A write for the aged

I once was

I once was...
So tall and so graceful
now I am stooped and I shuffle
My skin was tanned and so taunt
now it is paper-thin,  pale, wrinkly and gaunt

My teeth used to be so straight and so white
now they are not mine
They are plastic and soak in a glass by my bed at night

My memory was so sharp and didn't fail
Now I have trouble remembering my own name
"Thank you for visiting me... Sharon" (my daughter)
Then...
"Who are you again"?

My body does what it wants ...

I am not capable of feeding myself
Because I can't control the tremor in my hand
My bladder empties into incontinence aids now
And not in the toilet upon my command

I rely upon my aids
Wether to help me walk or sit or shower
I am no longer steady upon my feet
My body just not have the strength or the power

I look around my room
And realize that this is not my home...
I don't belong here...
I must be visiting someone
I find a suitcase and pack some things that I hold so dear

So I stand inside the gate with my suitcase packed
Looking up and down the street
Waiting for my family to come
to take me home
I walk up and down shuffling my feet

I wait patiently, until someone puts their arm around my waist 
And leads me back inside
I think that I know her face?

Kindly she says "Mary, how about you come back in and have some dinner"
Her sympathetic eyes look at me with a touch of sorrow...
I go inside and forget what I have done
I will start it all again...
tomorrow

Sometimes I stare into the mirror
And think that she is as beautiful as can be
That's my mother smiling so brightly
and so lovingly back at me

Other times...
I look into the mirror and can't believe what I see
That the old wrinkly woman with the grey thinning hair is really.....
me?

Great thus far. Thank you all and keep 'em coming! ;)

needs some work. will re-post later.

Autumn

Autumn leaves falling in drifts
Flying with the will of the wind
The brown confetti from the trees
Fall aimless to the ground
As I sit here on this park bench
I feel the chill of the evening air
And I shiver

I hug myself as the cold starts
In, to biting ice in my old bones
I pull my cardigan closer
And snuggle in its warm embrace
My arthritic hands twinge
I grimace and wince
At its throbbing pain

Pretty passersby look at me
A snigger, bouts of laughter
A pointing finger
Look at the crone, how ugly
All wrinkly and musty
Like a trampled banana
Without dignity, old as sin

You look at me  
With your leery eyes,
Look that old bag lady,
You laugh
She is cold and hungry
Why doesn’t she just die?
And rid us of an eyesore

Come deary listen to me
My fate is yours
To know someday
Pride not in your lily white hands
For they will be as claws
They will know pain and labour
Just like mine did

Rejoice you not in your clean white cheeks
Or your pretty hair all in a bunch
Or your taut body ready for love
For age is not kind to beauty
Nor will it stroke with kindly fingers
You will shrink, wrinkle and crease
You will look like a dried raisin

Look at the autumn leaves
You will be as them
Old brown and discarded
To the ground you go
And be interred
Age is not kind, but it’s honest
Beauty then will shine from within.

Gran


Quick sand,she said

and she took a sip of the strong coffee
from the tiny cup between thumb and finger

I could see the age fall from her face
as memories of my Granddad lingered

"we spend our time looking for quicksand
wanting to be pulled in, made warm"


she looked at me and saw the confusion
and her smiled told me there was more

"[i]There was once a frozen lake
on the lake danced a lady
she glided on that ice
like she was born for it

a crowed gathered to witness
they cheered and clapped
she smiled and waved
making intricate circles
on the ice and leaping high
like a scene from swan lake

when the sun shone
they all knew the dangers
and all the while they cheered
the ice got thinner

but the crowed craved the beauty
and the lady craved the crowed


then the ice was gone
and the lady drowned[/i]"




Why did the lady have to die? I asked

when you work it out for yourself, she said
it will be invaluable.

[i]My gran was never one for saying it straight[/i]

Richard

Seems like a sweet old man

Tenderly walking on concrete as if it were sand

He draws smiles

A being projecting a gentle nature

One would be quite surprised

Could they see beneath the grainy aged veneer

The clockwork gears are turning with meticulous purpose

A wicked mind as sharp as a razor slicing flesh

He has seen the birthing of young ones springing up around

Anticipating their hunger

The desire to strip away all he has built

These soulless slaves grinding out like industrial hamburger

He has poisoned their well

Took away the important words from their lessons

Diluted their brains into a maze of misinformation

The 33rd degree mason

Walking through the vile city square of his own creation

The old man known as

Richard

Not looking forward to choosing a winner. There are so many gorgeous works here

Legacy Not Won

I start to move away
But my words hold me back
Hold me intact
Hold me laxed
I can’t move
I can’t leave
This place
Holds me in time
Holds me in time
Holds me in rhyme
I can’t leave
‘cause my words have not been said
Not been said
Not been read
When that comes
When the dawning is won
If my words aren’t known
If my legacy not paved
My eyes will not close
Will not close
Will not fold
For the hand has not been won
Not been won
Not been done
For I have not become

Faded and fragile
A testament to time
fighting to live
Loosing their mind

Wheelchairs and canes
old photos of yore
Widows with children
while memories explore

Service with honor
more drugs in the system
A pension that dwindles
still working against them

Frozen in history
A devalued opinion
In need of assistance
Forgotten civilian

hemihead said:Closed Doors





First off, don’t read pity  
Cos this isn’t that  
   
Rowed out to the mooring-ground last week  
To meet an old bloke who has his yacht out there close to mine  
   
I’ve had a yarn to him a few times, shouting across the water from my boat  
But he’s pretty deaf, so it was never easy going  
   
I pull up alongside him in my dingy, throw him a line, and swing up and over  
   
His handshake is weak, thin-skinned like a chickens claw  
   
Never seen him up close  
   
Little stooped bloke, in a big hat and speedos  
Skin cancers all over his shoe-leather brown skin  
Bowed skinny legs, dodgy knees  
Swelled-up ankles, from heart medication for sure  
No strength in his arms  
Loose skin where the muscle used to be on his shoulders  
He must have been built once, back in the day  
   
His balance must be pretty fucked, going by the way he stands; wide footed and almost crouching  
His eyes are cataract cloudy  
His ears big flappy old-man ears  
And he’s smiling  
   
“How you going Kev?”  
“Oh I’m all right young feller. Bit shaky today. Always like that after my heart medication”  
   
I look around, sailors do that on another mans boat  
I see a million jobs that need doing  
   
“Hey Kev, you need a hand with anything while I’m here?”  
   
We worked a couple of hours, cleaning and tightening  
   
Then we had a beer, and I smoked, and he did me the favour of not calling me on it  
Old men know plenty of smoking stories  
   
“Hey kev, when was the last time you sailed this old bus?”  
   
“Well, I never have. Had her two years, but my health has never been right, and now I’ve got this thing. Going in to the hospital tomorrow for it. Bit touch-and-go they reckon, growing into my brain”  
He takes off his hat to show me a cancerous lump the size of my fist on his head  
   
I had nothing for that  
   
“Feel like a sail Kev?”  
A long pause  
“Yeah righto young fella, if you’ll help me”  
I rigged his boat for him while he talked, sitting on his own deck in the sun, telling me stories of his time in the airforce after the war  
   
We sailed off down the harbor, Kev at the helm, dipping the lee rail in the sea and making spray  
Not a cloud in the sky  
Could have been sailing to anywhere  
   
I called him skipper the whole time and he must have grown about 4 inches  
   
It’s none of our business, but I’m pretty sure he cried, at least once  
We spoke nothing of it  
Crying doesn’t always have to be talked about  
And I know medication can make a man weepy  
   
So can closing doors  
   
I haven’t seen Kev since, and that old blue yacht sits out in the harbor, rocking her own songs  
   
I call out to her every time I row past  
“Hey old-girl…where’s your skipper?”  
   
I think we both might know  
 



Nice Hemi, real nice...

Good to see you posting in these.

Al .

My grandad Pete

Oh how i love my grandad Pete
always likes to dance and sing
always making jokes
always happy to do anything

he might not be the best looking man
with his two yellow teeth
and scruffy beard  
but after all its what lies beneath

he also dresses rather funny
with his trousers right up to his neck
and his socks pulled right up
i would always laugh and say' what a right wreck!'

my nan always complains
she always says a tramp would be better looking
even though hes good at gardening
i think my nan should always do the cooking

even though hes 71
he feels so alive
he feels so young
but my nan says he acts just like a child of five!

but after all hes my mentor and my friend
hes told me stories funny and sad
he always calls me 'paulina poppet'  
i love him so much cause hes my grandad!

but dont ever call him a grey old fart
because he always says:' it's not grey, it's silver!'

Heredity’s Script

What will I be    
but one    
among the countless millions    
     
And like them,    
the buried and the dead    
who had little choice    
     
A prognosis,    
a stroke of genius:    
     
Light    
Birth    
Death    
Darkness    
     
Deletion,    
from the line of kings    
the crown-less, the diseased    
     
A legacy interwoven with sorrow    
and rapture    
     
Laced lifetimes    
like lines of cocaine    
vanished    
as will I    
     
Heredity’s script decided my fate    
a century gone,    
before my will was my own    
     
So, let me go    
my way    
hands shackled and bound    
     
Falling,    
but not yet fallen    
     
While your blood stirs in my veins    
while I stand, while I speak    
while I feel, let me go    
     
Please let me go    
until this pen is laid to rest    
and the ink dries    
on my certificate, my skin    
     
Then my fathers    
can drink    
to what I have done

Hemi.. Your read was fascinating. Kev was so well described that I swear I could almost hear him. You took me on the same journey as you and as a reader I could feel that quiet respect you had for each other. For those reasons (and more than my puny mind will allow me to describe), you are the winner.

Eamon, yours was endearing and really created a warmth.. She sounds like a wise and loving woman.
Tornado, I liked the light-hearted feel of yours. Simple in it's truths..

Thank you all for entering and for giving me the opportunity to read from some poets I have not read before! Most enjoyable

Hugh / Hemi...Awesome write. Congratulations!

tornado

Hey hey Violet...thank you very much for the oppurtunity and the win...love this little ditty

HH