Partially Old

POETIC BLOOMINGS

http://poeticbloomings.com/

Suggested the topic of 'Old'

PARTIALLY OLD

You've all seen an apple, lying on the pile,

And you've been able to see that it's been lying there a while.

It may look red and shiny when first you see it there,

But see that little brown spot..... it's old beyond repair.

And if you took a bite you'd find the bruising running through,

And the whole fruit would taste woolly, as old fruits often do.

Old age is just as patchy. Youth lingers in some ways;

Some parts are simply not aware of the passing of the days!

Inside our brains we're still sixteen, with all the world before us,

Going out to the village 'hop' hoping someone will adore us.

And when we're with a laughing crowd we forget the passing years,

We forget the dreaded onslaught of the damaged telomeres.

And yet the fact remains we're 'bruised'; the apple's not pristine.

See how ugly liver-spots have appeared upon the scene!

Hear how the knees are creaking! Count all the many pills.

Old age isn't an illness, but it comes with many ills.

And, inside, though we still work well, the forces of decay

Are saying ''You may feel all right but we think you've had your day'.

Old age is simply patchy. The apple's bruising starts,

And then there's nothing that we can do but enjoy the bright red parts.

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HEADLINES

Why, oh, why does the gutter press

Add to all the strain and stress

By emphasising all that's cheap

And every nasty crim and creep?

Don't they know that copy-cats

(Sometimes well-known diplomats!)

Read the headlines and decide

That they will read them as a guide

To evermore increasing 'grot'!

Papers not only print the lot

But emphasise the juicy bits,

And fill our heads with bums and tits!

(Well, not me; I'm past all that!

But you know what I'm getting at!)

So long as profits are getting bigger,

And the total's a nice round figure,

Morality is quite forgotten

And all the news gets simply rotten.

They act disgusted. That's pretence.

I cannot write in their defence.

Why, oh, why does the gutter press

Fill our minds with ugliness?

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