Hope now less bright,
Sipping a cup of memories.

Memories of those who lost their battle,
Fortunate ones who wear label “survivor.”
Survivor yes, until day you are not,
Another fight; armed, but still defenseless.

Time is not on your side,
Sorry to disagree, Mick.
Hands on clock pull you inside,
Time passes on. Tick, tick, tick.

It’s not time on “life support,”
It’s your life on “time support.”

Lynn McHale 10/1/14 Copyright All Rights Reserved

Dedicated to those who lost their battle to breast cancer and were loved and are missed; my Mom, Claudia, Judy, Mary, Barb, Celia
Dedicated to those who are survivors of breast cancer; Myself, Barb, Tracy, Lee, Jane, Daisy
And to all women who have battled breast cancer or are in the trenches right now.

The Dream Catcher

 

 

dream catcher

Which dreams are caught,
An ancient craft taught
So long ago in distant time
Now, silent as today’s mime?

Are caught dreams prisoners,
With untold stories, no futures,
Yearning to escape to the great beyond,
Dancing like fireflies on a moonlit pond?

Which ones escape, which ones are kept,
What if already dreamt,
Or slips away through a crack,
What if it’s darker than black?

What Entity, what Being
Has the power deciding
With revered and fabled ability,
Decisions made hastily or sensibly?

A dream’s Fate or Future
Snares in the dream catcher,
Snags like an insect in a spider’s web,
Or gently floats out to sea with tide’s ebb.

Lynn McHale   April 25, 2013  Copyright   All Rights Reserved

 

Stuck on the Weather Channel

Thunderstorm Watch

Thunderstorm Watch

Again, I am glued to the Weather Channel,
Like an annoying gnat stuck to fly paper,
Sucked in, inescapable,
Yellow glue so indestructible.

Clouds give rise,
Paper dries,
Both captives,
One dies, one lives.

Fate or curse?
Which death is worse?
A thousand deaths from weather worry,
Or a sticky kind in a hurry?

I doubt I will survive.
But, if I do survive,
I might walk away,
But I will not be alive!

Lynn McHale May 30, 2013 Copyright All Rights Reserved

Note: As you can tell, bad weather freaks me out!

 

 

 

The Storm Dreader

Midwest Storm Clouds

It’s late, it’s storming,
Thunder, lightning,
Intermittent wind gusts,
Please just end, just end, just…

I will always be afraid.
Skies blacken, dark clouds invade.
Raindrops become pellets,
Assaulting like jets.

Too terrified to sleep,
Look out window, take a peep.
Pace through the house, look north, then west,
Steal a few glances, cannot rest.

At attention, like a sentinel,
Waiting for “all clear” signal.
All my senses on high alert,
Although my body feels inert.

What time is it? Has it passed?
How much longer can it last?
Want to close my eyes, have to sleep,
If I do, from bed I might leap!

Did I just hear the siren?
Wish the AC wasn’t on.
Did I imagine hearing it?
Why isn’t that NOAA lit?

Loud sounds clashing,
Winds roar, rain slashing.
Sounds attack my equilibrium.
I listen, don’t breathe, lose momentum.

Thank God the AC stopped running,
Only hear raindrops falling.
What time is it? Has it passed?
I think it’s over, finally at last!

Thunder returns.
My stomach churns.
Fast forward through dark minutes and hours,
If I was Zeus, I’d summon my powers!

Lynn McHale May 20, 2013 Copyright All Rights Reserved

Note:  I am very afraid of the storms we get in the Midwest.  I actually wrote this poem as a bad storm was happening real time.

NOAA stands for National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration.  You can buy devices that NOAA will broadcast weather alerts for tornadoes, flash flooding,

and other weather conditions.  You program your area into the device so information is specific to your local area.  It’s a great thing to have during storms.