I like Jenny's poem. I'm 68 now and I haven't started to think yet about old age. I'm just too busy doing things. I thought I might leave ides of old age alone till I'm 90 or more - or just gone suddenly. Yippee!
I love the color red! I wear practically every thing in red! I don't really like purple but I think I had something in purple once! Maybe a dress? I just love red and pink! But I loved your poem!
My mother loved this poem. When we moved to the country, she befriended a neighbour Chris (same age) and they would sit and recite it together. Chris would laugh and tell me she had ‘a reputation to keep’ in the town. I wish more people had been exposed to her quirky best. They have both gone ‘home’ now 💜🙏
I am totally embracing getting older. The senior students I work with , respectfully, while cheekily call me Fairy Crone (at my instigation) 🤣. We enjoy the fun and I hope to help them see beyond societal conditioning and constraints. I ask them if they think all the old hippies would be ultra conservatives now? I love watching the light bulb moment and their smiles, as they would mine. The teaching and learning is reciprocal whatever the age. I am my mother's daughter. Everything is relational.💜🧚🏼♀️.
I can imagine you and your delightful sense of humor at the head of a classroom. It’s just as you say, the teacher is often the student when you work with children. I often felt I learned more from my children than they ever learned from me. “Old Hippies” would be a good description! I love it!
When I was in college I worked at a state mental hospital. On my ward eas an elderly couple who had been hospitalized because they were spending their government checks on chocolates.
Here is an old reflection of mine on being old:
Sweet Old Fruit of Orient
My pretty peach, together we've grown old:
Your bark is peeling. Wind and rain and weight
Of snow and ice have bent your boughs, and cold
And heat have left you in a frazzled state.
Yet you, my Persian apple, cover me
With shade and scent, and the moist juice and sap
From the dark umbra of your canopy
Speckle my shirt, stain the gloves in my lap.
I too am broken wood in time's fierce sack,
And all Spring's hue is faded from my hairs.
Death's weevils, small, voracious, chew my back,
And I am withered leaf among the tares.
My skin, like yours, is loose, and my limbs bend
And twist. These wounds are deep. They will not mend.
***************
My Persian apple: a Persian apple is a peach. The name is from Pliny the Elder. Post-Pliny the peach was named Prunus Persica, Persian Plum. However, despite the Persian element in the nomenclature, peaches seem to originate in China, where their cultivation extends back several millennia into antiquity.
I like Jenny's poem. I'm 68 now and I haven't started to think yet about old age. I'm just too busy doing things. I thought I might leave ides of old age alone till I'm 90 or more - or just gone suddenly. Yippee!
You are a youngster, my friend! You certainly don’t qualify for “old” age yet. Heck, I’m 74 and I’m not “old” yet … (wink)
I love the color red! I wear practically every thing in red! I don't really like purple but I think I had something in purple once! Maybe a dress? I just love red and pink! But I loved your poem!
I've never had anything purple either, Connie, but I just might when I get really old. (laughing)
I'm with you on this on, CJ. This is one of my favorite poems.
My mother loved this poem. When we moved to the country, she befriended a neighbour Chris (same age) and they would sit and recite it together. Chris would laugh and tell me she had ‘a reputation to keep’ in the town. I wish more people had been exposed to her quirky best. They have both gone ‘home’ now 💜🙏
I love this story! I feel the same way about the poem. I think we should feel free to be a bit daffy in our old age. We’ve earned it! ❤️❤️
I am totally embracing getting older. The senior students I work with , respectfully, while cheekily call me Fairy Crone (at my instigation) 🤣. We enjoy the fun and I hope to help them see beyond societal conditioning and constraints. I ask them if they think all the old hippies would be ultra conservatives now? I love watching the light bulb moment and their smiles, as they would mine. The teaching and learning is reciprocal whatever the age. I am my mother's daughter. Everything is relational.💜🧚🏼♀️.
I can imagine you and your delightful sense of humor at the head of a classroom. It’s just as you say, the teacher is often the student when you work with children. I often felt I learned more from my children than they ever learned from me. “Old Hippies” would be a good description! I love it!
❤️
Totally 💯, l learn so much from my students. Takes them a while to understand why l thank them at the end of a session, until they get to know me 😊🙌💜
When I was in college I worked at a state mental hospital. On my ward eas an elderly couple who had been hospitalized because they were spending their government checks on chocolates.
Here is an old reflection of mine on being old:
Sweet Old Fruit of Orient
My pretty peach, together we've grown old:
Your bark is peeling. Wind and rain and weight
Of snow and ice have bent your boughs, and cold
And heat have left you in a frazzled state.
Yet you, my Persian apple, cover me
With shade and scent, and the moist juice and sap
From the dark umbra of your canopy
Speckle my shirt, stain the gloves in my lap.
I too am broken wood in time's fierce sack,
And all Spring's hue is faded from my hairs.
Death's weevils, small, voracious, chew my back,
And I am withered leaf among the tares.
My skin, like yours, is loose, and my limbs bend
And twist. These wounds are deep. They will not mend.
***************
My Persian apple: a Persian apple is a peach. The name is from Pliny the Elder. Post-Pliny the peach was named Prunus Persica, Persian Plum. However, despite the Persian element in the nomenclature, peaches seem to originate in China, where their cultivation extends back several millennia into antiquity.
--------------
This poem was published in The Hypertexts.
I do enjoy your poetry, Bob. This one is no exception. Vey nice.