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A Mother’s Day poem for those who have lost their mums

Over60 community member Jenny Bush shares this poignant poem on <a href="https://www.innovations.com.au/p/gifts/mothers-day-gifts?utm_source=over60&utm_medium=nativearticle&utm_campaign=MothersDayGifts" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mother’s Day</a>. “I have been thinking about all the mothers out there for whom Mothers’ Day is a source of disappointment and quite often a day filled with a sense of loss and hurt. I have written this poem for those of us who miss what the special day used to mean in our lives.” – Jenny Bush A Mothers’ Day Lament Reflecting on Mother’s Days of yesteryear My heart laments with a silent tear Of the significance of what that day used to be And the profound impact it had on me. Cherishing time spent with my Nan and my Mum Never dreaming that the day would eventually come When neither were here to share the day To feast with us and watch kids at play. Our whole family would gather and have so much fun Quite often on picnics – enjoying the sun. With aunts and uncles and cousins too But life was simple back then, it’s true. Life now moves on at such a fast pace And every day it seems like we are running a race. People are so busy doing this and that There is so little time to sit, and simply chat. For many reasons families can be torn apart Quite often resulting in a broken heart. There is commercial pressure to buy Mum something new Causing some to resort to writing an I.O.U Many mums now spend the day alone For some it’s a quick chat with family by phone. And some celebrate with friends who are on their own too While accepting that life’s ways are now all new. I will miss my mum and my nan this Mothers’ Day But I am so grateful for memories of the special way We used to celebrate their love and care for us Which was usually given with a minimum of fuss. I am sad for the customs we seem to have lost With the emphasis now placed on the financial cost. Progress is great in so many ways But oh how I sometimes miss “the good old days”. Illustration: Midjourney

Family & Pets

"She left me a poem": Samuel Johnson dedicates book to late mum

<div class="post_body_wrapper"> <div class="post_body"> <div class="body_text redactor-styles redactor-in"> Samuel Johnson has made a touching tribute to his late mum while launching his latest book, a book of letters to mums. He shared his story on his charity Love Your Sister's Facebook page, which raises funds for cancer research as his oldest sister Connie battled the disease before passing away. Johnson shared that his mother took her life when he was just three years old. <iframe src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Floveyoursister%2Fposts%2F3901552789939707&width=500&show_text=true&height=553&appId" width="500" height="553" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="true" allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; picture-in-picture; web-share"></iframe> He told his followers that she left him a handwritten poem, that reads: All the seas of joy, Rise to sing for you boy, Surge and swell, and roar. All the seas of joy, Sound wonderfully near, Since you've been here. "That was my mum. Some crazy poet lady who found life a most onerous undertaking," Samuel wrote. "There exists only one photo of me and my mum, and that's always OK because I have that poem, burnt into my heart." He said that his older sister Connie felt the impacts of their mother's suicide more deeply than he did. "From a very early age, she was determined to become a mum and to see her kids through," he continued. "She was extraordinary. Connie became the mum our mum could never be, to two young sons. Now, like me, her boys are motherless." Connie died at age 40 after battling cancer three separate times in her lifetime. Dear Mum is a collection of letters written by famous Aussies, including Amanda Keller, Peter Helliar, Rebecca Gibney, Patti Newton and many more. "It serves as a fitting homage to mums and the importance of them ... it's a beautiful montage, for all kinds of mums," Johnson explained. "I put everything in on this one. And now I think of it, I'd like to dedicate this book to my mum. I suspect she'd be pretty puffy about this one." </div> </div> </div>

Books

A heartwarming poem about life during COVID-19

Ode to Hope Lockdown, stay home, self isolate The World is in a perilous state The first time in history we all empathise As we view this pandemic through fearful eyes So many deaths from an invisible bug No loved ones there, no-one to hug We’re all in mourning at such tearful sights Now we’re recruited to ‘fight the good fight’ In our family cocoon we must safely sit Perhaps venture outside to shop or keep fit How lucky are we, in these close bonds secure Our loved ones, in future, we’ll appreciate more Let’s spare a kind thought for those very poor Unable to hide behind tightly locked doors Come rain or come shine, out there sleeping rough Disenfranchised lives, they’re doing it real tough! Jobs have been lost, how will they exist? Just essential items, can be on the list Our lives forced to be, over simplified To the fast changing rules, we must abide Ours lives of excess consumerism Trapped in over-consumption prison How can we escape this merry-go-round? We all sell our souls when such greed abounds Nails, eyebrows, long lashes, and botox lips Piercings, tattoos, extensions, blonde tips Wardrobes overflowing with so much stuff Clothing and shoes, there’s never enough Our houses are stylishly decorated Too large with so few accommodated Every gadget, white-good, electronic device Mesmerised by our screens, is this a life? Shock jocks spouting their vitriol To divide and conquer is their main goal So many believe everything that they read From a diet of facebook and twitter feed These days no belief in our politicians So cynical, another term, is their ambition Fake news and partisan PR spin At all costs the party is just there to win At times like this can we work together To make it last, to improve life forever? Will it change the way that we must think Or will all be forgotten, in just one blink? We now have the chance to contemplate To reset our lives, is it too late? Live a simpler life, it has so much worth, Revive us and save our struggling Mother Earth. By Kathy Lang

Travel Trouble

“Nothing wrong with writing 300 poems”: Delta Goodrem stalker defends actions

A man has been convicted of stalking after he went to Delta Goodrem’s home five times in one day and sent her 300 love poems. James Joseph Lafferty, 47, on Tuesday pleaded guilty in Sydney’s Downing Centre Local Court to three charges including stalking and intimidation, using a carriage service to harass, menace or offend, and failing to comply with a police direction. The Grafton man went to Goodrem’s Sydney CBD apartment on February 14 and attempted to leave a Valentine’s Day gift but was blocked by the concierge. The Grafton man returned four more times that day. On February 15, the Voice judge went down to the concierge desk to pick up a dress when Lafferty walked past and called out “Delta, Delta”. He then sent messages to Goodrem’s Instagram account including “I’m here”, “please come down and meet me”, and “I’m at concierge”. Police were called and Lafferty was arrested outside the building. He reportedly told police he had sent the singer 300 poems in the lead up to Valentine’s Day and said, “You’d think she’d at least reply”. Lafferty told the court that Goodrem’s “address is on Google anyway”. Legal Aid lawyer Richard Ikaafu said father-of-three Lafferty did not at any point threaten Goodrem’s welfare or safety. Magistrate Jane Mottley noted Lafferty’s previous convictions dating back to 1991 for aggravated break and enter whilst armed, drug possession, damage of property, trespass, drink driving, intimidation and, in January last year, assault occasioning actual bodily harm. Lafferty was placed on an 18-month community corrections order and fined $600. He was also ordered to stay away from Goodrem’s home. Following his sentencing, Lafferty told reporters there’s “nothing wrong with writing 300 poems to somebody” before adding, “It’s better than a sleazy one-liner in a nightclub, isn’t it?”

News

Hilarious poem about the perils of men in retirement

Barbara Binland is the pen name of a senior, Julie Grenness, in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. She is a poet, writer, and part-time English and Maths tutor, with over 40 years of experience. Her many books are available on Amazon and Kindle. Perils of Men in Retirement Here’s an ode for ladies of a certain age, Your men are going to retire one day, Very old joke—is this your hunch? You married him for better or worse, not lunch! His first day at home, what’s he going to do? He wants to come to the supermarket with you! Now this is a man on a mission, Buys half the shop with no permission, Well, that was an expensive shop, Now he wants you to cook this lot, A retired husband is a full time job! What’s this? He’s gardening with his chainsaw, Well, those were your plants… but wait, there’s more, He’s bought an electric guitar, You wish his greyboy band would go far Away, that is! Oh no, not this, He wants to go camping with his grey old miss, NO! NO! God gave you a home, not a tent, Yes, girls, camping is a defence, Well, aren’t we both having fun? Wife wishes she’d bought a gun, Never mind, it’s only retirement together, day one!

Retirement Life

Woman dodges parking fine after writing hilarious poem to council

A UK woman has managed to escape a parking fine thanks to her witty poetry skills. Jayne Parsons, 53, from Salisbury in England, was recently issued a fine after parking her car on yellow lines near her home, according to the <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-wiltshire-45307817">BBC</a>. She knew she had a good excuse so instead of copping the fine, she decided to plead with her local council using verse. In a rhyming letter sent to Wiltshire Council, Ms Parsons explained that she was loading her vehicle with cakes and sweets to sell at a fundraiser for her local riding club when she was struck with a “nervous tum” and needed to dash to the loo – urgently. But we’ll let her explain the situation. Ms Parsons wrote in her letter: “Dear Sir, or to whom it may concern, A parking fine I did earn. I was parked outside my house on yellow lines, Intending to move and dodge your fines. But on Sunday I was loading my car With food and cakes for a horseshow; not far Before these events, I get a nervous tum, For the toilet I had to run. And with not a moment to lose, I made it indoors to release my poos! I couldn’t move until all was done, But when I returned the fine was done. I thought it better was be discreet And leave the car parked in the street. Next time I’ll move and not be a pain, But if I get caught short, I’ll s*** in the drain.” But the most stunning part of the story is not that the council let her off, but that they responded in the form of poetry, too. “The penalty charge notice was correctly issued as the vehicle was parked in a restricted street during prescribed hours. In this instance the restriction is clearly indicated by the double yellow lines which are in effect at all times,” the council wrote. “However, in considering people’s circumstances, The council is often led song and dances, It’s difficult to know the truth, And quite often we would ask for proof, But the photographs the officer has taken, Shows that indeed, you had been baking, These cakes had been loaded in your Land Rover, On the double yellow lines it was parked over, So on this occasion we are pleased to say, The council accept your appeal, you do not have to pay.” Ms Parsons told the BBC she was shocked to have “got out of the fine, even though I was parked in the wrong place”.

Legal

A humorous poem about “man flu”

Barbara Binland is the pen name of a senior, Julie Grenness, in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. She is a poet, writer, and part-time English and Maths tutor, with over 40 years of experience. Her many books are available on Amazon and Kindle. Colds for Older Men Wifey flings open the bedroom door, Not gazing kindly, a picture she draws, Wife blows her nose, her cheeks a’rose, Her husband lies there, full of moans, Her husband begs, Wifey takes a breath, “Yes, dear, I know you have a man-cold, But, dear, I too, have a man-cold, But women are not allowed to groan, or nag, says men, you are alone, I, too, have a cold, But, well, this washing’s getting old, I’m cooking tea, and minding the grandkids, No, I shan’t make soup like your mother did, Yes, dear, the undertakers are near, Here’s your last will for your man-cold, Your whinging, is like, well, old! I have to iron your shirts now, Yes, dear, I know I am a fat old cow, But, dear, I have your balls in my purse, I do hope our man-colds don’t get any worse!

Body

Slain Margaret River mum's chilling poem about domestic violence

Four years before her tragic death in a murder-suicide massacre, mother-of-four Katrina Miles penned a heartbreaking poem about domestic violence, it has now emerged. The 35-year-old was last week found dead – along with her four children, daughter Taye, 13, and sons Rylan, 12, Arye, 10, and Kadyn Cockman, eight, as was her mother, Cynda, 58, and her father Peter Miles – at her parents’ farm in the small community of Osmington, north east of Margaret River. Police suspect Miles murdered his family, and then took his own life. Katrina’s poem, originally posted on Facebook four years ago, was shared by domestic violence awareness group the Red Heart Campaign. It’s titled “I am battered not broken” and speaks of her children, who were on the autism spectrum. It is not stated if the poem is a work of fiction. Part of the poem reads: “The shrieks of my children The echo of my shouts, The thump of my dignity slammed against a wall, The odour of stale beer has a name called fear, In my head I am there, Here I am suspended, Save my children, save, save, save them, In my head I am there.” Katrina’s estranged husband, <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/news/news/2018/05/father-of-wa-family-tragedy-speaks-out/">Aaron Cockman, last week told reporters</a> he felt no anger toward Peter. “Peter didn't snap, he thought this through," Cockman said. "All the kids died peacefully in their beds. "How the hell Peter did that I still can't figure out, but he did a good job, he did a really good job." The full poem reads: I’m Battered Not Broken by Katrina Miles “I stare into the depths of my worries The crease between the frown The hollowness of my cheeks is an echo My stomach beats to the litany of my hurts I stare and stare and stare Hoping for salvation Hoping hoping hoping All peace is lost, fragmented, worn I glare myself into submission The shrieks of my children The echo of my shouts The thump of my dignity slammed against a wall The odour of stale beer has a name called fear The creak of a door The sound of a petrol ute Stiffens our shoulders, hurtles our spines uptight Paste those fake smiles, quick hurry quick hurry quick hurry Shh shh child Please Please Please be good Be calm, be still Make it easy, Oh the shame Make it easy How can I be five places at once How can I save my family from open handed fists, from cruel, persistent words ... I shout, I shout, I shout No No No No I leave, I come, I leave, I come I have left ... In my head I am there Here I am suspended Save my children, save, save, save them In my head I am there The walls echo with the thump of my body The fists in the doors The creak of a beer bottle being opened The shame behind our doors. I look in the young eyes that still love me I ask myself, so ashamed.” Katrina c. Cockman 22nd October 2014

News

A poem looking back on the horror of polio

Pippa Kay, 65, is a writer with many interests. She enjoys time with her family, sailing, reading, writing, and all sorts of travel. She belongs to writing organisations including the Society of Women Writers and the Fellowship of Australian Writers. POLIO When we were kids a monster came to play. Its slobber slimed our toys. It swam at our beach uninvited; splashed us and ran away; hid in our homes, always just out of reach. Hands over ears couldn’t stop its snigger as it crept under beds, slept on the floor. It wasn’t scared of us. It was bigger stronger and worse than anything before. It shared our breath and caught the goodnight kiss mothers blew from lips to land on our cheeks. Chance chose its victims. It was hit and miss slaughter. This killer stalked our town for weeks in nineteen-fifty-three. Our legs were chained, voices frozen. Some children couldn’t walk. Some couldn’t breathe. Infants were constrained in iron lungs. Many died before Salk’s vaccine arrived. With open arms and doors We asked the virus vanquisher to stay. We rolled up our sleeves, took the jab, because we wanted this monster to go away. Do you have a poem to share? Share your story with Over60 <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank">here</a>.

Caring

A poem about Aussie BBQs

Barbara Binland is the pen name of a senior, Julie Grenness, in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. She is a poet, writer, and part-time English and Maths tutor, with over 40 years of experience. Her many books are available on Amazon and Kindle. Barbecues In our Oz land, we have barbecues, A foible of rituals for me and you, First, chicks have to buy the food, Then clean up the barbecues, Then we have to make salads and sweets, And wash glasses and plates, there’s heaps, Then the hunter in the family, Whinges as he sears meat tenderly, Then he collapses dead drunk, Wonder she doesn’t shoot his trunk, Now, chicks have to clean up food, Clean and wipe down barbecue, Wash more plates and glasses after barbecue, Then the male awakes to say, “Aren’t you glad I cooked today?” Husbands get shot in suburbia this way, “What’s for tea?” You hear him say, “Food!” all the chicks silently pray…

Family & Pets

Turia Pitt opens up about motherhood in beautiful poem

She’s a motivational speaker, author, humanitarian and athlete, and now, Turia Pitt has a new role to add to the list: mother. Writing in her online newsletter, the 30-year-old has opened up about life with baby boy Hakavai Hoskin, who she <a href="/news/news/2017/12/turia-pitt-welcomes-her-first-child/" target="_blank">welcomed into the world in December</a> with fiancé Michael. In a touching poem from the newsletter, the burns survivor wrote about her first few weeks as a mother and how a special song got her through the stress. “You were screaming uncontrollably,” she begins. “I’d checked your nappy. Checked if you were too hot or too cold. Tried to feed you. Tried a dummy on you. “I took you out onto the balcony and held you and we both looked at the black cockatoos and listened to the ocean. “And I started to sing (badly) a Bob Marley song to you.” Miraculously, that song (“Three Little Birds”) managed to calm both mum and bub down. “So now, whenever I'm stressed, overwhelmed, anxious or just flustered as f**k, I pick you up, sing that song, breathe in your intoxicating scent and remind myself not to get too far ahead of right here, right now.” <blockquote style="background: #FFF; border: 0; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: calc(100% - 2px);" class="instagram-media"> <div style="padding: 8px;"> <div style="background: #F8F8F8; line-height: 0; margin-top: 40px; padding: 62.46913580246913% 0; text-align: center; width: 100%;"> <div style="background: url(data:image/png; base64,ivborw0kggoaaaansuheugaaacwaaaascamaaaapwqozaaaabgdbtueaalgpc/xhbqaaaafzukdcak7ohokaaaamuexurczmzpf399fx1+bm5mzy9amaaadisurbvdjlvzxbesmgces5/p8/t9furvcrmu73jwlzosgsiizurcjo/ad+eqjjb4hv8bft+idpqocx1wjosbfhh2xssxeiyn3uli/6mnree07uiwjev8ueowds88ly97kqytlijkktuybbruayvh5wohixmpi5we58ek028czwyuqdlkpg1bkb4nnm+veanfhqn1k4+gpt6ugqcvu2h2ovuif/gwufyy8owepdyzsa3avcqpvovvzzz2vtnn2wu8qzvjddeto90gsy9mvlqtgysy231mxry6i2ggqjrty0l8fxcxfcbbhwrsyyaaaaaelftksuqmcc); display: block; height: 44px; margin: 0 auto -44px; position: relative; top: -22px; width: 44px;"></div> </div> <p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BeEKEfJHiSO/" target="_blank">A post shared by Turia (@turiapitt)</a> on Jan 17, 2018 at 1:03pm PST </div> </blockquote> On Instagram, Turia explained why she was so inspired to write the beautiful verse. “Whenever I get a few minutes, I’ve been jotting down some words about my experience as Hak’s mum so far. I don’t want to forget this time and writing has felt good.” We wish all the best for this beautiful young family! Image credit: Turia Pitt/Instagram.

Family & Pets

The poem that will solve your gift buying worries

As enjoyable as the Christmas season is, sometimes festive celebrations can get a tad overwhelming as your list of presents to buy seems to grow exponentially each year. These days, children and adults alike get most of the things they want throughout the year, leaving ideas for Christmas presents very slim. However, a clever rhyme is making the rounds on the internet which gives people clear direction as to what to buy as a present. It goes like this: “Something they want. Something they need. Something to wear. Something to read.” Something they want is usually a toy or game and something they need is usually something practical like a lunchbox or stationary. The last two lines don’t need any explanation. This rhyme also works when you have to brainstorm ideas for birthday presents. How do you come up with creative present ideas? Let us know in the comments below.

Retirement Life

A poem about our mother

Beverly Roberts enjoys writing and has belonged to few writer's groups in Cairns. Over the years, she has written for the local Cairns Post newspaper, doing book and theatre reviews, as well as for the local Rondo Theatre. As family has always played a big part of her life, she loves writing about her family. Our Mother In my mind and in my heart Are so many pictures of our Mother A gentle, patient, caring and loving soul, Loved by all who knew her. See the photo album? All those years ago, back in the twenties, In her rolled down stockings, And her flattened bosom, Her cloche hat And her twinkling eyes. And our Father, Who did not think to be a father then, Was smitten. And who would be otherwise? They married in love and laughter. She followed him from state to state From city to city, Totting up half a hundred addresses. She went where the love was And he kept her near him. But five children? No. Never. Impossible, they said. Sorry dearest parents, words could not stop it. Your history rolled over you And brought the five. Should there be an auction of feelings today With the five as the bidders, Who would win the prize? Each had their special memories Each thinks they were the special one She was like that. We were all the winners. Our Mother, Beautiful in soul and word, Beautiful in nature and thought, Beautiful in the bright light Of her own beliefs. And right. Always right. Always the right word. The right, small scolding Occasionally used. The laughter, the love, the joy, In that family home, All held together by her... Our Mother. It's all there, in our memories, In our hearts, For ever and ever and ever. Oh, we have been so lucky.

Family & Pets

Waltzing Australia: A bush poem

There’s nothing more patriotic than a rousing rendition of ‘Waltzing Matilda’, sung loudly and proudly at sporting and other events all around the world. It was with this in mind that I sat at the bar of the North Gregory Hotel in Winton, where the song was reportedly sung for the first time, quietly contemplating its effect and impact on so many Australians. Over 120 years have now passed since Banjo Paterson and Christina Macpherson collaborated to produce the words and music of our unofficial national anthem in 1895, and I doubt they could ever have imagined its longevity and popularity. From the little town in far-western Queensland, ‘Waltzing Matilda’ has come to be recognised as the song most widely associated with Australia and its people, both here and overseas, and the one to which we inevitably turn. The passion generated by the stirring tune has been no more evident than in the lead-up to the rugby internationals of the 1990s, when country music artists like James Blundell and John Williamson led the pre-match entertainment by strolling the sidelines while strumming their bush guitars. The sound of fifty-odd thousand voices joining in the chorus, reverberating around the grounds in a unified show of support, was an overwhelming display of national pride. It’s a shame this tradition was abandoned, for it demonstrated the true Australian spirit, and while the crowd may still break out in the old familiar strains from time to time, it is no longer the great ritual it once was. I’ve made reference to those spine-tingling performances in the following poem, as I transfer those same lilting lyrics from the dusty plains of outback Queensland to the lush green rugby fields of Twickenham in London. ‘Waltzing Matilda’ is at the essence of our national identity, and has been for a long time. The song has accompanied us to war, to space, and to every conceivable occasion that calls for camaraderie and comradeship. It was the song, sung by our very own Slim Dusty, that was played from Space Shuttle Columbia as it sailed over Australia on its maiden voyage in 1981. Slim was back on deck for the closing ceremony of the Sydney Olympic Games in 2000, where he sang ‘Waltzing Matilda’ to a crowd of 115,000, and millions of others all around the world. Dating back to 1879, the North Gregory Hotel has a rich history and a long association with the vast outback. Although it’s been ravaged by fire three times, I still see it as the very spot where Banjo would’ve sat all those years ago, gazing out on the same endless plains that stretch to the horizon. As I reflected on his and Christina’s wonderful legacy I travelled back to 1895, imagining the applause and praise for that very first airing of ‘Waltzing Matilda’. In their absence I could only drink a toast to the legend of their timeless tune, and resolve to acknowledge their contribution in a poem I was to call ‘Waltzing Australia’. Waltzing Australia I was sitting out in Winton on a stool beside the bar When a bloke came on the telly with his trusty old guitar With a rousing loud rendition and the punters sang along To a song about a swagman and a western billabong It was international rugby at its quintessential best And that song that he was singing was inspired in the west And it stirred a lot of passion and it fired up the soul And it all began near Winton by a muddy waterhole When Banjo wrote the lyrics by a Diamantina moon And the talented Christina put the ditty to a tune They could never have imagined how the song would play a part In the shaping of our country and in every Aussie heart And I felt the Banjo’s presence from my stool beside the bar As I watched that game of rugby on that foreign field afar And I saw the young Christina with a songbook in her hand While a hundred thousand Aussies were all cheering from the stand Now from sporting fields and stadiums both here and round the world And wherever there’s a contest or an Aussie flag unfurled It’s our unofficial anthem and it’s sung with joy and pride From the cities and the beaches out across the countryside And I cannot help but marvel how the song has been embraced By so many generations and the passion it has placed In the hearts of all Australians when they hear it being sung From the oldest of our people to the youngest of our young From the rolling plains at sundown to that western waterhole To a rugby international when we kick the winning goal It’s the song that bonds Australians and you’ll hear them proudly say It was written out in Queensland and away out Winton way From Twickenham in England to the dusty plains outback From the hallowed turf in London to a swagman on the track It all started here near Winton with the spirit of a soul Who had waltzed his old matilda to a muddy waterhole And I’d like to think the swagman is an avid rugby fan For that song we sing together has immortalised the man When the crowds rise up in chorus and we hold our head up high We can feel the jolly swagman and his spirit waltzing by And I’d like to thank the Banjo for the lyrics that he wrote And his friendship with Christina that all started with a note And that poor forgotten swagman who has left us with a song And whose ghost may waltz forever, by that western billabong. <img width="138" height="189" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/43809/walzing-australia.jpg" alt="Walzing Australia" style="float: right;"/> This is an extract from <a href="http://t.dgm-au.com/c/93981/71095/1880?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.booktopia.com.au%2Fwaltzing-australia-tim-borthwick%2Fprod9780733338410.html" target="_blank">Waltzing Australia</a> by Tim Borthwick, published by ABC Books.

Books

Poem captures joys of ageing

<img width="138" height="118" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/39110/julie-g-aka-barbara-bindland_138x118.jpg" alt="Julie G Aka Barbara Bindland (1)" style="float: right;"/>Barbara Binland is the pen name of a senior, Julie Grenness, in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. She is a poet, writer, and part-time English and Maths tutor, with over 40 years of experience. Her many books are available on Amazon and Kindle. AH, THE JOYS OF AGING… What is it really like to be old? Read along, and you’ll be told, Well, there’s spectacles and hearing aids, Also along the way, by the way, There’s dentures in glasses, Zimmers for greys who want to make passes, Then there’s incontinence aids, bad hips, Appointments at medical specialists, Then you’re off to the pharmacists, To get all your scripts, Then there’s the alphabet song, Read along, read along, A is for Arthritis, B is for Bursitis, C is for Constipation, Always a grey consternation, D is for Diarrhoea, And no doctor wants to know ya! Finally, Z is for the big sleep at the end, No wonder geriatrics go round the bend! Yes, greys, these are our golden years, Have fun learning, no need for tears!

Retirement Life

Poem on growing older

Graham Poynter, 79, drove semi-trailers interstate and locally for the final 30 years of his working life. This verse was written when he was 65 just after returning from a long truck trip. He’s now retired and travels with his wife in a car and caravan to various parts of Australia. It’s just that he likes driving. How am I? Let me tell you. My joints all ache. My muscles hurt. Don’t think I’ll see out another shirt. I’ve put on weight. Can’t touch my toes. Just a couple of things amid other woes. I’m always tired. Can’t sleep at night. Each morning I feel I’ve been in a losing fight. When I try to think my mind goes numb. I never used to be this dumb. My body hurts. I cannot run. For me life seems to have lost it’s fun. My sight is fair. My hearing too. There are so many things I can no longer do. I do my best. It’s not enough. Living now has become so tough. So now I must believe what I’m told. They tell me it’s that I’ve become too old. The time has come and I must agree There can be no big future plans for me. We are getting old when life has gone so fast That there is not much ahead and so much in the past. No longer the thought of setting the world on fire. My thoughts now are that I should retire. So now I think it’s time to take a rest. It’s the one thing left that I can do best. PS. I guess I was just having a whinge because I did continue for a further seven years… Do you have a poem or story to share? <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank">Click here</a> to share your story with Over60.

Retirement Life

What happens to your brain when you read poetry

Poetry can be uplifting, showcasing the beauty of the human spirit; it can also reveal the darkness of humanity. Poetry can do a lot of things, and it has long been part of our world. It’s why researchers at the University of Exeter were interested in exploring the science behind poetry, and found that poetry does in fact have an effect on the brain. Here are three of their findings. Poetry and music light up the brain in the same way Researchers have found that reading poetry stimulates the right hemisphere of the brain, the same as music. This part of the brain is linked to reward and emotion Poetry stimulates the part of the brain linked to memory Researchers at the University of Exeter got 13 volunteers to read an "extract from a heating installation manual, evocative passages from novels [and] easy and difficult sonnets, as well as their favourite poetry." The regions of the brain linked to memory showed more activity when reading poetry than general reading. Poetry makes us introspective Researchers found that reading poetry stimulates the parts of the brain linked to our resting states. These parts of the brain are active when people are resting and relaxing, and have also been linked to an introspective state of mind.

Mind

A humorous poem about ageing

Lynn Fowler can’t remember a time she didn’t write. As a Christian minister, much of her writing has been Christian non-fiction and poetry. She’s recently ventured into fiction and released her first general market novel. Growing old (dis)gracefully Youth says age should be discreet soft and gentle and ever so sweet should dress in a manner that befits our days featuring mostly dark blues and greys should potter in garden or else in the house and when out in public be quiet as a mouse and never, never make a fuss “today” is all about them, not us. Well, I've news for you, Darling, and none of it's good: and don't answer back 'cause I'm not in the mood. I intend to keep being sassy and loud I don't need to be approved by the crowd. I intend to keep speaking my mind when I care I intend to keep fighting for what's right and fair. I intend to keep dancing to music that's cool: I couldn't care less who thinks me a fool. I plan to keep talking to strangers on trains and jumping in puddles whenever it rains and to keep running through grass that is long and flying a kite and singing a song; swinging on branches playing in sand and spending some days without anything planned. I plan to keep traveling and seeing new places experiencing life with all kinds of races. I want to ride rapids and fly a balloon - give me half a chance and I'll fly to the moon. I want to keep learning, expanding my mind, I've experienced much but there's much more to find. I might learn to juggle or speak Cantonese, but whatever I do will be just what I please. I'm going to keep wearing purple and green I don't care if those colors should never be seen with bright red and yellow and orange and blue - I might throw a splash of magenta in, too. I'll make no apology for what I say: my “use by date” is still far, far away. So don't let me hear you “Oh Grandma!”-ing me: I've waited a lifetime to become this free. Lynn’s short general writing can be found <a href="https://niume.com/profile/50152#!/posts">here</a> and her books <a href="http://birdcatcherbooks.com/">here</a>. *Picture is a stock image and not of Lynn Fowler. Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/">today</a>.

Retirement Life

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