Poetry competition CLOSED 23rd January 2012 11:52am
WINNER
hemihead (hemi)
hemihead (hemi)
RUNNER-UP:
lepperochan
A write for the aged
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
I am not a cryer, but that made me a teeny tiny bit blurry eyed.
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
I am not a cryer, but that made me a teeny tiny bit blurry eyed.
Anonymous
We all age, some fast, so slow
We think we can postpone aging by doing exercise, dieting
If that does not work...try plastic surgery and vitamins
We seek the fountain of youth
Because aging is so humiliating
The plumbing goes and you know where all the bathrooms are
Your memory plays tricks on you - you run into a room
Forget what you wanted to do
The physical force of gravity pulls the skin down
The breasts which stood high with no bra
Now droop slowly south
Skin changes give you away...brown spots and wrinkles
The worst part in aging in the INTERNET culture
Is that the YOUNG KNOW MORE THAN YOU
Once ELDERS were REVERED
For their knowledge and wisdom
Now you can look it up on GOOGLE - so you do not need them
In truth we treat the OLD as if they are forgotten
If you want to know what old age will be like
I suggest a tour - first of INDEPENDENT LIVING
Then of LONG-TERM CARE
Can you see yourself living over there?????
We think we can postpone aging by doing exercise, dieting
If that does not work...try plastic surgery and vitamins
We seek the fountain of youth
Because aging is so humiliating
The plumbing goes and you know where all the bathrooms are
Your memory plays tricks on you - you run into a room
Forget what you wanted to do
The physical force of gravity pulls the skin down
The breasts which stood high with no bra
Now droop slowly south
Skin changes give you away...brown spots and wrinkles
The worst part in aging in the INTERNET culture
Is that the YOUNG KNOW MORE THAN YOU
Once ELDERS were REVERED
For their knowledge and wisdom
Now you can look it up on GOOGLE - so you do not need them
In truth we treat the OLD as if they are forgotten
If you want to know what old age will be like
I suggest a tour - first of INDEPENDENT LIVING
Then of LONG-TERM CARE
Can you see yourself living over there?????
Anonymous
I did not realize this competition was over until I finished my poem.
Congratulations to the winners.
Congratulations to the winners.
