There is very little that’s
golden about the golden
years, let me tell you and
I’m old enough to tell you
straight out what I think,
only the young have time
for circumspection and
I’m not young any more.
Oh, there’s gold in prescriptions
and doctors and hospitals
to be sure, but it’s the gold
to pay for them and don’t even
get me started on all the
patronizing because you think
old means stupid; old means
hard of hearing but old doesn’t
mean stupid. Now, where
did you say I could find
Mama’s room?
This poem is submitted to One Shot Sunday, hosted by One Stop Poetry. To see other poems based on the prompt, please visit the site.
Photograph by Greg Laychak for One Stop Poetry, Used with permission. You can find Greg Laychak’s web site here and you can follow him on Twitter.
19 comments:
I appreciate the frankness with which the elderly speak. Unfortunately, it seems they are taken advantage of far too often. Amazing the amount of money many prescriptions cost. Great ending to an excellent poem.
Golden years, indeed. And the twist at the end -- that the loss of youth starts much, much younger than we care to think -- was keen. Or is it that the speaker was writing the manifesto on age, watching Mother slowly die? Either perspective works with deadly accuracy, though there's an outside to both, as if there is no room for wisdom, no sense that anything good accumulates. But there's so much truth to that. Makes me recall a t-shirt I saw some bluehair was sporting while shopping at a store -- "Dying ain't for sissies." Amen.
really truthful and honest too ..loved its honesty ..thank you
agh - the ending is really tight glynn and i much like the "there is very little that's golden about.."
you said this very well
Oh..well done and unique in voice and temperament. We each come to old age in unique ways and are grateful for the time to assay and evaluate it as on an Easter Sunday. Thank you,Gay
Interesting - I very much enjoyed the voice to this, the nature of the piece, directly addressing us the readers. Nothing golden indeed...look at what time creates. Honest and straightforward, with a strong ending. Very nice.
unadulterated pessimism and sentimentality pervade this poem. xj
Golden days turned grey... looming long in the bitter silenced moments. If only youth took 'time
for circumspection' and listening to the wisdom held by those who move before us.
This is poignant with exactly the right touch of humor. Excellent.
smiles. i like how you took on her voice..and yes old does become very expensive...and no not stupid at all...
I'm turnin 50 in a few weeks and I remember when 20 looking to fifty and breaking out in hives. Now to read the voice of an 80 something really has me not breaking out but lookin in and out to those smart ones who might be hard of hearing. excellent take on this Glynn...now I am going to visit my mother.
So true, the golden years are far from golden...though they do hold much wisdom at to often is not noticed or overlooked....bkm
Reminds me of my Nonie looking for the car keys seven years after her license was revoked, "You can enjoy my golden years" Thank you for humor with truth
There's too much truth in this for it not to be tinged with sadness.
Old is slow reflexes. Stupid, never. My dad had the sharpest of minds..Now I observe the same in my mom.
I liked this...
a statement
I did some volunteering in nursing homes. Very real words here. I liked it too!
- Henry Clemmons
This made me think of e.e. cummings -- and I don't know why except for his "Old age sticks" poem, but really yours is not the same at all.
Don't you love it when a reader makes that kind of comment --
"it's the same, but different"?
BTW: I've loved all your poems about Easter.
They have been sharp and poignant.
:)
Solid, well-written.
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