Old Age

 

 

Old Age is a sickness

And a very serious one too,

No cure has ever been found,

Nothing doctors can do.

 

Medication is for life

However long you may live

And the trouble that you get

Is the trouble you give.

 

“Old age is a brute!”

It’s not me that said it,

In my seventies I’m still young

With no pain as a habit.

 

I can still walk fast

And also run and ride,

A little jumping, I can still do

But won’t lift my bride.

 

While she isn’t heavy

She’s just too heavy for me

With my reality of seven decades

And a decreasing ability.

 

No aches and pains as yet

At least, not to cause concern,

Just a reminder when moving off

But I am beginning to learn.

 

However, I must admit

I’m in a bit of trouble,

Between the hours of ten and six

I’m more fragile than a bubble.

 

Old age says it’s hotter

And I must totally agree

When the feel like temperature

Is higher than the mercury.

 

Right now, it’s 81 degrees

But it feels like 88

And it’s twelve minutes past ten pm;

Kind of hot for this late.

 

 

Exacerbated by old age!

For the old it’s even hotter,

Thank God for that little breeze

I’m actually feeling better.

 

“Old age is a brute!”

You didn’t hear me say that,

I’m just repeating what I heard,

For me it’s not a fact.

 

Where was I again?

I just lost my thought,

Please take it easy, don’t rush me,

I’ll feel more distraught.

 

With us old people

It is largely about feeling,

A feeling to go most of the time

But where is too revealing.

 

Loss of hair and of teeth

Gravity pulls everything down,

A gummy laugh and watery eyes

Somewhat like a clown.

 

A hundred metre sprint

Walked in ten minutes flat,

I’d have opt to ride rather than walk

And surely eclipse that.

 

I have a dear old friend

And she is ninety-five,

She will tell you that if she had to,

She could still drive.

 

She couldn’t drive me

And that is for sure,

I would not even take that chance

If I couldn’t drive any more.

 

She wears no spectacles

Just fashionable shades,

She can read the finest print

Where younger eyes fail.

 

 

But she has aches

And she encounters pains

And has to rely most reluctantly

On her oft misplaced cane.

 

Wherever she leaves it

It’s not there when she needs it,

One gets the distinct impression

Her cane is more fit.

 

In twenty-four years-time

I will be ninety-five,

That will most definitely depend

On if I am alive.

 

Hopefully I will be aware

And some quality will be left

For to be a virtual vegetable

Is worse than death.

 

At the beginning I said

There was no cure for old age

But old age definitely disappears

At the death stage.

 

Old Age is a sickness

And a very serious one too,

There’s no cure other than death,

Mine is still due.

 

Stewart Russell© May 13, 2024

 

Feelings and Reality

 

 

A feeling is real

But not necessarily a reality,

This is applicable to you

As well as to me.

 

What a person’s reality is,

Is not always real,

This happens to the very young

As well as the old and frail.

 

The old folk see things

That we know are not there

But they are so sure of them

That they are gripped by fear.

 

It makes no difference

What arguments we bring,

At the end of our submissions

They see the same thing.

 

It is their reality

At that particular time

And while we know it is not real

It’s the reality in their mind.

 

A dream and the real

Can sometimes confuse a child

And if forced to choose,

He might be unable to decide.

 

Quite a lot these days

Is being decided on feelings

And even the law courts

Consider this in their dealings.

 

I don’t mean the human face

That motivates our decision

To reach out with a helping hand

To demonstrate compassion.

 

I mean abnormal feelings

That are naturally unreal

That are quite similar in kind

To which mad people appeal.

 

When feelings become the premise

For determining a reality

This would be a sure indicator

Of universal insanity.

 

But hold on a minute!

I am not quite through yet,

Please note, the trajectory we are on

Suggests we are well set.

 

We allow the insane

To demonstrate how mad we are

For in treating their madness

We make them a star.

 

Since then, madness is honored

While sanity is refuted,

And what was understood as reality

Is now being fiercely disputed.

 

Feelings and reality

Who can tell the difference?

Now that feelings have eliminated

What once was pretense.

 

 

Our dreams are becoming true

As we live out our feelings daily

But nightmares are the reality

As evidenced by our depravity.

 

Stewart Russell © October 2019