I had a friend
who didn’t make
it to twenty.
Another never
reached forty.
One more was
gone before fifty.
Finally there was
the friend who
fell short of seventy.
I am closing fast
on my next landmark
of eighty years.
Lucky.
Sad.
Category: poetry
Stayin’ alive
The older you
get the more
your focus shifts
from ambition
to survival
Nearly 24
My old dog
now sleeps
more than
23 hours a day.
Once upon a
time he didn’t.
One moment
The other day,
in a waiting room
of a medical scanning
centre, I saw two
elderly ladies. One
went in for her scan
while the other waited
anxiously. When she came
out they held hands,
talking quietly and
seriously about what
had been done,
been said, staring into
each other’s eyes.
Then they left
and through the
window I could see
a fervent embrace,
before they moved on,
arms around each
other, providing comfort,
very much in love.
Dark stranger
Every New Year’s
Eve, we say to
ourselves – “Well
I hope next year
is better than this
year”. But, as every
New Year’s Day
rolls through the door,
we realise it was
probably
a forlorn hope
Small consolation
No repressive
government can
last forever, no
matter how
unlikely its end
can seem. But
it does great
damage to people
and land while
it continues
Thinking
There is, apparently
no brain, however
large, well adjusted,
fast thinking, packed
full of data, seemingly
logical, that it can’t
be turned into mush
by the acquisition of
an imaginary friend
Nowhere to run to
Killing hot
weather is on
its way here
after Xmas.
A giant wall
of hot air
like a tsunami
approaching
on land
I breathe, therefore I am
I am
breathing in,
breathing out,
like all the other
living creatures
sharing this planet
and this air.
But more,
that air has been
shared by all the creatures
who ever lived,
been refreshed by
all the plants
that ever grew,
since the beginning
of Earth time.
Each new breath
combines all the
old breaths of creatures,
and people, long gone.
Each breath is a kind
of immortality,
existing long after
each of us has
taken our last breath,
passed on to each of
us taking our
first breath
Life time
Approaching 74
and every ache,
every niggle, every
unexplained twitch
in the night,
presages doom and
a twinkle in an
undertaker’s eye.
Half way through 73
and sour memories
bubble up like methane
in Lake Baikal, erupt
randomly like black
mud in Rotorua, old
regrets seem once
again possible triumphs,
old grievances can
once again cut the psyche
like a knife.
Getting close to
my seventy third Xmas
and counting again
all the gifts I have
been given over
this amazingly long
time. Love, and
friendship, and
life itself.
