THE OLDER I GET ……..LIGHT VERSE FROM A SENIOR PERSPECTIVE
I used to tie a string around my finger
Which functioned as an ever-faithful clue,
So, when I woke and saw it in the morning,
I knew exactly what I had to do.
Older now, when I wake in the morning
And see a string, I’m driven to despair;
Curious why that string is on my finger,
Furious at who might have tied it there.
TIME FOR A CHANGE
While leafing through my copy of Roget’s Thesaurus,
I found several expressions that, in fact do nothing for us.
They stand out wherever words like “old” and “aging” are defined.
I would have them all deleted, if the editors don’t mind.
For example, these three phrases will all articulate that I’m
“Old as Methuselah”, “old as the hills” and also “past my prime”,
And, furthermore, here’s “ripe old age” and there’s “long in the tooth”,
I’m sick and tired of the lot and that’s the living truth.
Though editors in general are good people, I suspect,
They don’t know the definition or “politically correct”,
If they did, they’d realise those old expressions should be lifted
For that one phrase that says it all… “Geriatrically–Gifted”.
When we hurt each other
We should write it down in the sand,
So the winds of forgiveness can make it go away for good.
When we help each other
We should chisel it in stone,
Lest we ever forget the love of a friend.
Christian H. Godefroy.
The spring is fresh and fearless
And every leaf is new
The world is brimmed with moonlight
The lilac brimmed with dew
Here in the moving shadows
I catch my breath and sing
My heart is fresh and fearless
And overbrimmed with spring
Sara Teasdale (1920)
In the spring I have counted
one hundred and thirty six
different types of weather
inside of four and twenty
Another year, another start,
A time of hope for every heart,
A time to leave the past behind
And share a newfound peace of mind.
Then going forward, day by day,
Find love and joy along life’s way.
IT’S UP TO YOU!
If you think you’re a winner, you’ll win
If you dare to step out, you’ll succeed
Believe in your heart, have a purpose to start,
Aim to help others in need.
REFLECTIONS ON LIFE
Life is a journey, not a home;
A road, not a city of habitation;
And the enjoyments and blessings we
Have are but little inns on the roadside of life,
Where we may be refreshed for a moment,
That we may with new strength press
on to whatever may be ahead of us,
We People of God – until we reach the
end of the road.
Horatius Bonar (1808 – 1889)
A KIND WORD
We can’t act friendly toward someone
for very long without feeling friendly.
Many a friendship, long, loyal and
self-sacrificing, resting at first on no
thicker foundation than a kind word.
Frederick W. Faber.
Love, they say, is patient,
Love, they say, is kind,
It sees beyond another’s faults
For love, they say, is blind.
Love will not diminish,
Or rush or fade with years,
But it will gain its strength
From time, from laughter, joy and tears.
Love is God’s own gift to us.
A present from above,
He gives us peace, He gives us joy,
But first He gives us love.
The bicycles go by in twos and threes –
There’s a dance in Billy Brennan’s barn tonight
And there’s the half talk code of mysteries
And the wink and elbow language of delight
Half past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or a woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.
I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation,
A road, a mile of kingdom, I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.
Patrick Kavanagh, Inniskeen Road – July Evening
Across the open common land
Shines glowing purple floral blooms
The humble bee can hardly stand,
As flowers, scent is rising fumes
And lies there in the summer shade
A resting deer quite joyfully
For in this beauteous sunlit glade
All’s observed by sent’nel tree
This tall oak stands by sparkling stream,
Whose water splashes grass and rock,
Reflecting in this beauteous sunlit glade
The woodland plant and dandy clock
While goes beneath the cloudless sky,
Amidst a warm and dreamy breeze
A squirrel idling, passing by,
Pass numerous, careless, floating seeds.
Stephen Patrick, Sleepy July in Skipworth.