ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

I have posted this before, but after revision, I made some changes for this new version.






POPPY

There were days when old men felt the cold,
and he sat in his chair by the fire
reading books through those thick glassy lens;
always old ― Poppy was always old.

From the fire, a warm yellow glow
made his skin look like crumpled craft paper
loosely wrapped on a thin bony frame.
He was deaf and half blind ― he was slow.
Poppy's trousers were thick woollen stuff
with both braces and wide leather belt.
He had boots he could tramp anywhere
and so solid they'd last well enough.
Poppy never drove cars ― had no bike,
and he never wore shorts or went swimming.
With his work as a mine engine stoker
he supported six children and wife.

It was Poppy who had shelves of reading,
where that key of the power of writing
turned the lock of the doorway to knowledge,
and where insight was calling and leading.
Poppy talked of his faith, and events
that had formed him and tested the years.
He was sure he'd been kept and sustained
by the grace of divine providence.

There are days now, when winter feels cold,
and the children don't know how a child
can become just another old poppy.
Poppy's old ― poppys are always old.

I like this Neville. It is so true that before we start to get old ourselves, we rather expect that 'Poppy's' had always been, & would forever stay, the way we knew them at the time.

Just a wee suggestion.........do you think ''always old ― Poppy was always old'' may read better this way....''always old ― Poppy always was old.''...? Just a thought.

Cheeers

Thanks for that Glenny. Thanks for taking the time to comment.
I wanted the rhythm of the echoed phrase..always old.

I enjoyed reading that Neville. Kind of sad that we don't know our Poppies as they were when young.
Wazza

Thank Neville being one myself it is good that one can sit back and see how children see you


bill the old battler

That's it Bill Thanks Warren, in a way we do know poppies as youngsters. I wrote this when I had in mind an occasion when I asked a small boy " Do you think I was once a little boy like you ? His answer was NO !!

I enjoyed your poem Neville. I often think how we change over the years and how we go through the cycles of life but never really feel any different inside. I was the second youngest of a large family and always wondered why my Mum was older than other kids my age. I soon realised as I had children. It also reminds me of this poem that has been doing the internet for some time now. Here are a couple of lines...

Crabby old Woman


What do you see, kids, what do you see?
Are you thinking when you are looking at me...
A crabby old woman, not very wise
Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice: 'I do wish you'd try.'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe:
Who, unresisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, kids - you're looking at ME.

There are more verses and they are worth reading!

Thanks for sharing! It makes me want to write more about life and aging

Dot

Thanks Dot. One thing I can say to youngsters, I've been a youngster, you've never been an oldie,