Inside every
old person
is a young
person,
wondering
where they are,
and trying
to get out.
Category: poetry
Paper trail
The act of
reading books –
of feeling weight,
texture; of
hearing a turning
page; the smell
of paper and
ink; the sight of
black type on
creamy white
paper. Eyes, and
hands, and knees,
and brain, working
together, to
recreate the
physical process
of writing the book.
Thoughts turned to
words on page
turned back
to thought.
But here, on
this kindle, words
flow effortlessly
across the screen
and into my brain.
Have I lost
something
or gained
something?
Murder of the Nile
Denial was
a river in
Egypt that
dried up as
a result of
climate
change
Fire escape
You would think,
by now,
Santa Claus
must have been
permanently
stuck in one
of the millions
of chimneys
he has climbed
down?
Slow learner
I had a
golden rule
which was
“Don’t apply
for another
job unless you
are invited to”.
But I seem to
always break
golden rules –
“Don’t read
the comments,
unless they are
your own”,
“Don’t contact
old friends
unless they contact
you first”.
You’d think I
would learn.
Last word
After you die
your first job
should be to
get your
obituary
written before
someone else
beats you to it
Groupies
There are people
who get all their
ideas from the
unsupported
opinions of
others; have faith
in some religion;
vote fascists into
power; love guns;
don’t vaccinate
children; and hate
women.
Generally these
categories
overlap.
Past master
Writing my
autobiography
lets me rule
a line under
my past and
decide what
to do with
my life as
I approach
three quarters
of a century
Side effect
Who would have
thought that a
major effect of
global warming
would be a
decrease in the
intelligence of
politicians?
Age related
Any day now,
some day soon,
the young people
I see who are
nurses, shop
assistants, car
mechanics,
policemen; or
who are pushing
prams full of
crying babies, are
going to be old
enough to be
not my children,
not my grand children,
but my great
grandchildren.
