Saturday, October 21, 2017


I'm an older person so it's probably quite natural that I should reflect back to my younger days as the source of much of my writing. This might sound like an apology, but far from an apology the fact that I am, old and hopefully will grow older, is a source of pride. You see, it's a privilege to have grown old, as many, most, don't.

Birth, Living, Aging

Birth is a miracle
shared by many.

Life, living, 
with it’s trials and tribulations, 
is something to be explored.

Old age, 
is a privilege, 
not achieved by all.  

With age comes experience, something that youth should acknowledge. Unfortunately, the youth of our western society tends to shun the old, viewing older persons as used up, husks of former self, a burden, having nothing of value to add to society. It's as if aging is a communicable disease. 

I’m Feeling So Old

I walk down the street, I’m feeling so old,
I’m invisible you see, I’m seventy-five years old.
Seventy-five years old, and so much to offer,
but society has seen fit to stifle my being,
for being too old.

I’m seventy-five years old, I’m part of the past.
I’ve seen miracles happen, that have lengthened our stay,
but shortened our future
in so many ways.
I’m seventy-five years old,
I’m part of the future,
and speak for the past.

Tread softly young persons,
though the future seems bright,
the past catches up
in the dawn’s early light.

And so I continue to write and make the odd sketch, racing it seems, against time, hoping to cheat death until I've run out of words.... 


When I was young,
very young,
a mere boy,
I lived in the moment.
There was no yesterday,
nor tomorrow,
only the moment.

Everything was new,
an experience,
a fleeting memory
swept aside,
crowded out,
by something colourful,
that caught my eye.

As I grew older
the very things that caught my eye
began to linger,
worthy of additional thought,

was followed by tomorrow,
until tomorrows filled my mind,
but still left much

As I grow old,
I struggle to catch up
with past tomorrows,
frearful that
my tomorrows
will soon catch up
leaving no tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017


I've been writing a memoir of sorts titled, "Fly On The Wall". As there's a good chance that it may never be published, and realizing that memories written are just words that if never read really serve no purpose, I wrote this small poem. 


Memories written,
never read,
and stored away,
are only words 
that fade away.

It was then  that I thought to myself, what the heck, why not post some of my writing in the form of a blog? This way, at least, someone might stumble onto my blog site, and get a bit of pleasure from my writing. So, here's a small poem that I wrote that came to me one day while questioning the purpose, or value, of my spending years sketching and painting and promoting the preservation and protection of our natural heritage.


What if
one day
having grown old with not much left 
you discover that  your life had been,
ill spent,
on an impossible dream?

How would you feel?
How would you respond?

Would you be upset?
Would you be sad?
Would you waste time feeling bad?
Would you be ashamed,
realizing that others knew,
but didn’t share
what everyone knew?

Would you continue the impossible dream, and
and continue to live the life of a fool,
after your death?

(Does it matter?)

I've decided to continue the impossible dream. Whether what I've done has served a purpose, or will survive after I've gone away.....doesn't really matter.