growing old

Changes; language

Changes; language

By jfarrell

 

“Where’s your rubbish bin?”

“My what?”

“Your rubbish bin; to throw out the rubbish…”

“Oh, you mean waste management”

What??????

What was wrong with rubbish bin?

Waste management?

 

I spent months looking through job adverts,

Looking for till operator, or checkout person;

Or cinema usher, team member…

Still haven’t learnt what those roles are now called.

 

Non-binary; snowflake; remoaner; brexiteer;

Cultural disapropriation; fake news;

Maybe it’s my age and my absence from the world;

But, woah! Language has changed.

 

When I went into childcare, I was trained,

‘keep your language simple’, so everyone can understand;

Doctors, psychiatrists, courts, parents, you and me;

Everyone can understand; multidisciplinary team.

 

Language today is like a minefield;

Tiptoeing on the eggshells of people,

Trying to avoid the cracks of what is now ‘politically incorrect’;

And huge money to be made at every misstep.

 

Please explain to me something…

How could George Orwell, who died so long ago,

Still foretell, with such accuracy,

How we would live today?

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i am NOT a nonbinumerical subsubtracting equatiion!!! i am a freee binary digit

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Old Dog, New Tricks

Old Dog, New Tricks

By jfarrell

 

Spent 20 minutes trying

To get the ironing board to stand

Without falling down

10 minutes to work out

The steam might be fun

But, that hot,

It’ll burn my shirts

And just shy of 2 hours

To iron 4 shirts

Without burning the house down.

Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

 

I will teach myself

How to build a website;

Though, still much to learn

I did learn how to make a blog

And I reckon I can learn a language

Or three.

Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

 

At 49, I’ve recently learned that I CAN learn;

And I am going to learn anything

Everything;

Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

yep, still learning

To Watch The River Flow

Folder: 
September

There were cloudless days 
Sunless days 
Without so much 
As a breeze in the air 

Days when the trees and flowers 
Slept 
As I watched the river 
Sitting frozen still 

These were my winter days 
When spring and summer and fall 
Had withdrawn 
To another time of life 

Once 
I believed this to be 
A time of peace and tranquility 
But that was a tale 
Told by younger men 

This was a time 
Of reflection 
Like the formless shapes 
That appeared in the icy waters 

A time to prepare 
In the most gracious of ways 
My goodbyes 
And fare-thee-wells 

These days 
I come here often 
Not to think of my failures 
But rather, to let them go 
To send them off 
And let them fade away 

These days 
I come here only 
To watch the river flow 

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Soon Grandma

She has become

Like a thin Chinese tea cup

Placed upon a large rock

She has become… fragile

Afraid to go anywhere

Least she break

 

She sits outside

When the weather is clear

Reading the same book

She has read for many years

Painfully turning the pages

With crooked fingers

 

Occasionally

I see her smile

As the lines on her face

Seem to multiply ten fold

While she tries to remember

Why she is smiling

 

When the cooler weather

Dances around her

She wears a long soft scarf

Wrapped many times

Around her neck

To keep the cold away

 

Sometimes

She will ask me

"When will my friends

Be coming by?"

And I sit next to her

And hold her hand

Saying to her

 

Soon Grandma… soon

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In The Midst

In The Midst

Here I lie in the foggy midst

Deeper than the deepest abyss

Shapeless outlines are all I see

They fear to come near to me

I try to make out just one face

But it is just a matter of waste

Cause in the midst of my dieing

There are just people around lying

There truth did not set me free

Now it makes no difference to me

Fore here I lie in the midst

Just another unknown name on the list

Here I lie in the midst of deaths call

Now it is over

Now that is all