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Though you possess prudence, old man, do not despise advice.

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Even An Old Man Does Not Wish To Read

EVEN AN OLD MAN DOES NOT WISH TO READ

Even an Old Man does not wish to read
An Old Man’s Poetry-
What is the use of bad health litanies
And endless complaints of disappointments?
And wonderings about Waste and Loss
And about Time never to return
And all one has erred in?

An Old Man longs for Beginning again.

An Old man wants what he cannot have
And wishes to be what he cannot be-
And write as if there were new worlds waiting to be found within himself
And great adventures and explorations in writing and writing and writing
An old man longs for freshness deep down things
And dry dry dry is all
Theory
And Grey his life.

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The Old Man's Saddest Story

We sat about the fireplace listening to the old man's tales
Of the youthful years of life he spent in lovely Alder Vale
He told some happy stories but he told some sad one's too
And the saddest story that he told I will relate to you.

'Twas the story of young Joaney Ryan who died whilst in her prime
When the fruits were ripe for picking in September's harvest time
She died at twenty three years old the valley beauty queen
And a fairer maid since her time the old man has not seen.

She was the most beautiful maid the old man ever knew
With sheeny hair of raven black and sparkling eyes of blue
Yet for all of her splendid beauty she did not show conceit
A better mannered girl than her no man could wish to meet.

Beauty it can take a woman quite a long, long way
But beauty quickly withers like the flowers that bloom in May,
You cannot judge a woman by her beauty or her dress
You can only judge a woman by the manner she possess.

He must have loved this lovely maid he must have loved her so
Who died in September forty six years ago
For as he told her story a tear showed in each eye
And it seemed quite clear to all of us that he was near to cry.

She died in a hospital this lady like woman
From Leuchaemia a disease that greatly curtail life's span
On the tenth day of September her remains were put to earth
Twenty three years and thirty six days from the day of her birth.

In each human's life story there is some share of woe
And the old man's saddest thoughts are of a maid he used to know
Who died of Leuchaemia whilst only in her prime
When the fruits were ripe for picking in September's harvest time.

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Old Man

Everyone has gone away
Can you hear me? can you hear me?
No one cared enough to stay
Can you hear me? can you hear me?
You must remember the old man
I know that you can if you try
So just open up your eyes, old man
Look whos come to say goodbye
The sun has left the sky, old man
The birds have flown away
And no one came to cry, old man
Goodbye, old man, goodbye
You want to stay, I know you do
But it aint no use to try
cause Ill be here-and Im just like you
Goodbye, old man, goodbye
Wont be no God to comfort you
You taught me not to believe that lie
You dont need anybody
Nobody needs you
Dont cry, old man, dont cry
Everybody dies

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The Old Man

An aged man came into the bar from out of the cold,
he was wearing a monk’s habit as in the days of old.
‘Like death warmed up’ my mother used to say,
as he sat by the open fire on this winters day.

He never spoke, ordered a drink, or even showed his face,
he hardly moved at all and everyone gave him space.
The barman said, “You can’t sit there without buying a drink, ”
a stare of stone was the response, “okay, I’ll give you time to think.”

The place went deathly quiet as whispers could only be heard,
“Where did this monk person come from, doesn’t he look absurd? ”
The whispering stopped as the man turned and looked directly at me,
he pointed with his long skeletal finger and croaked, “You will be he.”

I gulped, and nervously asked, “What are you talking about? ”
You’ll be leaving here with me, so let’s make our way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” I said, “until I’ve finished my beer.”
“That’s fine by me, ” he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”

To humour the old man I asked where he thought we were going.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, and by the way I’ll be doing the rowing? ”
“I’m sorry old man I’m not going anywhere, it’s much too cold outside.”
You haven’t got it yet have you; we’re taking your last boat-ride? ”

“There are no boat-rides until spring the river’s been frozen for a week, ”
said the barman with a grin on his face that went from cheek to cheek.
“It’s not a literal boat-ride you fool it’s a journey everyone must take
and my job is to escort the travellers across the lake.”

“What is this old man on about, there are no lake’s around here,
come on everybody sup up, it’s time for another beer.”
You are getting on my nerves barman give your mouth a rest,
or I’ll take someone with a mouth the size of his chest.”

The barman looked quite unsettled and threatened to throw him out
unless he ordered a drink, but he refused and called him a lout.
“That’s it, ” the barman said, “I’ve heard enough let’s have you outside.”
“That’s good enough for me, ” said the old man, “you’ll be taking the ride.”

At that precise moment the barman collapsed clutching his heart,
an ambulance was called and within minutes they had made a start.
The paramedics tried in vain to revive him: alas they could do no more,
but see the barman’s spirit and the old man walk through the door.

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Though you are a prudent old man, do not despise counsel.

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Though Narrow Be That Old Man’s Cares .

THOUGH narrow be that old Man's cares, and near,
The poor old Man is greater than he seems:
For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams;
An ample sovereignty of eye and ear.
Rich are his walks with supernatural cheer;
The region of his inner spirit teems
With vital sounds and monitory gleams
Of high astonishment and pleasing fear.
He the seven birds hath seen, that never part,
Seen the SEVEN WHISTLERS in their nightly rounds,
And counted them: and oftentimes will start--
For overhead are sweeping GABRIEL'S HOUNDS
Doomed, with their impious Lord, the flying Hart
To chase for ever, on aerial grounds!

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The Parable of the Old Man and the Young

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and strops,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

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An Old Man Medicates His Pains Away

AN OLD MAN MEDICATES HIS PAINS AWAY

An old man medicates his pains away
He wants to live in his mind
As if his body can be temporarily forgotten-
He tries to be as he once was
Easy in the skin of himself -

But the pains the pains the pains
They come from different directions
They interrupt they remind they dismay
The pains the pains
They may go away for a time
But they don’t forget to sharpen again-

An old man does not want to think of his body as his enemy
He is no pure mind and does not dream to be
But the pains
When so many come at once
And when no medication can really put a stop to them-
They will defeat him -

Drugged into restless sleep
He will not be able to die without them.

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Old Man

I had my rent-a-car flyin' down a two-lane road
Late for my plane again
Had to stop for some gas at this country store
That's when I saw the old man
He was kicked back workin' on a big RC
Watchin' Gomer Pyle on his little TV
Took him awhile to even notice me
Sittin' there I thought to myself
Old man (Old man) you got one up on me
I'm still lookin' for my shady tree
With your two gas pumps and your color TV
Your satisfied as you can be
Old man (Old man) I guess you got one up on me
Well, he finally strolled over with a big ol' smile
Said "How ya doin, son?"
I said "Give me five dollars worth as fast as you can...
'Cause I'm really in a run."
He said "What's your hurry on a day like this?
If you move too fast, there's a lot you'll miss
If you wanna see what the good life is
Just get out and visit awhile."
Old man (Old man) you got one up on me
I'm still lookin' for my shady tree
With your two gas pumps and your color TV
Your satisfied as you can be
Old man (Old man) I guess you got one up on me
Don't remember just what it was
The old man said to me
But I forgot about catchin' the plane
And opened up the big RC
Old man (Old man) you got one up on me
I'm still lookin' for my shady tree
With your two gas pumps and your color TV
Your satisfied as you can be
Old man (Old man) you got one up on me
Old man
Old man
Old man
Old man
Old man you got one up on me...

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The Old Man Of The Sea

A NIGHTMARE DREAM BY DAYLIGHT

Do you know the Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea?
Have you met with that dreadful old man?
If you have n't been caught, you will be, you will be;
For catch you he must and he can.

He does n't hold on by your throat, by your throat,
As of old in the terrible tale;
But he grapples you tight by the coat, by the coat,
Till its buttons and button-holes fail.

There's the charm of a snake in his eye, in his eye,
And a polypus-grip in his hands;
You cannot go back, nor get by, nor get by,
If you look at the spot where he stands.

Oh, you're grabbed! See his claw on your sleeve, on your sleeve!
It is Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea!
You're a Christian, no doubt you believe, you believe
You're a martyr, whatever you be!

Is the breakfast-hour past? They must wait, they must wait,
While the coffee boils sullenly down,
While the Johnny-cake burns on the grate, on the grate,
And the toast is done frightfully brown.

Yes, your dinner will keep; let it cool, let it cool,
And Madam may worry and fret,
And children half-starved go to school, go to school;
He can't think of sparing you yet.

Hark! the bell for the train! 'Come along! Come along!
For there is n't a second to lose.'
'ALL ABOARD!' (He holds on.) 'Fsht I ding-dong! Fsht! ding-dong!'--
You can follow on foot, if you choose.

There's a maid with a cheek like a peach, like a peach,
That is waiting for you in the church;--
But he clings to your side like a leech, like a leech,
And you leave your lost bride in the lurch.

There's a babe in a fit,--hurry quick! hurry quick!
To the doctor's as fast as you can!
The baby is off, while you stick, while you stick,
In the grip of the dreadful Old Man!

I have looked on the face of the Bore, of the Bore;
The voice of the Simple I know;
I have welcomed the Flat at my door, at my door;
I have sat by the side of the Slow;

I have walked like a lamb by the friend, by the friend,
That stuck to my skirts like a bur;
I have borne the stale talk without end, without end,
Of the sitter whom nothing could stir.

But my hamstrings grow loose, and I shake, and I shake,
At the sight of the dreadful Old Man;
Yea, I quiver and quake, and I take, and I take,
To my legs with what vigor I can!

Oh the dreadful Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea
He's come back like the Wandering Jew!
He has had his cold claw upon me, upon me,--
And be sure that he'll have it on you!

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PARADOX. That it is best for a Young Maid to marry an Old Man

Fair one, why cannot you an old man love?
He may as useful, and more constant prove.
Experience shews you that maturer years
Are a security against those fears
Youth will expose you to; whose wild desire
As it is hot, so 'tis as rash as fire.
Mark how the blaze extinct in ashes lies,
Leaving no brand nor embers when it dies
Which might the flame renew: thus soon consumes
Youths wandring heat, and vanishes in fumes.
When ages riper love unapt to stray
Through loose and giddy change of objects, may
In your warm bosom like a cynder lie,
Quickned and kindled by your sparkling eie.
Tis not deni'd, there are extremes in both
Which may the fancie move to like or loath:
Yet of the two you better shall endure
To marry with the Cramp then Calenture.
Who would in wisdom choose the Torrid Zone
Therein to settle a Plantation?
Merchants can tell you, those hot Climes were made
But at the longest for a three years trade:
And though the Indies cast the sweeter smell,
Yet health and plenty do more Northward dwell;
For where the raging Sun-beams burn the earth,
Her scorched mantle withers into dearth;
Yet when that drought becomes the Harvests curse,
Snow doth the tender Corn most kindly nurse:
Why now then wooe you not some snowy head
To take you in meer pitty to his bed?
I doubt the harder task were to perswade
Him to love you: for if what I have said
In Virgins as in Vegetals holds true,
Hee'l prove the better Nurse to cherish you.
Some men we know renown'd for wisdom grown
By old records and antique Medalls shown;
Why ought not women then be held most wise
Who can produce living antiquities?
Besides if care of that main happiness
Your sex triumphs in, doth your thoughts possess,
I mean your beauty from decay to keep;
No wash nor mask is like an old mans sleep.
Young wives need never to be Sun-burnt fear,
Who their old husbands for Umbrellaes wear:
How russet looks an Orchard on the hill
To one that's water'd by some neighb'ring Drill?
Are not the floated Medowes ever seen
To flourish soonest, and hold longest green?
You may be sure no moist'ning lacks that Bride,
Who lies with Winter thawing by her side.
She should be fruitful too as fields that joyne
Unto the melting waste of Appenine.
Whil'st the cold morning-drops bedew the Rose,
It doth nor leaf, nor smell, nor colour lose;
Then doubt not Sweet! Age hath supplies of wet
To keep You like that flowr in water set.
Dripping Catarrhs and Fontinells are things
Will make You think You grew betwixt two Springs.
And should You not think so, You scarce allow
The force or Merit of Your Marriage-Vow;
Where Maids a new Creed learn, & must from thence
Believe against their own or others sence.
Else Love will nothing differ from neglect,
Which turns not to a vertue each defect.
Ile say no more but this; you women make
Your Childrens reck'ning by the Almanake.
I like it well, so you contented are,
To choose their Fathers by that Kalendar.
Turn then old Erra Pater, and there see
According to lifes posture and degree,
What age or what complexion is most fit
To make an English Maid happy by it;
And You shall find, if You will choose a man,
Set justly for Your own Meridian,
Though You perhaps let One and Twenty woo,
Your elevation is for Fifty Two.

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You Never Stop Learning Though You Are Old And Gray

You never stop learning though you are old and gray
From Life and Nature we learn something new every day
Though of Nature's ways little we do seem to know
And our wonder of her only does seem to grow
The migratory swallows are born to fly
Apart from nesting they do spend their days in the sky
In late Autumn they fly off to warms Lands afar
High above the oceans at the speed of a car
To where they were born they return to breed in the Spring
The workings of Nature are a marvellous thing
The mystery of bird migration never cease to amaze
And some never do tire of singing Nature's praise
I know I'm not one of the enlightened few
But each day from Life and Nature I learn something new.

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Hello, Old man...

Hello, Old man, you’re hair is turning to gray,
Though it ought not cause me no surprise,
For there’s many a sun that you’ve seen rise and go down
Since your step was light and your hair was brown,
And storms and snows have had their way–

Hello, Old man, you’re hair is turning to gray,
And the youthful pranks that you used to play,
Are dreams of long ago lie in a heart where the fires burn low–
That has lost the flame though it kept the glow,
And spite of driving snow and storm,
Beats bravely on forever warm. December holds the place of May–

Hello, Old man, you’re hair is turning to gray,
Who cares what the carping’ youngsters say?
For, after all, when the tale is told,
Love proves if a man is young or old!

Old age can’t make the heart grow cold
When it does the will of an honest mind;
When it beats with love for all mankind;
Then the night but leads to a fairer day–

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Odyssey Of An Old Man

The old man shuffled along the sidewalk on worn-out shoes.
Shoes once so shiny, that you could see your face in them.
Long ago the original owner had tossed them in a dumpster,
where the old man found them.

How had the old man come to this?
It was not that long ago he was living the “American dream”.
He had it all…wealth, position and family.
But now he walked the streets aimlessly, like some phantasm.

A corrupt economic system and Company down-size broke him;

35 years of loyal service to a Company was rewarded with layoff,
only a few months before retirement.

Wall Street criminals had already robbed the old man of his retirement.

Unaffordable interest rates from an “Adjustable Rate Mortgage”,
made payments impossible. The bank foreclosed.

Unable to secure another job in his specialty field along with the harsh truth,
that nobody wanted to hire a man pushing 62 sealed his economic doom.

The broken man took to drinking. First it was red wine and beer,
and eventually…anything cheap.

His wife ran away with an old high school sweetheart and moved to Florida.
The old man’s children had left home years before and though painful,
were spared the trauma of mom and dad’s divorce.

Living on the street wasn’t so bad. The burden of day to day struggle,
to make a living had lifted and liberated him. The dumpster behind,
a downtown restaurant provided meals and a nearby freeway overpass
provided shelter.

Eventually the old man saw no need to drink because the old memories,
and negative events had faded. This gave him more time to think and just be.

Yes…life wasn’t bad at all.

ROTMS

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Why Do You Think That This World Is Not Interesting?

everything has a reason, that is the tenet, nothing happens by random
that is a restatement, perhaps an accent, and emphatic stress for those who still doubt.

every reason explains itself, whether you know it or not, they have mouths and minds.
though they do not speak to you, or think of you, they think, they speak. A premise.

the fire tree blooms today, and there is fire all around the wildlife part. Warmth is intentional.
Fire for summer. Warmth on a hot day. There is a reason. The petals speak for themselves.

an old pedicab under the mahogany trees, the driver pedals its way on a dusty path.
a child wearing an orange shirt sits restlessly wanting to jump screaming. Noise in stillness.

the trees are shedding off yellow leaves and the ground accepts a good cover. There is no sound.
the grasses are starting to wilt and the moss on the pebbles are dark brown. Time to die.

the joggers are here feeding an activity to this oval the silence of which is finally broken.
Summer. This is rest for most. The holy week and time to reflect. Meanwhile the sun shines

on top of the world, the clouds are cottony and so white. The wind blows on my face.
There is a reason for everything. That is tenet and i know nothing happens by random.

I scribble some notes on my mind. Stating what is not spoken by the sun, the trees, the mountains, the joggers, the dusty path, the child in orange shirt. The pedals squeak and

I am watching and listening. There are too many reasons wanting to be written. Anger, and
pain and bliss and company and solitude. Why do you think that this world is not interesting?

Are you not amazed with what we still do not know? Did i not tell you the color
of the daffodils? Or that the man pedaling its way under the mahogany trees
is an old man feeling so useless and that the child in orange is his grandson?

Life need not be what we think we do not have.

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An Old Man With His Hat

There Little Robbie found him in an old yellow album
A blurred picture of a half old man with his hat
Standing in front of the coffin
He smiles shy but wide with his teeth gone making a hole like Little Robbie when he lose his baby teeth
Little Robbie doesn’t recognize him and he wonder where he is now
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his big sister
But his sister doesn’t recognize him and she wonder who he is
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his mother
But his mother doesn’t recognize him and she wonder how he was there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his father
But his father doesn’t recognize him and he wonder what he did there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his uncle
But his uncle doesn’t recognize him and he wonder when the picture taken
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks hopelessly to his grandfather
His grandfather takes a deep look to that picture and wonders why Little Robbie asks
Little Robbie says, “I want to meet him! I want to know about him! I want to play with him! ”
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
But his grandfather shakes his head, “No, he is not.”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
“He accompanied your great grandfather when he sick until his death. This picture is taken in a burial of your great grandfather.”
His grandfather stares at little Robbie
“Now, are you disappointed? ”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
Little Robbie shakes his head, “No, I am not.”
Though he is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
Though he is just an old man with his hat
“But I still want to meet him, I want to know about him, and I want to play with him! ”
And then he could be one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families

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Old Man

In your own imagination i am an old man,
But this old man does want your love;
So do not be afraid of me,
For i am the one who really care for you.

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Old Man and Rose

Old man
Tends his roses
In the magic of his years
Gray road is
Spackled in pink and white
You lovers of machine and mirror
See! ! Here is true poetry in his hand
Not the poems of a tube.
Not the truth of moment
In the magic of his years
Roses are tended
Old man

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You Will Never Be Able To Beat The Old Man (Improvisation 09 05 2009)

You will never be able to beat me
At anything I will beat you until
I am too old to win with what I know
when you feel that you are able
to beat me you will lose because
someone else will know that you
will never be able to beat me but
that you take advantage of your
old man be smart now and calm
down and take your medicine and
go on home tonight and get ready
early to bed and dream your dreams
and hope that one day will be your
day to prescribe a young man’s medicine.

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An old man's campaign against corruption

I am astounded to see the deluge of people
Surging out to support him
Certainly corruption is not a part of their life
It has been imposed on them
They denounce it with full might
They have shown that the country will
No more be governed by the corrupt leaders
They are ready to make any sacrifice
To uproot this diabolic trend
The old man, though his limbs are at loggerhead,
His spirit is amazing
He has lit a flame
Now it's our duty not to let it go
And carry it at the destination.

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