Long Elderly Poems
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Anna Liisa was Great-grandmother's name. She emigrated from Finland at the beginning of the 20th century.
I have only one memory of Anna Liisa from back when I was 10. She was elderly then and had come to live with Grandmother.
She sat in a big, comfy rocking chair in the far end of the living room. We young ones, my siblings and cousins, were a bit scared of her. She had a strange countenance, as old people do, and spoke only Finn.
My brother says he remembers her. At that time he was a terrible two, but he swears now, when he talked to Great-grandmother he understood every word that she said.
He tells us that one time Mother had to correct some of his young misbehavior, and she spanked him square on his little behind. He says that made Great-grandmother laugh and say, "paha poika," which translated means "bad boy!"
dear Anna Liisa
your language was as foreign
to me as you were
Small of stature, big of heart
born RIPE, full of meaning, mystery,
his twinkling eyes beguile, yet, continually seek…
Often looking down, ear cocked to garner as much as possible
mindful, this man shining in a majesty of kindness…
Gray of hair now, weak of eye,
yet, a power to be reckoned with, should his flock need.
Shaker of hands with shaking hands, palsy does not impede
luminous is the rheum of his elderly eyes.
Mischievous, his banter charms, cajoling the recalcitrant.
This baby cuddling father, this patron of the universal one.
May this life keep him long for the after life has no need, we do…
He stretches his wondering heart toward Wordsworth,
wandering toward Walden
savoring.
*Dedicated to my minister Frank
an Iridescent Man
How can you look into the eyes of a child,
and find their fears arousing,
How can you raise your hand to a woman,
and call your self a man,
how can you control someone’s behaviour,
by being be so coercive and
How can you bully someone for a difference in their appearance,
how can you exploit the vulnerable and the needs of the elderly
and how can there be any excuse,
to inflict upon someone such harrowing abuse
I’ve carried those scars through every year,
The weight of a love that became my fear.
The one who should have been my guide
Was the very reason a part of me died.
No prayer, no plea, can make this right,
The truth still burns in the dead of night.
You chose to harm, you chose this path —
And I am still the proof of your aftermath.
Alabaster annoyance
Blatantly breathes bulbous brightness
Cadaverous comedy caring
Daintily during delicate delivery
Exciting elderly enigma.
Furious fiery feeler
Gregariously greets
High-handed hustler
Ignoring imaginative immediates
Jauntily jeering judiciously.
Kangaroo kisses kibitzes
Leaving luxurious loners
Merrily masticating mincemeat.
Never-do-wells needing knowledge
Ostentatiously officiate on orange orangutans.
Precariously polite Pomeranians
Quietly quiz querulous quoters
Reposing rapidly ruining
Still sassy strenuous strikers
Turning toward Tuesday tournaments.
Understandably unprecedented underlings
Vindicate vicious vagrants
While wishing waxy widows would
‘xpect ‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtras.
Youngish yellow yowls yipping
Zipping zany zebras’ zealous zero zone.
In our world of enigmatic beauty,
Where humanity dances with grace,
A tapestry woven, diverse and free,
A masterpiece, called the human race.
From distant lands, we all emerge,
Each with a story, rich being told,
Different hues, cultures converge,
United in a harmonious sweep.
The first verse sings of youthful hearts,
With innocence, their spirits shine,
Their laughter, like a work of art,
Infusing joy, an elixir divine.
In tender hands, the elderly reside,
Their wisdom etched upon their face,
Lines of love and a life well lived,
Guiding us with their timeless grace.
Behind eyes that bear the weight of tears,
Lies resilience, strength untold,
Sorrow's companions through the years,
Their hearts, warriors, brave and bold.
The dreamers dream, their spirits soar,
Imagination knows no bound,
They paint the world in colors found,
And sculpt their dreams from solid ground.
In unity, we find our strength,
A symphony of voices, loud and clear,
In the face of adversity, we go to any length,
To lift each other, wipe away a tears.
But within the tapestry, shadows reside,
The flaws that make us truly human,
In imperfection, we're unified,
Our vulnerabilities, a testament, to such light.
For it's in our scars, the battles fought,
Where the beauty of resilience lies,
We rise above, lessons are taught,
And the enigma of our spirits rise.
So let us celebrate our enigmatic beauty,
Embrace the diversity that binds,
For in the ebb and flow of humanity,
A masterpiece, each soul unwinds.
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Once upon a time in an enchanted land
there lived a king and queen
whose palace was very grand
But their daughter the princess was very mean
when an old woman came to the palace gates
to ask for some food
the princess yelled at her with words of hate
All the servants thought her rude
Little could she even guess
that the old lady was once a beautiful princess!
The wicked witch with the wand of gold
Had cast a spell that turned her old!
Then one day the elderly lady cut her finger on the palace gates
and immediately fell into a deep sleep
the evil princess thouht it was great
All the servants began to weep
The king ordered the old lady be taken to the woods
where they lay her in an abandoned shack
Then they left and never came back
After many many years
A prince went riding through the woods
when the old run down shack did appear
He went inside and their he stood
Amazed to find someone sleeping in bliss
For some reason he felt compelled to give her a kiss!
And when he did
She was transformed into a beautiful princess
The prince fell in love right away
And they were married the very next day
----
2/5/16
Time reminds…
When I was five,
I thought my mom was old
And my grandmother – well, yes,
She was ancient, archaic, antique
My great-grandmother…
Just imagine my thinking!
When I was twenty,
I thought my mom was still old
And my grandmother?
Well she was the ageless saint
The one I listened to and heeded
As the answer to the old-fashioned ways
Of my great-grandmother, who
Had went home to be with Jesus
When I was forty,
I thought my mom was quite young
You see… things had changed for me
My grandmother – she was elderly now
Not the ancient, archaic, antique of the past
And, it wouldn’t be long before she’d move away
To her home on high, where Jesus is the light
When I was fifty-six – today
I realized my mom might one day go away
To that home where Jesus is the King
God only knows… how I dread that day
When her heart rests in the One who created
Each grace, each faith… each moment
When I say… Old age, well, you see…
Old age is just a number, not a picture-perfect rendition
The reality is… old age means being closer to that day…
When Jesus takes my hand and leads me into the promised land!
Happy birthday
the morning started with a bang
four people breakfasted together on his birthday
it didn`t bode well.
The breakfast table was loaded with sweet things
He, a diabetic, could not eat, he had an apple.
Switched on the telly as mother and daughter
began fighting about forgotten things, he intertwined
when the mother cried, got her into bed for a rest
The flat fell broodingly silent.
When the fog lifted the protagonists made up and
sat talking about the restaurant they, with the man
who was eighty years old, should go.
The elderly man didn`t want to go but had no say
in the matter, they were going to take pictures
for the facebook.
The birthday boy drank coca cola zero and hoped
The party would be over soon he needed his afternoon nap.
Summertime
When I was young, and it was summer
we went to the beach with a bulky gramophone
a stack of vinyl records and a bag of beer.
We drank and sang the modern tunes of the day
of the type, the elderly scoffed at and we
had to keep an eye on the police as it was
forbidden to drink beer at the coastline
(In Norway back then most things was banned)
In the night when the grown-up had left
we made love, and it was not needed to force
the girls they too came for sex and to choose
the man they wanted to marry and did.
I was a seaman then and when I came back
my most of the gang was married there were
only two left we didn`t bother with the music
but brought three bags of beer and talking about
how lucky we had been avoiding the marriage
trap, but knew in our hearts we were losers.