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NO WAY

No way to have seen it coming,
It’s a silent killer, my friend.
One moment contentedly singing,
But that song never did end.

No way to express the confusion
As you wake to a body half dead,
Or the slowly dawning conclusion
That there’s no way out of my head.

No way to write my name again,
My right arm and leg don’t answer.
A passing carer kindly jokes,
“Good job you weren’t a dancer!”

No way to find the old pathways
That lead to elusive words
To tell my husband I love him
Or the nurse where it hurts

No way I can ever again go home
Or wash, or dress myself
But must sit all day where they put me
Like some book on a dusty shelf

No way I’ll ever make that trip
To Paris or to Rome
No active, fulfilling retirement
For those of us stuck in a home

Yet the girls who work here are lovely
We have a good laugh each day
You might think I’d be glad to end it
But if I could, I’d say “No way!”

Nice. Matter-of-fact tone skirts sentimentality without getting sucked into it.....almost cheerful and conversational.

Dear Linmag/Linda ~

A very strong, insightful, and loving poem about a woman incapacitated by a stroke, yet still brimming with hope. It seems very much a study in contrasts. You were very close to whomever you wrote about, and you speak so well and clearly for her. I'm wondering if it was your mum, your aunt, or a friend. My wondering does not require an answer. I just want you to know my thoughts. I've so often tried to imagine the frustration, anger, and helplessness ~ and this poem couldn't possibly be any more encapsulating, and on time, for me to use elsewhere.

I was very surprized to see your name here, and I'm so glad you've come forward, with what I know must speak for thousands of women in her place. Thank you.

~ Elizabeth

Dear Linmag/Linda ~

Your poem remains on my mind this morning. As I drove in to work, I was hearing parts of it and thinking how I like the title's [and it's too early to think of all the correct, literary terms, so bear with me while I just describe and you'll know the correct term] apparent contradiction. I like the way the germ of truth of the will to live is not only the title, but the resounding phrase we are left with. The title, "No Way" is a phrase generally connoting negativity, yet with your use of it, it is the ultimate, positive declaration.

I suspected what your poem was about in the first verse, with "silent killer" and by the second verse it was confirmed. I like your double usage of meaning with silent, as strokes do come on in just that manner, with no warning or symptoms. They kill literally and virtually, and people are left "half dead." Some are discounted and discarded, to the extent that [for them] they might as well be, and they succumb to depression borne out of rejection, as well as their inability to function in so many ways, previously taken for granted. I like that the word silent and killer also depict the silence that descends and the silence itself being a killer ~ of body functionality; of relationships; of the perception of them by others in the world around them; of spirit; and unfortunately for many, of their sense of self and their will to live.

I like your last two lines in the first verse and the way you so effectively depicted the sudden cessation of vitality ~ singing being one of the primary outward manifestations of that. It also conveys [concurrently] two things ~ that the woman was perhaps, literally, "one moment" singing when she was struck down, and she was, literally, unable to finish her song. The other that, metaphorically, her song of life and self-expression was not only interrupted, but virtually stopped cold by the stroke. Yet, in the same phrase, you allude to the reality of her attitude and resolve of the title and last two words of the poem, that that song never did end. She may be unable to speak now or function very well physically, but she lives, she continues to be the person who still had all of the vital emotions and sense of who she is and remains determined that her song will never end.

That's all I have time to write right now, Linda, but I am moved by your writing and expression of the world through the eyes and heart of a stroke victim, from the inside out. Unfortunately, the fate you have described is the way it is for many stroke victims. You offer hope that inside they still feel the way your woman does.

~ Elizabeth

Very direct piece Linda. This one really hits a nerve for me at present. It has become my responsibility to be carer for my parents these days and this is right on the mark. Thanks for bringing some light to this condition.
I have been contemplating writing verse on this experience for some time but maybe I am still too close to the events?

Regards Witty Owl.

Thanks Kush, Elizabeth and Witty, for your positive responses. It's three years today since my mum had her stroke. I was trying to imagine what it must have been like for her. She's not quite so heavily incapacitated as the lady in the poem, in that she can still speak, but can't always say what she wants. 'No Way' is a phrase she often uses, but can't always explain why. The determination and defiance in the poem is all hers.

Very well done, Linda. I'm glad to hear that your mum still has speaking capability, although it's certainly compromised. I felt it was your mum to begin with and appreciate your clarification. Was your poem written as an anniversary-date reflection, recognition, and tribute, or was it written much earlier, at some point within the past three years? I think she would appreciate your high degree of understanding and empathy that shows in it. She sounds like a great woman of substance.

~ Elizabeth

I have been tinkering with it for about six months, to see if I could get into what it must be like to still have thoughts and feelings but not be able to express them. I couldn't, and the poem has not turned out anything like I hoped when I started out. I would not have posted it, but I wanted to express solidarity with the "lousy little poets" who have been getting so much stick elsewhere on the board recently, and it was all I had to offer.

Dear Linmag/Linda ~

I know that your solidarity is appreciated by everyone who has contributed a part of themselves through their poems in this section. I know I appreciate it, and I haven't even produced one. Yours is very moving.

My only offering at this point would be:

Time for tarry
time for play,
None have I
this busy day.

It shows that even eight-year-olds [my age when I wrote it] can have time-management issues . I then climbed down off my favourite, huge rock, and went inside to begin my chores.

In regard to your own, not-lousy poem, I'm glad that this version is here and that I've already printed it out. Whatever revisions you may end up doing will still leave for me this one intact. It's a wonderful poem, Linda, and speaks clearly to those who listen. I can't imagine what about it you're not satisfied with, but then I don't know what you had in mind. At least with the goal you've set forth, it seems to me you've accomplished it.

Lines continue to come to me the way they did this morning. I'll express my thoughts on them later. Your six months with it have been very well spent.

~ Elizabeth

I could tell it was written from the heart, I like it very much Linmag. Both my parents aren't living but I lost my father to alzheimers and he lived in a nursing home many years and I can relate to your poem very much. Thank you

Linmag -

I love the poem, and I love the determination not to surrender to the "euthanasiac" suggestions that always arise in situations like that. "NO WAY" - Life, even if compromised, is much too valuable to give way: "And death shall have no dominion."

I won't comment on your solidarity with the "lousy little poets"... Just one word: "Thanks." It does mean a lot...

Tom

Hi Linmag/Linda ~

I've looked at your poem even more [last night] and later, when I have time, will comment on the structural things I noticed and liked. I've already commented on the spirit of it. I showed it to Ron, my friend at work, with no comment other than "I want you to read this." When he returned, he had an "Oh my G~d, this is wonderful" look on his face and said, "Ergo, my fever for life! We never know when, at any moment, this could happen to us, and we could lose our capacity to experience it at its fullest."

~ Elizabeth

It's fascinating the way people keep finding different things in this. Things I sort of half knew were there, but did not put there deliberately. Of course I always "knew" that others do find more in creative works than the author intended, but this is the first time I have actually experienced it. I'm begining to understand how truly this is an act of creation, and that the poem has a value of its own now, no matter what I think of it.

I love your poem, Linda...
I can not comment your writing, because it's difficult for me...I only want to say that your poem makes me very emotional and provokes me crying every time when I am reading it...your beginning with "a silent killer"...and everything that follows after is a very good expression of this extremely sad story, which is getting very common in our life...and it's coming suddenly and very often without any warning signal...as you've said...
Writing her story, I believe, your mom will receive very good energies and support from everyone who can get a chance to read your lovely poem...

Iubita

Dear Linmag,
I have read and re-read "No Way", and read it again (which is the best way to read a poem).
This is a strong poem: the repetition of "no way" drums like a mantra until "yet" in the last stanza....and it's the "yet" which pushes the poem/reader beyond the text.
This is well crafted, and if it surprised you, then it was even better than it was in the first place.
Andrew.