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Threepenny Bits

Our little dog is very old.
She’s rather deaf and almost blind
and if the honest truth were told
You might think my words unkind.
She often has an accident
The reason isn’t hard to find,
she’s senile and incontinent
She has but one thought in her mind
She hasn’t lost her appetite
The only pleasure left to her
she hunts by scent and not by sight
for any food that’s on offer.
We never know where we will find
some souvenir she’s left behind.

13-Nov-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Its Just Gone Midnight

I talk about feelings
Unashamed by them
They are real, I feel them
Why try to hide
Just be free and talk
Express yourself
Don’t let others hinder you
Talk, feel its beautiful
Part of the human experience
Don’t lock it up
Like some shameful dirty secret
Its ok to feel
Maybe I’m a little sentimental
Or growing senile
Speaking without being heard
Like a ranting maniac
In touch with nothing
But the thought of a feeling
I talk too much
But I’m honest

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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One stop shopping; A Nightmare

A man simply waiting outside for the right moment till the electronic door opens.
But it's a public holiday and he knows nothing about holidays
As he's nearly senile.
He holds a chit prescribed by a famous doctor who practices in a lunatic asylum.
He waited there until tomorrow
And when the door opens he rushed inside.
He gave the prescription to the counter.
'I am sorry the capsules named 'Happiness' is out of date Grandpa!
But I can provide you a substitute named 'Sadness' a sugar coated pill.' A young salesgirl said.

* ' The time for bickering is over' The President insists.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The American birds; but the dialect is not English

While I was sitting on the toilet commode in the morning (The senile-type Armenian doctor diagnosed my sickness as ' Bulimia Nervosa' an eating disorder in which overeating alternates with self induced vomiting, dieting or purging.)
What a lovely language of the birds I heard from the top of the Maple tree next-door?
It's very hard to understand their dialogue but some words and the accent were very familiar with a rhyme to me.
'Jack & Jill went up the hill and Gay marriages with a thrill,
Hillary, Obama, John and Bush
Afghanistan, Iran, North Korea and Iraq.'
And I guessed they talked something seriously of the coming fair Election?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Of Any Old Man

Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness,
With alien uproar and rude jolly cries,
Which satyr like to a mild maidens pride,
Ripens not wisdom, but a large recoil,
Give them their withered peace, their trial grave,
Their old youth's three-scored shadowy effigy,
Mock them not with your ripened turbulence,
Their frost mailed petulance with your torrid wrath,
While edging your boisterous thunder shivers one word,
Pap to their senile shivering, drug to truth,
The feigned ramparts of bleak ignorance,
Experience - crown of naked majesties,
That tells us nought we know not - but confirms,
Oh think! You reverend shadowy austere,
Your Christ's youth was not ended when he died.

poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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In the National Gallery

Here, in the pale light of a winter’s day
I entered with a sketch pad in my hand.
I never dreamed that I’d encounter you-
To sketch out some old master was my plan.

Was it your eyes that first seduced me near,
or those cherry lips that I would never taste?
Two centuries past you were a beauty, dear.
Now, all but this image, time has lain to waste.

I envy him who painted you in camera,
together in your sitting room alone.
Who knows just how the session was concluded
If your old and senile husband wasn’t home?

I’m cast here in the role of a voyeur,
I haven’t even tried to draw a line.
Your dress of silk reveals just one bare shoulder,
Your eyes, the promise of a night divine.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Sonny! One day you too push me when I struggle on my Wheelchair

When I pushed my Grandson's Pram
I do remember now what I told;
Sorry, I have no any regrets my son
I am proud that you're being a Pilot!
And I know that you have a limited time of Freedom
When that Exists suddenly you run to your nest
I understand the Ladybird waits for you.
Your poor Grandma also old now
And she struggles to pass a silky thread
Through eye of the needle!
And I too already threequarter senile
But still I remember your name my son.
If you find a better place in your flying career
Which is not in the given map,
Your poor Grandma and the jigsaw Grandpa
Could have wait for a while at a stopover
Until your pretty Alloy-bird safely lands!

* To the poetess Unwritten Soul [PH] in gratitude!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Centenarian

Great Grandfather was ninety-nine
And so it was our one dread,
That though his health was superfine
He'd fail to make the hundred.
Though he was not a rolling stone
No moss he seemed to gather:
A patriarch of brawn and bone
Was Great Grandfather.

He should have been senile and frail
Instead of hale and hearty;
But no, he loved a mug of ale,
A boisterous old party.
'As frisky as a cold,' said he,
'A man's allotted span
I've lived but now I plan to be
A Centenarian.'

Then one night when I called on him
Oh what a change I saw!

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poem by Robert William Service
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Elizabeth

I am not telling anything about the Queen,
Her name also Elizabeth but her Palace
Somewhere else, in front of an old Railway station.
She cannot sleep well because of the express trains
But some nights she dreams the Commonwealth it seems.
One night after a couple of drinks I searched some notes in my wallet
But they were disappeared secretly and I gave her some coins.
She said; 'Thank you Mr.Edinborough you know my mother's a seamstress to a bygone Queen and she gave this beautiful name.'
I didn't correct my name and I said; ' Yes, Mrs.Elizabeth I 'll convey the message when I go to the Palace for music lessons.'

*I dedicate this to the old senile woman who slept on the road that stuck in my memory and torments me all the time!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Host

I never could imagine God:
I don't suppose I ever will.
Beside His altar fire I nod
With senile drowsiness but still
In old of age as sight grows dim
I have a sense of Him.

For when I count my sum of days
I find so many sweet and good,
My mind is full of peace and praise,
My heart aglow with gratitude.
For my long living in the sun
I want to thank someone.

Someone who has been kind to me;
Some power within, if not on high,
Who shaped my gentle destiny,
And led me pleasant pastures by:
Who taught me, whether gay or grave,
To love the life He gave.

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poem by Robert William Service
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