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Poems about Growing Old
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: PHJim Date: 28 Jan 21 - 12:03 AM An Old Man's Advice - Vance Gilbert You ask an old man's advice Son Well, here's a reasonable place to start Never pass a bathroom chance And never trust a fart Never look for Friday's kiss With Thursday's broken heart Pay attention, Son, it's all about love See the nurses treat me kindly here As long as I behave Though I've got on hand on my walker And one foot in the grave But I've got this sliver of memory And with these cataract-covered eyes I can see this much, it's all about love So you'd better go romance her Before she hauls off and flies to France, sir Or up and dies of cancer And it's no longer your choice to make You see, we're living in a world That just don't give a damn They'd just as soon kill each other For being different sons of Abraham So go set a good example Boy Common sense is on the lam Pay attention Son, it's all about love. So you'd better go romance her Before she hauls off and flies to France, sir Or up and dies of cancer And it's no longer your choice to make 'Cause before you leave this planet You're bound to get your feelings hurt They'll misspell your name in granite When they conscript you to the dirt So don't let her get away boy Give a little tug on her skirt When it comes down to it, it's all about love. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Donuel Date: 27 Jan 21 - 08:19 PM “The ultimate horizon” Please, remember me Happily By the passion flower vine laughing With bruises on my chin The time when We counted every black car passing By my house beneath the hill And up until Someone caught cold that wasn't a cold With a cough, and fever, A hospital A vision too removed to mention But Please, remember me Fondly I heard from someone you’re still living And then They went on to say That the pearly gates Had some eloquent graffiti Like ‘We’ll meet again’ And ‘Fuck the Trump’ And ‘Tell my mother not to worry’ And angels with their grey Handshakes Were always done with such abandon And Please, remember me At Halloween Making fools of all the neighbors Our faces painted white By midnight We’d forgotten one another And when the morning came I was ashamed Only now it seems so silly That season left the world And then returned And now we’re fed up by the city So Please, remember me Mistakenly In the window of the internet and kitchen Then pass us by But much too high To see the empty roads at early hours Leave notes of wisdom not read Just like the gates Around holy places With words like ‘Beats underground’ and ‘Don’t Look Down’ And ‘Someone Save Temptation’ And Please, remember me As in a dream We were all raised like forest babies Among the fallen trees And fast asleep Aside the weeds now taller than trees That fell silently Losing all their height Gave a gift for tommorrow In an empty canopy so new life cries A new idea That swings as high as any savior But Please, remember me My misery And how it cost pecious time Those friends that love the rain And chasing trains The colored birds above, flying In circles round the well And where it spells On the wall behind St. Peter’s So bright with cinder gray in spray paint ‘Who the hell can see forever?’ And Please, remember me Frequently In the car waiting for others to finish My hand between my knees I was only free to dream And said I am the unknown poet But never meant to last’ The clowns that passed Made me come up with anger DC was filled with circus dogs Filling parking lots It had an element of danger So Please, remember me Finally And all my uphill musing now sleds down the hill But if I make The pearly gates I did my best to make a painting Of evil and good A boy and girl An angel kissing a devil A monkey and a man An orchestra and choir Filling the Earth ,an auditorium, with old familiar songs. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,jim bainbridge Date: 25 Jan 21 - 06:11 AM On an unusually cheerful note for the topic, from another great Scottish poet on Burns' night. 3 verses and this chorus... Ye never need yer nookie when ye're ninety Ye're rarely randy when ye're eighty-three While young men they take fits Chasin' legs and bums and tits Ye're really quite ecstatic wi' yer cup o' tea No ye never need yer nookie when ye're ninety And the freedom from the hassle it's like heaven For ye're no' obliged tae weemin when ye're no' producin' semen Aye yer life's yer own when you reach eighty-seven.... from the late lamented John Eaglesham of Glasgow (verses available on another thread) |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: PHJim Date: 25 Jan 21 - 01:36 AM When You And I Were Young Johnson & Butterfield I wander'd today to the hill Maggie To watch the scene below The creek and the rusty old mill Maggie Where we walked in the long, long ago. The green grass is gone from the hill Maggie, Where once the wild daisies sprung The rusty old mill now is still Maggie Since you and I were young They say I am feeble with age Maggie I step not as spritely as then My face is a well a well written page Maggie And time alone was the pen They say we are aged and gray, Maggie, As spray by the wild breakers flung To me you're as fair as you were Maggie When you and I were young This poem was written by George Johnson of Mount Hope, Ontario (now a part of Hamilton) for his wife Maggie. James Butterfield later put it to music, but Maggie Johnson never got to hear it as a song nor to grow old with George as she died of consumption while still a young woman. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Georgiansilver Date: 24 Jan 21 - 03:55 PM I would suggest it passes as a poem. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Georgiansilver Date: 24 Jan 21 - 03:54 PM One of my favourite songs about old age is this one.... Silver threads amongst the gold. This version by the Fureys. https://youtu.be/xdl3pKSNQhk |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,# Date: 24 Jan 21 - 01:54 PM I don't think anyone has mentioned WS's 'Sonnet 73.' |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,Roderick A. Warner Date: 24 Jan 21 - 01:38 PM — “Chemo du Jour: The Impeachment on Decadron,” from Chemo Sábe ...as the drip is connected to the pump I see W. J. Clinton... / I see him in the Taxol pooling over my brow / move his arky hand from the arm rest / to the Iraqi button... / an experimental / missile vibrates and flames and then launches / from the carrier, and Oh Good Lord, minutes later, / as the nurse strips away the Medusan tubes of my oncology, / American dumb missile arrives with punity /in the southern suburbs of Baghdad, ruined Cradle of Civilization, / just north of the Garden of Eden... / And Lo now the Taxol infusion clears the atmosphere / where I see the Superbowl completely superseded / by the superblow, O yes, praise the Tree Lord, / now it is time to go. An extract from ‘Chemo Sábe,’ by the late and great Edward Dorn, being treated for cancer at the time, defiant and going out on his own terms... |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,Roderick A Warner Date: 24 Jan 21 - 01:16 PM Alone with our madness and favorite flower We see that there really is nothing left to write about. Or rather, it is necessary to write about the same old things In the same way, repeating the same things over and over For love to continue and be gradually different. Beehives and ants have to be re-examined eternally And the color of the day put in Hundreds of times and varied from summer to winter For it to get slowed down to the pace of an authentic Saraband and huddle there, alive and resting. Only then can the chronic inattention Of our lives drape itself around us, conciliatory And with one eye on those long tan plush shadows That speak so deeply into our unprepared knowledge Of ourselves, the talking engines of our day. John Ashbery |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST, Jim Bainbridge Date: 24 Jan 21 - 12:24 PM Hello Cattia, the lines you mention are about his failure to 'keep up' with the woman in the sexual act- the 'tail-tree' mentioned earlier in that verse gives the clue? For her two movements he only has one- Burns was well versed in this activity as you'll know, but as he died in his thirties, he shouldn't have suffered this problem really, and I doubt if he did! |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Felipa Date: 24 Jan 21 - 10:19 AM "My Old Man", Roseanne Cash https://mudcat.org/@displaysong.cfm?SongID=4156 Ewan MacColl "The Joy of Living" Dylan Thomas - "Do not go gentle" - I wonder would it suit being set to a tune for singing https://poets.org/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night Toby Keith "Don't Let the Old Man In" (you can find recordings on youtube; I heard it on the radio sung by Willie Nelson) Don't let the old man in, I wanna leave this alone Can't leave it up to him, he's knocking on my door And I knew all of my life, that someday it would end Get up and go outside, don't let the old man in Many moons I have lived My body's weathered and worn Ask yourself how would you be If you didn't know the day you were born Try to love on your wife And stay close to your friends Toast each sundown with wine Don't let the old man in Many moons I have lived My body's weathered and worn Ask yourself how would you be If you didn't know the day you were born When he rides up on his horse And you feel that cold bitter wind Look out your window and smile Don't let the old man in Look out your window and smile Don't let the old man in |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Mrrzy Date: 24 Jan 21 - 09:14 AM What about my youth is all spent? |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Cattia Date: 24 Jan 21 - 08:58 AM Please help me! with John Anderson, my jo, John I don't understand the line "I've twa gae-ups for ae gae-doon" What's the meanings? my post in Terre Celtiche Blog is https://terreceltiche.altervista.org/john-anderson-my-jo/ I hope to have translated all the song in the wright way Grazie mille |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,MikeOfNorthumbria (sans cookie) Date: 24 Mar 16 - 09:13 AM Some great stuff here - thanks to all the contributors. And here's one of my favourites which seems to have escaped notice so far. Jenny kiss'd me when we met Jumping from the chair she sat in. Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your book, put that in! Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have miss'd me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kiss'd me. By Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) Wassail! |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: kendall Date: 23 Mar 16 - 07:37 PM Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring, The winter garment of repentance fling:The bird of time has but a little way to fly, and, Lo, the bird is on the wing. from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. One of the most treasured books I own. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Joe_F Date: 23 Mar 16 - 05:59 PM There is also good old Prufrock: I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: kendall Date: 23 Mar 16 - 02:23 PM MGM Lion, right you are. same song. I thought my friend, Carl Eklund wrote it, although he never said he did. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,Ebor Fiddler Date: 22 Mar 16 - 09:05 PM Has anybody mentioned Browning's splendid "Rabbi Ben Ezra"? |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Stewie Date: 22 Mar 16 - 08:27 PM Another good song about an old woman is 'Maria Consuelo Arroyo'. Maria --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,Dave Date: 22 Mar 16 - 03:29 PM There are a few other Sydney Carter ones, including Run the Film Backwards, and Silver in the Stubble (though this one ends up being about refusing to grow old). |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 22 Mar 16 - 12:06 PM Sorry -- Leadfingers had already posted it back in 2010. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 22 Mar 16 - 12:04 PM Unless I unaccountably missed it above, nobody has mentioned Jenny Joseph's classic, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple" http://www.barbados.org/poetry/wheniam.htm ≈M≈ |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 22 Mar 16 - 07:24 AM . The Death of the Hired Man BY- Robert Frost 1915 MARY sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage To meet him in the doorway with the news And put him on his guard. "Silas is back." She pushed him outward with her through the door And shut it after her. "Be kind," she said. She took the market things from Warren's arms And set them on the porch, then drew him down To sit beside her on the wooden steps. "When was I ever anything but kind to him? But I'll not have the fellow back," he said. "I told him so last haying, didn't I? 'If he left then,' I said, 'that ended it.' What good is he? Who else will harbour him At his age for the little he can do? What help he is there's no depending on. Off he goes always when I need him most. 'He thinks he ought to earn a little pay, Enough at least to buy tobacco with, So he won't have to beg and be beholden.' 'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.' 'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.' I shouldn't mind his bettering himself If that was what it was. You can be certain, When he begins like that, there's someone at him Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,— In haying time, when any help is scarce. In winter he comes back to us. I'm done." "Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said. "I want him to: he'll have to soon or late." "He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove. When I came up from Rowe's I found him here, Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep, A miserable sight, and frightening, too— You needn't smile—I didn't recognise him— I wasn't looking for him—and he's changed. Wait till you see." "Where did you say he'd been?" "He didn't say. I dragged him to the house, And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke. I tried to make him talk about his travels. Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off." "What did he say? Did he say anything?" "But little." "Anything? Mary, confess He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me." "Warren!" "But did he? I just want to know." "Of course he did. What would you have him say? Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man Some humble way to save his self-respect. He added, if you really care to know, He meant to clear the upper pasture, too. That sounds like something you have heard before? Warren, I wish you could have heard the way He jumbled everything. I stopped to look Two or three times—he made me feel so queer— To see if he was talking in his sleep. He ran on Harold Wilson—you remember— The boy you had in haying four years since. He's finished school, and teaching in his college. Silas declares you'll have to get him back. He says they two will make a team for work: Between them they will lay this farm as smooth! The way he mixed that in with other things. He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft On education—you know how they fought All through July under the blazing sun, Silas up on the cart to build the load, Harold along beside to pitch it on." "Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot." "Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream. You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger! Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him. After so many years he still keeps finding Good arguments he sees he might have used. I sympathise. I know just how it feels To think of the right thing to say too late. Harold's associated in his mind with Latin. He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying He studied Latin like the violin Because he liked it—that an argument! He said he couldn't make the boy believe He could find water with a hazel prong— Which showed how much good school had ever done him. He wanted to go over that. But most of all He thinks if he could have another chance To teach him how to build a load of hay——" "I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment. He bundles every forkful in its place, And tags and numbers it for future reference, So he can find and easily dislodge it In the unloading. Silas does that well. He takes it out in bunches like big birds' nests. You never see him standing on the hay He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself." "He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be Some good perhaps to someone in the world. He hates to see a boy the fool of books. Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk, And nothing to look backward to with pride, And nothing to look forward to with hope, So now and never any different." Part of a moon was falling down the west, Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills. Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand Among the harp-like morning-glory strings, Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves, As if she played unheard the tenderness That wrought on him beside her in the night. "Warren," she said, "he has come home to die: You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time." "Home," he mocked gently. "Yes, what else but home? It all depends on what you mean by home. Of course he's nothing to us, any more Than was the hound that came a stranger to us Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail." "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in." "I should have called it Something you somehow haven't to deserve." Warren leaned out and took a step or two, Picked up a little stick, and brought it back And broke it in his hand and tossed it by. "Silas has better claim on us you think Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles As the road winds would bring him to his door. Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day. Why didn't he go there? His brother's rich, A somebody—director in the bank." "He never told us that." "We know it though." "I think his brother ought to help, of course. I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right To take him in, and might be willing to— He may be better than appearances. But have some pity on Silas. Do you think If he'd had any pride in claiming kin Or anything he looked for from his brother, He'd keep so still about him all this time?" "I wonder what's between them." "I can tell you. Silas is what he is—we wouldn't mind him— But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide. He never did a thing so very bad. He don't know why he isn't quite as good As anyone. He won't be made ashamed To please his brother, worthless though he is." "I can't think Si ever hurt anyone." "No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back. He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge. You must go in and see what you can do. I made the bed up for him there to-night. You'll be surprised at him—how much he's broken. His working days are done; I'm sure of it." "I'd not be in a hurry to say that." "I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself. But, Warren, please remember how it is: He's come to help you ditch the meadow. He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him. He may not speak of it, and then he may. I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud Will hit or miss the moon." It hit the moon. Then there were three there, making a dim row, The moon, the little silver cloud, and she. Warren returned—too soon, it seemed to her, Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited. "Warren," she questioned. "Dead," was all he answered. Sincerly Gargoyle |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 22 Mar 16 - 07:00 AM You are old, Father William (1865) By - Lewis Carroll "You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head – Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youth," Father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again." "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door – Pray, what is the reason of that?" "In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment – one shilling the box – Allow me to sell you a couple?" "You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak – Pray, how did you manage to do it?" "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life." "You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose – What made you so awfully clever?" "I have answered three questions, and that is enough," Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!" Sincerely, Gargoyle The two poems were in John Ciardi' s delightful book, How Does A Poem Mean?" |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 22 Mar 16 - 06:50 AM The Old Man's Complaints. And how he gained them BY ROBERT SOUTHEY You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first That I never might need them at last. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away; You are chearful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason I pray. I am chearful, young man, Father William replied, Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! And He hath not forgotten my age. –1843 Sincerely, Gargoyle |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Sir Roger de Beverley Date: 22 Mar 16 - 05:48 AM Try this song by Pete Ivatts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZHP6Yrjy7s R |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Ged Fox Date: 22 Mar 16 - 05:39 AM Robert W. Service. "Sow your wild oats in your youth," so we're always told; But I say with deeper sooth: "Sow them when you're old." I'll be wise till I'm about seventy or so: Then, by Gad! I'll blossom out as an ancient beau. I'll assume a dashing air, laugh with loud Ha! ha! . . . How my grandchildren will stare at their grandpapa! Their perfection aureoled I will scandalize: Won't I be a hoary old sinner in their eyes! Watch me, how I'll learn to chaff barmaids in a bar; Scotches daily, gaily quaff, puff a fierce cigar. I will haunt the Tango teas, at the stage-door stand; Wait for Dolly Dimpleknees, bouquet in my hand. Then at seventy I'll take flutters at roulette; While at eighty hope I'll make good at poker yet; And in fashionable togs to the races go, Gayest of the gay old dogs, ninety years or so. "Sow your wild oats while you're young," that's what you are told; Don't believe the foolish tongue - sow 'em when you're old. Till you're threescore years and ten, take my humble tip, Sow your nice tame oats and then . . . Hi, boys! Let 'er rip. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 21 Mar 16 - 06:25 PM Having, this past week, demonstrated to an eight year old....a "three point head stand"...the poem, spoof "You Are Old Father William" surged through my brain. Sincerely, Gargoyle I am sure I will never do it again |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 21 Mar 16 - 05:10 PM Who was the friend, Kendall? -- Becoz it sounds suspiciously like the same song: Sydney's starts "There's no fun at all for a mixed-up old man"... Songs of Sydney Carter: In the present tense, Book 2 #12 Text: MIXED UP OLD MAN 12. MIXED UP OLD MAN Text Information First Line: Oh there's no fun at all for a mixed-up old man Title: MIXED UP OLD MAN Publication Date: 1969 Copyright: © 1962 Sydney Bron Music Co. Reprinted with permission. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 21 Mar 16 - 05:02 PM ... starts at 12.13. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 21 Mar 16 - 04:53 PM It's a track on this record -- "Sydney Carter and Sheila Hancock - Putting Out The Dustbin" which will be found online at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ll0kGKBbp9o ≈M≈ |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: kendall Date: 21 Mar 16 - 04:39 PM MGM, wanna share that one? I sounds ike one that a friend of mine wrote about 50 years ago called "There's not fun at all for a mixed up old man |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 21 Mar 16 - 04:20 AM Another good poem about growing old is Sydney Carter's "It isn't much fun for a mixed-up old man", sung to the 𝄞♫"Villikins/Sweet·Betsy"♩ tune. ≈M≈ |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Bert Date: 20 Mar 16 - 10:56 PM 'Taint a poem but... Your browser does not support the audio element. Your browser does not support the audio element. Mid Life Crisis A D A I wanna have a mid life crisis D A but if the truth be told D A I can't have a mid life crisis E7 A 'Cos My Wife says I'm too old I wanna drive a bright red sports car with a pretty young blond for a date I wanna have a mid life crisis but My Wife says I'm too late She said you coulda had a crisis at Forty or even at Fifty Five If you'd wanted a mid life crisis You should have done it while you're still alive A D A I want a pick up truck with monster wheels D A I want to be stacked up with sex appeal I want tatoos on my arms and chest A Harley and a black leather vest I want to let my hair grow long I want to get to Nashville with this song I want a Cowboy hat and belt and boots I want a hand tailored white silk suit I wanna have a mid life crisis but if the truth be told I can't have a mid life crisis 'Cos My Wife says I'm too old I wanna drive a bright red sports car with a pretty young blond for a date I wanna have a mid life crisis but My Wife says I'm too late http://bertsongs.com/grownups.html Mid life Crisis. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Stewie Date: 20 Mar 16 - 08:46 PM I note that some songs have been included in this thread. Utah Phillips' 'All used up' is a good'un. There is also this song which I found the Yetties Songbook edited by Tony Wales. Wales had this note: 'This beautiful song was written by Pete Mundey of The Broadside. One day he heard an old lady say "If my old man didn't wind up me clock at least once a week, I'd know there was summit wrong". He thought this was a great theme for a song so here it is, a gentle reminder that love needn't "grow old and wax cold" as the years roll on and take their toll of youth, beauty and marital bliss'. Take Your Time (Pete Mundey) You first wound me clock up on our wedding day You said t'would always be striking Though the spring's getting weaker and feeble the tick It's still very much to me liking. Chorus: So take your time, me lovely old lad, There ain't no reason to hurry For as long as you're able to wind up me clock Then I have no need for to worry I mind the times when we were young You worked at the hedging and dyking You'd go out at dawn and work through till the dusk And come home for me clock to be striking As time went by, our children grew up Were soon taking wedding vows binding And I told all me daughters the one thing I'd learned Make sure your clocks often need winding And now that we're nearing the end of our time And you are so tired and grey, love Oh it still pleases me when you wind up me clock And it will to the end of my days, love --Stewie |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 20 Mar 16 - 04:35 PM Simon and Garfunkle (1968) "Bookends" Time it was And what a time it was, it was A time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago it must be I have a photograph Preserve your memories They're all that's left you. Sincerely, Gargoyle I find myself trapped in the corner, the corner I accused so many of taking...I am growing old. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: USED UP OLD MAN From: kendall Date: 20 Mar 16 - 04:12 PM Here's one that crept up on me. It could be a song of course. Tune of Betsy from Pike. USED UP OLD MAN
There's no hope at all for a used up old man
It all started back there when I lost my voice
The first thing I lost was my ability to sing
But the thing I miss most from my lost former glory
But this story won't end on a note of sad loss |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 19 Mar 16 - 04:33 PM ... & just found this one on my computer -- I wrote it fairly recently but had forgotten all about it. Bit doggerel really; but seems to me quite a good question at that — Lines at fourscore'n'three When am I Going to die? Who can know When I'll go? Michael Grosvenor Myer 8 October 2015 |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 19 Mar 16 - 11:08 AM The following, which I wrote after my first wife's suicide due to her increasing degeneration thru Parkinson's disease, being one of those situations to which old people are frequently subject, might perhaps fit into this thread which came back into my mind thru some train of thought:- POST-PARKINSONIAN Trying to keep going In the teeth 0f the lethal Mix of grief And relief Michael Grosvenor Myer 15℔ May 2008 |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: henryclem Date: 05 Jan 10 - 11:47 AM You can hear my song "Toys in the Attic" on Myspace - http://myspace.com/henryclements Phil Hare did a beautiful version of this on his 2003 album "Broken Timing" which brings out the poetry far better than I manage! So many fine contributions to this thread, though! Henry |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Dave Roberts Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:37 PM Charley, That's a great poem (Mariquita). And, without (I hope) starting to become tiresome, this one reminds me of Rudyard Kipling. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Georgiansilver Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:12 PM "When I'm 64" "Silver Threads amongst the Gold" |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Suegorgeous Date: 04 Jan 10 - 05:10 PM Awwww thanks Kat... :) glad you liked it. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Little Robyn Date: 04 Jan 10 - 02:57 PM Pete Seeger's Old Devil Time Robyn |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Charley Noble Date: 04 Jan 10 - 09:07 AM I can't resist posting one C. Fox Smith poem here about an old sailor reminiscing: Poem by C. Fox Smith, FULL SAIL, pp. 108-110 © 1926 MARIQUITA Old man Time, 'e's wrote his log up in the wrinkles on my brow, And there ain't that much about me as a girl 'ud take to now; For I've changed beyond all knowing from the chap I used to be, When I can remember Mariquita, as was mighty fond o' me! I can shut my eyes and see it just as plain as yesterday, See the harbour and the mountains and the shipping in the bay, And the town as looked like heaven to us shellbacks fresh from sea And I can remember Mariquita, as thought a deal o' me! I can hear the chiming mule-bells, and a stave o' Spanish song, And the blessed old guitarros as kep' tinkling all night long; Hear the dusty palm trees stirring, taste the vino flat and sour, And I can remember Mariquita, and her white skirts like a flower. But it's years now since I've seen her, if she's died I never knew, Or got old and fat and ugly, same as Dagoes mostly do; And it's maybe better that way, for there's nothing left but change, And the ships I knew all going, and the ports I knew grown strange, And the chaps I knew all altered, like the chap I used to be, But I can remember Mariquita, and she's always young for me. I've adapted this poem for singing, changing some words and adding a couple of lines; here's a link to how I sing it: Click here for lyrics and MP3! Cheerily, Charley Noble |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: MGM·Lion Date: 03 Jan 10 - 11:22 PM Akenaton - Don't worry: see my reply to Dave above. Come back from the Arctic snows! Suegorgeous - thank you; & on Valerie's behalf also. Michael |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: katlaughing Date: 03 Jan 10 - 11:11 PM Suegorgeous, that is wonderful. I LOVE the way it reads so well out loud. That's always my test of my own writing...does it work well out loud...yours really scans well. Thanks. Speaking of poetry lovers, some may enjoy Mudcat Poetry Corner. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Joe_F Date: 03 Jan 10 - 06:14 PM CharleyNoble: The original, I presume, is The Good Boy, which also has its charms. |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Young Buchan Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:57 PM This is Alistair Claire's Old Man's Song. It doesn't seem to be on DT but I've pasted it over from an old thread on the car industry (Sorry Joe O. but I can't do clickies) When I was young and married my wife You couldn't get a job to save your life; With my wife and son at either hand For two long years I travelled the land: And I reckon I've served my time. My shoes were out. My coat was torn. And then we had our daughter born. But I found this job and I earned our bread, Clothes for our back, a roof for our heads: And I reckon I've served my time. They were cut-throat years - you were fighting your mate With another man waiting for your job at the gate. If the foreman didn't like your face that day You got no work,you got no pay: And I reckon I've served my time. Then we joined the Union and learned to strike. It was six hard weeks but we won that fight. Work to our hands and a worthwhile wage _ We were waking up a golden age: And I reckon I've served my time. But the young men now they dress so fine; They don't know how we fought for this line. They're getting too young to know my face; And their work comes to me at the Devil's pace. And I reckon I've served my time. There is also Banks of the Dee. That IS in the DT but there are several. You want the one that starts 'Last Saturday night on the Banks of the Dee/I met an old man in distress I could see.' |
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Subject: RE: Poems about Growing Old From: Dave Roberts Date: 03 Jan 10 - 04:49 PM Akenaton, No problem. It's very nice to come across people who appreciate fine poetry. |
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