by Katrina Plumb
care home continues with clatter of cups
I steam across the Downs
but sense the ups dwindle
as senses do. Hear lift announce
That will not lift him.
A cat about to pounce can see;
not he. The holy ghost in trinity
with who he was: a self made man
long overdue reward for his endeavour
but never felt more than secondary
to clever mountaineering
where the head hunters roam.
now his house is sold; he in a shared home
where everyone is old. A pulse struggles
in his temples, cannot escape the dome
and suddenly communion is sought
away from people: a snifter of port.
Hymns sing strength to him.
legs diminish, wrists swell,
eyes vacate their sockets
and he forgets to change his clothes.
Perhaps I should not have awoken him;
mind adrift; now familiar with the lift
About the poet
Katrina Plumb has worked with society’s outcasts as a Creative Writing Mentor, encouraging them to safely release their own talent. She studied English Literature and Community Engagement at Bristol University, where she was awarded the Hopkins Prize for Best Overall Achievement.
Katrina employs boundless creative energy to bring into existence expressions that were not here before and has had a variegated life from which to draw on, prize-winning in The International Library of Poetry’s ‘Memories of the Millennium’ and winning a photography competition at the South Bank Centre, where her work was displayed. Appearing in ‘The International Who’s Who in Poetry’, this poet has a generosity of spirit from which we can gain a supple grounding in literary heritage.