BEFUDDLED AND 0BSOLETE@82?!……

……….. NOT SO
I may wander in and out between present/past
Cast backward glances at disabled instances,
Forgetful mind/failing heart,the daily pain…
The reduced flow of oxygen to the brain. Its simply
Nature’s part in her natural process- as with all
Things animal,vegetable, mineral, decay sets its way
With time and age. Oh! You can
‘rage rage against the dying light’
As welsh poet Dylan Thomas advised his father,
But as to exit from this life a ‘gentle good night’
Is another matter. My principal concern on medical
Pronouncement you need a new heart,this blunt harsh remark
Set an emotion that fits no acceptable description, the
Irreversible finality of such an infirmity lends a dark view
Through the window of eternity. I no longer understand
This inhuman world pretending ‘shocked’ at the new
Breed of men/women their use of outrage. This is not
A country for an old man looking down 82 years, nor is
It time for pleas and tears when sense appears to fail
And the body-architecture falls to new design, nor
Will I resign myself to self pity in this city of stone .It
Takes courage at this 82, and a special kind of poet to
Maul his rhyme for the sake of truth, and the once strong
Hands hang now as washed weeds where the joy and passion in the
Simple act of creating words as seeds and plant them in
My garden to arrive back as flowers in season after season..
My main concern is squaring myself with the gods……

jaffray Geddes

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shopping malls!

Today, I saw the shopping malls stalls like tiered prison cells.
The people interned like so many battery hens. No windows
in their little cubicles, their days spent in hoping to sell the
worthless glut of wares, under the empty stares of the stall sellers who have no chairs to rest their legs, with an eye ever on the clock and the thought of a beer,the pokeys and bed! Every day sentenced to this drab, obscene way to earn money

Mind and Age..Dislocating

At night, strapped and padded like an American baseball player in early retirement,bone and breath out of sync, in the mode of a cripple, I limp my way up the lonely street with a list to starboard(right).My feet have jigged an involuntary condition of St Vitus Dance,first instituted by a partly mad monk in the late 17th century, Eventually,having performed every dance from the cha cha to the hoki koki I reach the small village that harbours mostly small night cafes for curry-munchers.My head holds a never-ending buzzing as though a cluster of hornets have taken up permament residency,my wife ever in the fear of early widowhood directs me daily to the all-night emergency clinic,which throngs with all manner of cripples in various stages of decay. A part-time Minister of God’s gospel on Sunday-who holds down a Justice of the Peace employ Monday to Friday-prays a miracle for the multiple pathologies that manifests an archaic fast forward body structure that better serves a knacker’s yard! Yet, there lurks still,though rare in appearance,.the bard in me that versifies in conjured up places I have never ventured to, supported by pure lies and other disguises. The strange thing is I have come to enjoy the nightly dance up the lonely street that leads to nowhere,sure I take a chance with the shaky bone-structure and a huge gap inside my left knee,but think, its all this that sets free the bard in me and sets it down for your entertainment….impairment can lead to genuis, hold on to your banalities of broken down bowels, disease skin and bone, incontinent bladders and empty molar sockets, give thought to Don Quixote, Ruper Davies the tramp poet, and tune in to a poet by the name of Eggleton reading his poems in Poetry Archive and you will realise on listening to this weirdo that regardless of age,infirmity, whatever, there is HOPE! Yes, hope for you though you wear your skin like a second-hand suit and your drainage system is in tatters,I urge you,tune into Eggleton and dance your way to stardom..perhaps.

jaffray geddes

THE MEDIEVAL MEDICAL CENTRE..

Here, in the land of long white cloud,leather rugby balls,Tui calls, woolly sheep and outsourced reason! I walked into a Medical Care Centre in an obscure corner of this land to see a doctor! I was confronted by a troupe of up and coming actors. A tall lady with a huge snout appeared to have all the clout, in fact she looked the spit image of Bad Jelly the Witch, the other crones were from a Shakespeare’s play. First, they lost my medical documents; the doctor never read them, mixed me up with someone else; gave me an ECG and a date of birth 33 years in advance! Charged me $92.00 and I landed back on the street with a wooden leg, glass eye with a black patch, a metal crutch and a talking parrot on my left shoulder! I held an unexplained graph of some gone -wrong twitterings in my chest and a clutch of medication prescriptions with an unusual recommendation for an audition in the stage play ‘Treasure Island’. The man they mixed me up with was an old  work associate by name Jimmy Gladrags..I think. He also landed in the street dressed like a first class tramp, with a huge hump on his back.. He also had a paper in his hand recommending him for an audition in the stage show ‘Hunch Back of  Notre Dame’! The thing is, never offer your body for examination to a Doctor by the name of Mr Barter who never bothered his hindquarters just what the hell was wrong with you, but strangely enough, knew exactly what medicines you needed. The strangest of all, was to find yourself in the street totally transformed into a character from a a book!Not knowing where you were,completely disorientated along with this old work associate! And two cops  with the question.’Where were you pair on April 15 1916?’……Survivors thats what officer.