The old Two Ronnies class-ic sketch

was visual and verbal

from posh through proper to poor wretch

light-hearted more than hurtful.

But words alone could make a dour

social rapper into a star

joking the names we use for our

grand-dad, grandpa or papa.

Old age

We have to accept dying;

we hope to avoid pain.

Optimist or Pessimist ?

Is the glass half full or is it half empty ?
It depends of course on how well you cope.
Even one third full and two thirds empty
leaves the optimist plenty of scope.
But a quarter full or, worse, one tenth ?
The staunchest optimist still has hope !
But even he must be less than hopeful
when the glass is totally unfull.

Tired I rest at the top of the plots

above the roofs of the bordering houses

and watch the crowded clouds slide by.

A straggled flight of starlings dots

the sky and wheeling lower rouses

unseen others from nearby

to flutter up and join the display.

More birds appear out of nowhere,

from trees and bushes soaring high

to join the swirling corps de ballet,

all swooping left and right together,

dancing the curtained backdrop sky.

But soon the choreography palls

whether from boredom or fatigue

no way of humans knowing why.

And gradually the outline falls

as more and more begin to leave

until like clouds the last slide by.

Then time for me also to depart

joyed with a fresh uplifted heart.

I wish I could play an instrument,
piano preferably,
but I've been too busy trying to write
eternal poetry.
With a smidgeon of musical skill I might
previously, who knows,
have given up penning verse so trite
in order to compose

instead of this boring doggerel shite
an eternal melody.

The Sertao, Brazil, November

A flat infinity of stunted bushes like skeletons of thin black bones;
a crewcut fringing bald pates of boulders riskily pallid in the sun;
the burning earth as if submerged under patient scrub,
an occasional cactus or palm tree coming up for air;
the dry land waiting for water, imploring rain;
all life in limbo.
Then the sudden shock of vivid yellow blossom on some roadside trees.

I don't answer women that ask my age
vainly hoping they'll think me younger
and most times they're unable to gauge
it accurately in my favour.

I'm not so coy when it's men that ask
though the chances of that are slight
so it was annoying when, given the task,
one guessed it almost exactly right.

And lately things get even worse
with one woman thinking that I'm older
by several years than I really am -
so perhaps I should have actually told her.

My wrinkles are an obvious burden
so maybe I ought to don disguise
or find some helpful plastic surgeon
and pay him to debag my eyes.