Almost, Nearly, Not Quite

05/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I suppose you could say

I’m pretty long in the tooth

There are more grey hairs than not

And more wrinkles than I’d like



I’m definitely getting on a bit,

My knees don’t work like they used to

My hands shake from time to time

And I forget a word or two.



There are some who say I’m over the hill

But not sure I’d go quite that far

Because what they’re putting down to senility

Is just a few quirks of my character



I’m no spring chicken, that’s for sure –

I won’t be running any marathons

Or competing to the Tour de France –

But not a lot do that when they’re young.



People think you’re past it when you’re old

But, really, you have so much left to give

And you can still make a valuable contribution

When you’ve got all that experience.



If you think you’re not long for this world

Then you’re probably right, my friend,

But if you keep yourself engaged

There’s no reason to slow down.



I’m not as young as I used to be –

Sometimes I fall asleep on the couch

Or forget why I walked into a room –

But that doesn’t mean it’s the end.



I might be as old as the hills

As my granddaddy used to say

But I can still weave a good yarn

And fill a room with love.



For someone of my advanced years,

Having spent our prime in service of others,

I’m looking forward to a bit more time

To spend on those things I’ve neglected.



So, though I’m getting up in years,

I’m not quite on the final leg

I’m nearly ready to hang up the boots

But almost means I’m not there yet.

Growing Older

29/04/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



George Burns once said that

You can’t help getting older,

But you don’t have to get old,

And I think that may be the philosophy

By which I have been living my life,

Except that I’ve always framed it

As the difference between getting old

And growing up.



I’ve never felt the need to grow up,

To let go of the childishness

Of play and wonder and creativity.

And speaking to my mother,

She often says to me that

She’s never felt like a proper grown up,

And I wonder if any of us really do

Or if it’s just a delusion we perpetuate.



We worry about the ravages of age,

The frailty and the infirmity of the body

And the degradation of the mind,

And if we would want to live that way,

With a mind trapped in a broken body

Or a willing body but a mind erased;

Could we not have a finite existence
And know our end date in advance?