Seventy plus One

Last year I shared on Facebook my feelings on reaching 70 years old in the form of a poem. A year on, with so many groans and moans about age on social media, and with inappropriate "Jasper Carrot type" jokes about incontinence etc.., I felt I should re-publish those verses. It's a joy and privilege to be getting older. Many people don't get to 70. We should enjoy the years we have without self-deprecation. Enjoy...

70 - Life is what happens

Three score years and ten seemed a long way off
When I was a lad in Gloucestershire.

Now that I’m here,
The view is good
From this side of the hill.

Out from my grayscale childhood,
To a life full of colour,
Some roads have been rough,
Some paths have been smooth,
Some hills have been steep,
And some troughs have been deep.
Life is tough!

However,
It’s never been dull or wearisome.
My Golden Love and I together
Have shared many ordinary things,
Often in the most extraordinary ways.

Choices have been made
With faith as our guide;
And as some doors have closed
Others have opened wide,
In good times and tough,
We’ve had the strength to go through
Into the unknown
Sustained by
The Power Of Love
every hour.

Seventy time around the sun;
Tens of thousands around the Earth
Is a long, long journey, I know.
In the great scheme
It’s the width of a fine slender hair,
It’s been my time to share.

Now,
My body aches.
It is true
My feet are further away!
My birthday suit has wrinkles;
Hairs sprout in new places,
While receding elsewhere
As it slowly turns grey.

While my thoughts may seem slow,
Forgive me, my head is full of stuff.
Be patient, be kind,
I may take time
To sift my mind,
But there
We may find
Experience, knowledge
And perhaps a little wisdom,

Yet,
Life still goes on,
Who knows for how long
The tablets will keep me going.
And who knows
where it may still lead
Before the inevitability,
Mortality,
Of life’s final curtain.

And then?
Immortality, perhaps?
In my seeds?
In memoriam?
In eternal peace?

Meanwhile,
Three score years and ten is here;
The view is good
From this side of Shaston Hill,
Life is what happens.

But Is It Art?

Introduction:

I am no great poet, but I have enjoyed writing a ditty or two over the years and have kept them in a file. To rekindle my blog I'm going to publish some of these verses just for fun.
Here's the first. It was started after visiting Tate Modern in London circa 2000 and modified in 2005. I offer it to you.

But Is It Art?

A pile of bricks upon the floor,

I heard someone ask, "But what's it for?"

When is a building merely a structure,

And art marries into architecture?

When does naked become a nude

Or flesh become erotic or rude?

No doubt art should provoke a reaction,

Celebration of creation or derivation?

Art may fall foul of stereotype,

Of pretentiousness and media hype;

I heard it said that it was frue

That all art must have a commercial value?

Sherman and Pollock hung on the wall,

McQueen and Gormley, I've seen them all,

I stood and I looked at the Bourgeois towers,

Can they compare with Van Gogh's flowers?

Who's to say that Tracey's bed

Will not be remembered when she's dead?

So, is modern art really that bad?

Or should we be asking, ' 'Who's been had?"

Then we had Starling's shed,

Some people say "It does my head

In", but I'm not sure -

Better that, than to bore.

Let's push the bounds beyond again

And avoid another cold refrain

Of all the strains that have gone before

The conflict cries out, "More, more, more!"

Just what is it to understand

The integrity of the artist's plan?

The excitement with contemporary art

Is that no one knows just where it starts …

...or finishes.

© Kevin J Wright - July 2000, revised 2005