Listeners Poems 

Poem's by Mark Wilson


My doctor told me I must exercise
I must admit it wasn't a surprise

I was slightly overweight about 2 stone 7 pound
I was in perfect shape that shape was round

The most I do is walk to the fridge for food
How could this doctor be so rude

He was sat there popping out of his shirt
He should've practised what he preached it wouldn't have hurt

I wouldn't say I was fat I'll give you an example
I would say I'm delicately ample

Easy to see from miles away
Oh well I better start today

I'll go to the gym and join the class
I drove down there but had to pass

I think I'll have a full English breakfast before I start
I can’t have an empty belly if I'm gonna take part

I did 3 laps of the gym that was a good way to begin
Tomorrow I might park the car and actually go in

I think today I'll give it a miss
Time for the chippy for a nice fish

The morale of this tale is when you’re told to be fit
Make sure you fill your stomach before you do it


When depression turns up it starts its attack
Will you ever get your happiness back

It takes you into some very dark places
You hide it well behind fake faces

Your smiles have turned into false grins
That's what it's like when depression begins

It makes its self at home inside your head
Some of the thoughts it gives fills you with dread

You get to thinking you've had enough
It makes living your life very very tough

You think you're all alone
And just want to be on your own

You can't see a way to cope
But with the help of your family you will have hope

That one day your darkness will disappear
And depression is something you will no longer fear 

Poems By Tina George 

Why did Parkinson's rear it's ugly head
The moment I was diagnosed I was filled with dread
I thought I'd never be the same again, unable to do things at 47, the blankets and OAP slippers came out, and there I thought I'd stay!
But.. with a few trials and tribulations along the way,  life is good.
I'm achieving things I never thought I would.
I've made many new friends  who share a common bond, I am a DJ on the radio playing tunes I love.  Fundraising,  coffee morning's
Afternoon tea 's, tombola's and raffles,  doing talks  and having lots of fun. Day trips,  even a trip to the panto ( oh yes i did).
So, life can be very good, and Parkinson's "are you still there"? Trying to get the better of me, some days you very nearly succeed, but  i won't let you life is to good!
Turn back time
"Turn back the clocks" they said " it will be alright"
Try telling my brain and legs that, its nothing but strife!
"It's only an hour it shouldn't make much difference "
Try telling Parkinson's  that you will get  nothing  but resistance!
So yesterday was spent with my legs glued to the floor  and me thinking i don't want to play this game any more!
I'm hoping today is going to get better
I'm  looking forward to the summer, when I  can do it all again, bringing forward  an hour!


They used to call us Ant and Dec.
I was Ant and you were Dec.

We were always together, best friends for life.
Your laugh was infectious, it made me laugh too.
You were lovely, you were gentle, one of a kind.

We were on the stage together
Acting we loved
Treading the board's
Having lots of fun

I thought you would be around for many years to come.
But, one day you left me, it was your time for you to leave, your last curtain call!

And so my grief was hard to bear
I looked upon the empty stage to find you was not there!

So until we meet again my lovely dear friend
break a leg, take a bow, ill see you at the end!

Poem By Phil Badger Smith, Age 39

You came into my life – unexpected, uninvited.

The attention that you seek from me, I wish was unrequited.

You dominate my life, and you fill each waking hour.

My first thought in my day, my daydream in the shower.

Drip, spray, wash, scrub. Thoughts drift away to a cold beer down the pub.

But then the train of thought stops at a familiar destination - a town devoid of hope, and it hosts a lonely station.

And when that train arrives, no joy or peace comes on aboard. But dark and fearful thoughts sit down and demand to be called lord.

One day, I hope to take a new journey, and travel to optimism. For now, though, I'll continue on this conveyance that is my prison.

A change of signals comes up ahead less frequently than before. A kiss, a touch, a smile, new friends, the dream of finding a cure.

But that feeling is brief, and gone too soon just like the morning dew. Yet I hold out hope for the day to arrive when my destination is somewhere new.

It doesn't have to be all that far from my usual place. Just looking for a quiet little village, and an occasional smile on my face.

'We live in hope' the saying goes, and one day it may come true. But for now I know I have familiar, heavy, tiring, you.  

Phil Badger Smith, Age 39
Diagnosed with Parkinson's in 2017

Poems by John Scotter

Beyond this place 

Beyond this place
Is where its safe

Pure love and light
No human body just flight

No day or night
No things or bling
Just angels, who sing
Hallelujah, hallelujah. hallelujah

Life lived good and full
Heavenly light had it’s pull

Peace and love forever more
See the light go through that door

 Blooming friends

The love of a rose is love of beauty
A love so trusting
Dead wood flowering profusely

Drawing from the earth and sun
Over wintered it has won
Tall and proud
Colour so vibrant and profound
In silence it’s colours no sound

Touch and you will see blood
Stems are laden with thorns
Keep away it warms

Such beauty it defends
We are it’s friends
Blood we shed in Autumn tide
So beauty of the bloom our bride

We endure the thorns so proudly sharp
Summer we reap beauty
That sings in colour like a harp.

Queen of flowers you give your all
We love your beauty endure your spikes
Your presence will always cause delights.

Poems By Susan Pennells

Music in the trees

I woke up early one morning,
Just as the sun did rise
The mist was slowly moving
Across the fields In sight

My little dog was happy
Greeting with excite
She's wagging her tail to tell me
She want to go out side

We walked along a muddy path
With tree on both sides
I looked up as the sun shone through
What an amazing sight

There's dewdrops on the branches
And webs been cleverly spun

The morning birds are singing
I can hear them every one

My little dogs impatient
She wants to run and play

And walking down this little path
Theres a river hidden away

We sat and rest on a grassy bank
As we watch the river flow
The ripples of the water
Ran softly over the stone

I sat and listened quietly
The music all around,
the bird song and the water,
The creaking of a brunch
The rustle of the field mouse
Running through the leaves
They each and every one
Play a note of melody

The music that comes from with in the wood
Is a orchestra of its own
The wood it self it comes alive
With each and every note,
I sit here it so peaceful,
My little dog by my side
She sits here very quiet
I wonder what's on her mind

I pray to God and thank him
For every music note
For if there were no trees and streams
Or creatures with In a wood,
We'd have no music notes
To make an orchestra
Our world would be a silent one
With out gods creature here

Sue Gage 🌺

Poems By 
Stephen Kingsnorth

Warmer Flesh

Citizens of empty city,
former journeys fill eye bags;
temp accommodation offered,
only if get rid of dog.
But she only understanding,
she alone has need of me,
not regarding me as nuisance,
sidewalk swerving, eyes avert.
But as world self-isolating,
social distance outside home,
lay-abouts that litter pavements
better swept to hostel box.
Pigeon hole for those not fitting
into model life-style set,
but that fix ignores my closest;
life’s a bitch, if me or her.
Where would others choose for shelter,
cleaner sheets or warmer flesh?
Rather share known breath of puppy,
panting tongue and wagging tail;
others share the bed of lover,
I would pave-way kennel pooch. 

Joint Enterprise

At Woodstock rock rolls heavy round
the hill, as, Jimmy Hendrix style,
the stars and strikes of battlefield,
with copter crews from cotton fields,
the pickin strings by singing flag,
that guitar falls on silent field.

The food they found, shared sixty fold
beyond the Galilean hill;
those hickey folk said sons the same,
won’t have them starve, enjoying selves,
though most their lads had Nam and eggs,
their will, to share joint exercise.

Published by Foxtrot Uniform Magazine April 2020


- Old men and their old ways

We dream our dreams, as prophet spoke,
revisit hopes, long unfulfilled,
perhaps poor substitute pretend
was goal, worn soles, sore feet from road.

As volume fades, our numbers grow,
so combined voice is larger now,
except the message more confused -
smiles come with lips from screens with clicks.

Photo album, face book to me,
twitter my singing garden birds,
snap chat is talking, playing cards,
Greek drama social, Medea.

Dementia’s rise, uncertain who,
inhibitors depart their post -
while sunbathing it snows again -
frustration fumes, both ends of scale.

The jail, lock-up with coin box,
as crazy as cell-phone could be;
Google could just be coo-chi-coo -
in baby-talk, little to choose.

Old order changeth, yielding new,
yet my site back in Sunday School;
as now they try to bring me here,
I question, whose unsettled fear? 

Hostage of the Mind

A passionate and emotional book of poetry describing the struggle coping with illness

A Look Inside: My Parkinson's Life in Poetry 

Born in London, Dean G. Parsons is a renowned psychotherapist and writer now living in the beautiful county of Suffolk; the home of many of his ancestors. Diagnosed in 2017 with Parkinson's Disease, Dean uses narrative and richly descriptive poetry to tell a story of his relationship with Parkinson's going back to his childhood and even further back in his family history. If you have Parkinson's and you want to have a useful way of describing your illness to others, Dean's book would do it for you. This frank and often gritty account of life as a person with Parkinson's gives insight into a challenging life experience but, importantly, sends a message of hopefulness and optimism, too. Simply gift it to someone special or keep it handy on the shelf or coffee table and encourage your visitors and guests to read Dean's experiences.

Park Climate change 

This is a poetry collection by myself and 8 other Parkinson's Poets. We feel strongly about climate change and the environment and wish to add our voices to those seeking these issues to be treated seriously. Park Climate Change hopes to inform and enlighten with details on how our interactions affect nature and to convey the urgency that some of our politicians and leaders wish to dismiss. I hope you will read the book and join with us to help us shake the world.

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