a house and it's dog
I had a cottage out in the sticks, the home
was built on a slant and had steps into every room
from the kitchen to the hall was
three steps down
Two steps down, the bathroom to the right,
was one step down
To the room where I wrote was
Also, two steps down, but my bedroom
was one step up
This is romantic when one is young, but
But with elderliness a burden
Then my dog died in a silly accident
But I woke up in the night and heard someone walking
to the door of my bedroom to see if I
Ok, when I switched on the light, I saw
her shadow disappears
I got up, called her name, hoping she
had not died, even though I saw
dead body, I didn't like my house anymore
I met a woman
I met a woman ot the cuddly kissing type
I sold my house and live in a big flat
Late at night, after a glass of wine and
There is silence. Bambi, my dog, still visits
to see if I'm ok.
the fear
The fear that has no name, it is there, churning away
for no reason, until today when awake
with peace in my heart
I used to be angry with myself, which made me disengage
With life around me, I became morose and bored
to serous, no fun to be around
I used to wake up early, sit by the bed for hours, not
getting anything done, getting up, drinking coffee
Shall I eat a cake or not
I had seen that day at the local supermarket
to elderly gents on holiday, they had bought beer and
looked at ease in their elderliness
That was what I had to do, not pretend to be a pretending youth
But embrace myself, sagging stomach, muscular arm
turned into chopsticks
What the , you silly man, you can write and
express yourself and be fearless of your opinions
With my sanity restored, I slept until eight
elderly and Helen Mirren
It is hard work to be old; many people prey on us, the elderly
My wife is better at telling people to fob off than I am
When people tell me a sob story, I tend to believe
What they, why else will they tell
My wife and I are very different; she likes to speak to
people in a cafe or a waiting room at the doctor's, yes, we
Do see many doctors, with age comes the infirmary
I sit there and try not to look at the clock
She comes from an upper-class family without money
I am from a modest background with a tendency not to spend
money, but safe for a day, it might rain, and we will be
caught in the downpour without an umbrella
Yes, in public, we hold hands, we get the condescending
glances, oh, how sweet they are
I feel annoyed like Helen Mirren, wishing that people would
off and leave us in peace
Not tonight my lovely
I must stop writing about
The women I met in
my tumultuous youth
that lasted into middle age
touching the years
of elderliness
I do remember a woman
In Taiwan
She had beautiful hair
That turned out to be a wig
She was scaringly bald
Perhaps she had had cancer
She was flat chested too
Wore boxer shorts and
Had an ********
No, not tonight, misses Wong
She routinely dressed
Adjusted her wig
Down in the bar, I drank whisky
To think I had kissed her
With passion
the sad vicar
The vicar walks in front of the funeral procession
appears a bit wobbly, perhaps due to elderliness
eyes are watery, and the smell of lotion is too strong
He lost faith years ago praying in churches, asking
to be released from his throbbing masculinity
which left him affairs with female parishioners
past their first youth, but with adult feelings about
sexuality hidden in a black dress of widows
God had left him, he blamed himself especially now
that he was no longer young his discreet advances
were no longer useful.
The vicar had lost his faith, he went through rituals
that had no meaning, he was not a man of the cloth
His mother had been deeply religious and wished
her son will join the priesthood which he did partly
because to please her, and the idea of saving the world
from the evil that lurked in the heart of man.
He didn't know at the time, his male sexuality was
his downfall, when he knew, it was too late to do
anything about this problem, that youngish widows
was happy to assist in solving
Someone called his name, deep in thought he had
walked past the interment place, ah, they thought
our old is lost in prayers
Autumnal
The leaves on the big trees on the avenue begin to fall
a giant vacuum cleaner that looks like a truck swipes up
the leaves in the gutter
The chocolate brown leaves on the still green lawn are left in peace, possibly because the two colors harmonize mourning the summer gone.
There are bald patches on the lawn no longer possible to hide not even the longest straw can camouflage the dark soil which is the beginning of plants and humans.
The sun feels mellow today this has to do with its elderliness that renders the bravest of the brave humble
one day it will disappear and a new sun arise.
From my collection “The Last Diary” 2015
A lady’s dilemma
Her mind and body are restless
she is in her late-middle-age
a difficult time for a woman.
Her long relationship with a well-off man
has made her economically safe
but she is bored
thinks there has to be some more
before she loses her looks
and disappears into elderliness.
She has grown up with children
they don´t need her as much as before.
A part of her also likes to be settled
married and have a home of her own
She is also worried about her legacy
be sure her children
have something to remember her by.
There is something hectic about her
like time is running out
She might seek solace from her turmoil
in another man’s arms.
She is in a dangerous time of life
I hope she chooses the right path.
Antique village
Houses around me are emptying the old, reaching the age of dying.
A timeworn man went missing on Monday, was found miles away,
the local constabulary drove him back home.
He had tried to flee, didn’t to where he had no money.
Behind closed doors in dark rooms, he tries to stave off the fated.
Sunlight unbearable reminds him of the sunrises he will not see.
When a car stops outside his house, he trembles in fear, is a hearse
coming for him?
Voices of children are like the scorn of his elderliness, he longs for peace
but fears death’s endless cruelty.
Posted by the blog Friends of Palestine
The Foreigner
What does one do when your pension is small?
He lived in an industrial town in England not green and pleasant.
Rows of brick houses, a tiny front yard too narrow for a car.
He could not thrive here; going back to Sweden was out
too expensive he would need help from the state to hand him accommodation.
He settled in Portugal, a country he knew little about
low wages, and he could get by with his modest pension.
He bought a ruin, fixed it up, and had a home of his own.
He never learned the language, can go to a café, no need to speak.
He had planned to live out in his house, but elderliness and illness
stopped this dream.
He sold his house moved in with his partner,
she has a big flat
and he helps pay the bills.
Life is good, but when he closes his eyes, his thoughts go back
to his small house and a dog, he had.
House hunting
I´m looking for a flat in a small market town nearby.
The lady showing me around ought to wear a chador.
One of the features in the flat is a new dishwasher
and other kitchen utensils of interest.
The flat has a balcony with a view of other houses,
not a tree in sight.
My almond tree is in full bloom make spring beautiful.
This town has shops, a post office and an elder centre
where we elderly can play bingo.
The landscape in my village is odd it used to be farmed
people moved away and left it to go back to the wilderness.
Today, I saw a fox, a rabbit and a boar, also a cow hanging about
chewing cud and lost in thoughts.
Flowers hide under a crippled tree and are beautiful for their own sake.
The chador-lady is right in a wrong way.
I will wait only move when spring and summer is over
when winter murk hangs in my vale and mist is like a childhood of sorrow
Then I will leave and wear a grey coat of elderliness
Elderliness
Closer and closer they came
old women with faces made of lava
and stinking volcanic mouths.
Bodies of soil after years of drought,
dead oasis simmered
between thin thighs and haloes
of brittle hair.
They slowly stomped during ancient dust
covered their bird claw feet.
I turned and fled through a thorny bush.
Stumbled into indifference time.
Fell into a muddy lake
and drowned in a cascade of ages.
The grocery/ wineshop
Once when he lived in Faro (Portugal) and walking about
he came across a grocer shop that was new in 1950.
As window display a packet of washing powder, fossilized
the name of the powder was Blenda, of the same type
his mother had used and tinned sardines.
He entered and was gripped by the sadness of the shop.
It was bigger than he had thought, barrels of wine, and in
a dark corner, old men sat drinking in silence.
So, it was an unofficial wine shop, a hiding place
for the aged who had resigned to their fate of elderliness.
He had a glass of red wine served by a woman older than the shop.
The wine was surprisingly good. He had another drink
and joined the men in the corner.
The old sea-gull
The old one-legged sea-gull
sat on my roof near the chimney
if felt the cold, scanning the sky.
Once it had been the captain on the outer reef
and fought many a battle to sit on his crown
Someone took a shot at it, and it lost a leg,
together with oncoming elderliness, it left its kingdom.
Took refuge on my roof and lives of scraps of food.
It is still standing proud, but it can´t be hidden
the decline that overcomes us all.
Like the sea-gull, we have to battle on, be dignified
of the onset awaiting us.
Appreciative
Six o`clock
In the morning
Is the best time
To get up when it is summer
Stay on the terrace
Inhale the air
Before it gets hot
Make a coffee
Just being alive
Elderliness is to be grateful
For little things
The number of years, the length of life is meaningless,
the days, months, years on earth, our decline;
all the stages and chapters of our life to elderliness,
merely stepping stones to the here and now.
Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty,
those advancing years- nothing;
fifty is the new thirty,
that is what I hear.
I intend to enjoy each day as it comes by,
not dwell on numbers but on living life;
not afraid of fifty or even death if it calls me,
keep active, think big, and just don't worry;
that's my advice . . .
_______________________
April 16, 2017
Verse/Age, Stepping Stones To Now
Copyright Protected, ID 892923
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