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'Glamour is beyond beauty and beyond age. It's like sex appeal.' - Carolina Herrera, 'I've just had eighteen straight whiskeys. I think that's the record.' - Dylan Thomas, 'Let us never know what old age is. Let us know the happiness time brings not count the years' - Ausonius, 'The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age - which means never losing your enthusiasm.' - Aldous Huxley, Help the aged One time they were just like you Drinking smoking cigs and sniffing glue, I hope I'm old before I die I hope I live to relive the days gone by But tonight I'm gonna live for today So come along for the ride I hope I'm old before I die, I'm in the autumn of the year And now I think of my life as vintage wine From fine old kegs From the brim to the dregs And it poured sweet and clear, So make up your gods And take them in It's the end And it's all right, Will you still?
‘Age is not something to accept in a fatalistic despond; no, ‘tis something to inspect from all angles, to admire and to be curious about. Do not limp woefully, vanity bawling and baulking into that varicose night, go furious with incredulous joy at your very survival. Mindful of both cruel and kind contortions mid-flight, go foolish, shunning the moribund with fervour; go shamelessly not aimlessly, loving as you did aged sixteen blamelessly, wild as wet bees dancing, filthy, funny, charming and chancing, eleemosynary and beloved by receivers all, resentment to be banished from this boisterous climactic ball and all whilst of the very finest fettle (arthritis aside, elbowing feeble knees — none to say undid by crip hip were he, she, one and ye), still to be putting on the kettle, wisely brewed and bedecked with pride, spinning all that’s dark into glorious gold. Therefore, do not rage, rage, against the dyeing of grey hair. No. Get your Croydon facelift on, take heed this tropospheric speak; do not bemoan one’s being “old”, endless elation and amity do seek!’
— The Cloud
Esme's Cloud 
Ageless is the wisdom of The Cloud As always, perfectly said! Narrowing down our three personalities to one is the only thing that takes too long…‘‘tis good to find your groove before you have too many of them!
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Thank you Jim! Yes, we are but the sum of our many personalities though and variety is surely the spice of life?
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I for one am looking forward to my long white plait and crochet hat with hob nail boots or socks with crocs. The shameless abandonment of all vanity and enjoyment of comfort and smirking knowingly at youth.
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I’ll remind you of that when you’re tucking fivers into your thong strings aged eighty.
Hahahahaha.
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WHEN I AM OLD
When I am old, do you suppose
That hairs will grow out of my nose,
And as I count the passing years
Will tufts of it sprout from my ears?
When arms and legs are thin and frail
And memory begins to fail
Shall I recall those days gone by
When passing women sought my eye?
When face is wrinkled, fold on fold,
And summer heatwaves leave me cold,
And teeth are gone, and eyes are weak,
Shall I lose all desire to speak?
When I have lived my lifespan through
And found at last a perfect view
Will others see there no more than
The mumblings of a mad old man?
When I am always far away,
Too deaf to hear a word you say,
Your feelings – will they be the same
When I keep asking you your name?
When mind’s decayed, and flesh repels,
And speech no longer casts its spells;
When I am old, then we shall see
Just what it was you loved in me.
Ben Naga (https://bennaga.wordpress.com/2012/02/08/when-i-am-old/)
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As I said on your post – this is brilliant Ben, the last two verses in particular are so powerful, and really say it all, ’tis a true tearjerker by the end. It’s better than the Cloud’s thoughts, that won’t do! Hahahahaha.
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No, no. Not better, rather different. Simply amplifying, covering fresh aspects, extending the discussion, my dear. The after all concept of “age” is a broad canvas which can catch the eye from many aspects.
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This is true, and thank you for your fine aspect upon it sir.
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Like wise. 🙂
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ALPHABET FOR THE THIRD AGE
A’s for arthritis; B’s the bad back
C’s the chest pains, perhaps cardiac?
D is for dental decay and decline
E is for eyesight; can’t read that top line!
F is for fissures and fluid retention
G is for gas (which I’d rather not mention)
H high blood pressure; I’d rather have low
I for incisions with scars you can show
J is for joints, out of socket, won’t mend
K is for knees that crack when they bend
L’s for libido; what happened to sex?
M is for memory; I forget what comes next
N is neuralgia, in nerves way down low
O is for osteo-; bones that don’t grow
P for prescriptions; I have quite a few
Just give me a pill and I’ll be good as new!
Q is for queasy; is it fatal or flu?
R is for reflux; one meal turns to two
S is for sleepless nights, counting my fears
T is for tinnitus – bells in my ears!
U is for urinary (troubles with flow)
V for vertigo, that’s – “dizzy” you know
W for worry ’bout what’s going ’round?
X is for X ray, and what might be found
Y for another year I’m left here behind
Z is for zest I still have – in my mind!
I’ve survived the symptoms and I’m still employed
Keeping twenty-six doctors all fully deployed!
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
I just rediscovered this on my pc. I’d completely forgotten it, and where I found it. I certainly didn’t compose it. I wish. A DuckDuckGo search (https://duckduckgo.com) finds it all over the place, but no author for me to credit. You may have seen it before, but if not …
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I have seen tis before yes, but know not the author, what I do know is that they certainly weren’t focusing on the positives. Hahahahaha.
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(Or at least that is her excuse. There are competing theories.)
And while we’re talking about health issues and poor taste …
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Dark and tickling, fits in just right here Ben, thank you.
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😀
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Sounds like a winner to me “spinning all that’s dark into glorious gold”!
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Thank you Anarette, it’s really the only way to stay out of the asylum I find.
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I’ve been pretty close to that place these days with the political winds blowing from all kinds of weird directions. Spin me some gold STAT.
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Aye, so they are dearie.
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As he reads the exquisite poem and prose the Professor hears Esmeralda’s whispers dear to his ears, she touches deep and stirs his heart, soul, down to his grrrrrrrrrr… oin: 🥰
Mmmm, if my Lady speaks such things to me like this I shall NEVER feel or grow old!!! ❤ 😈
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I honestly doubt you ever will anyway Professor, laughs a lot, you have a joy about you and certainly have held fast to the importance of keeping notice of all that comes your way with child-like glee, and it will serve you well. If no-one woman buries under the patio that is.
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You at your best, o queen of glittering metaphor! Only I will continue with the henna. Gray/white is all right. But I do prefer red. Cheerio! 🥰😘❤️
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Oooh, thank you Bela! And no, no, the point is you should continue! ‘do not rage, rage, against the dyeing of grey hair.’ – in as much as carry on, go wild, be red, blonde, raven haired, grey, white or sky-blue pink with a yellow border! Be who you wish to be and so you are. It’s a kind of magic thanks Freddie who is strutting about in a vest tutting and generally being quite off-putting I prefer red too. ❤ X
https://media1.tenor.com/images/35b8896386a9528f8ab9610772f0130e/tenor.gif?itemid=3484276
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You’re the best! 😀 xoxo
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I share my throne with you Bela. beams
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🌹
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I decided to share your pome with people from a distant past: the year of my birth —1947 to be exactionary — and in accordance with the Apocryphal Almanac of Birthly Arrivals for 17 September, 1876 C.E. (Common Error).
I fired up my vacuum-tube-energized Steampunked TimeFooleryMachine® and set the derrival date to 1947. Of course, they all knew you and you possibly knew them too. They love your wordlets all, your wordlets each, they thank you profusiously, they creak and croak their approvallity. But now they all are dead, excepting for the ones who are still alive — and those few are 172 🙂
Holy gosh, esme. I can’t even multiply 71 by 2 to arrive at 142. Or..I’ll call it a typo type 2. Perhaps I am aging. And so: …those few are 172 (sic)
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‘Exactionary’. Fantastic. September is an excellent month to be born in, I hear many of the Gods and Goddesses are born during said temporal length of time. I’m glad they remember me, I recall each and every one of them and am honoured they would croak and creak with tongue and beak at my wordlletage. 172, a mere youth!
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Exactly.
Esme, you were born in the 17th Century and would, therefore, encounter 13th Century Earthly inhabitants. Neither are you tropospherically limited, but, on the other hand, I probably limit myself by using a TimeFooleryMachine® that runs on vacuum tubes. 🙂
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A wonderful poem and words I needed to read. With wee kids who I am sunk into marveling at their milestones and growth, I spend little time paying attention to my own, except for when I’m feeling tired and old. And yes, while a younger dad might have more energy than I, there is also much to appreciate and take pride in at this age both related and unrelated to being a parent.
Also:
eleemosynary
I had to look that one up. I didn’t even believe that was a word. Surely Esme has made a spelling error. I am more than super impressed at your vocabulary. If there is a competition somewhere for knowledge of obscure words I’d love to see you crush it. lol
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Thank you Swarn, hold fast, you’re still on the uphill part and full of glee yourself when not tired to shreds – your kiddiwinks will get a great deal out of having you as an older parent, we learn buckets full every few years that pass, the contents of which are there to be doled out to them. When you aren’t drunk. Hahahahahaha. I’m kidding, of course.
I really like that word, it’s one of those which is particularly nice to say out loud and does sound made up too. Obscure words send out smoke signals to me asking to be introduced back into the wilds of common vocabulary, I oblige as they charm me and also tip well.
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Well I hope to see it always as going uphill, until I’m just not going. 🙂 I think as your poem suggests we take time to appreciate the uniqueness that each new year we’re alive brings it’s possible to view things in that light. But one 24 hour period of unadulterated sleep and pampering would be nice. lol
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The downhill is not negative, but positive, it is like shrugging off the load carried so far up and up, back straining, smiling still, and finding within age a freedom to slide, slip, skip, scoot and slip our way through the years remaining. It’s always faster that part, you can’t change gravity, but you can enjoy its perks…
Esme Cloud grinning at Swarn
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I think understand…I thought when you said uphill before I was thinking in the sense that I was still on the rise…rather than uphill in the sense of walking uphill which is hard. Either way, your poem was a good thing for my state of mind. 🙂
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The way of The Empress takes much in the way of cogitations grasshopper.
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I’d be interested to know the average age of your readers (challenge to out yourselves). I’m guessing it’s over sixteen, but I have been wrong before–once.
I must confess that after my 300th birthday or thereabout, I stopped counting.
Naturally (a pessimist at heart) I’m thinking of Ovid’s Sibyl: to have been granted eternal life but having forgotten to ask for enduring youth (oops). Nevertheless, I’m happy enough living in a jar.
I see that Hariod is back. Where have you been keeping him. In a breadbox? In a jar?
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They’re all in their eighties apart from Mr Pink who is twenty-one – Mr Pink stands with a loaded pistol held at Esme’s forehead
I collect heads in jars so you must ship yourself over for a week or two and sit with the others. I’m not sure how great a company they’d be for you as they are all mostly dead now but some were alive for over two hundred years so they had good innings and I rarely had to chuck sleeping tablets into their preserving goo to shut them up, but I don’t want you there for them, more for me.
‘I see that Hariod is back. Where have you been keeping him. In a breadbox? In a jar?’ – Hahahahahaha. A breadbox is a good idea, but no, I have him chained to the mangle washing and wringing some billows the Cloud got mucky whilst up to nefarious doing one night last month.
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I love the smell of formaldehyde in the morning.
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Formaldehyde and Seek! One of my favourite games.
Esme bowing to the Wiz upon the Cloud
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Hello there, Prosperro; nice of you to think of me. As for jars and bread bins, then you may have detected clues in Esme’s past posts that she keeps me in a jar — just my head, you understand, as the rest got rendered redundant in an unfortunate cricketing incident (not dissimilar to that described in Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling’s account of his dear father’s demise.) Blessings on the day, good sir!
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Hariod, I tend to have sympathy for the bodiless, especially those who make their home, unwittingly, in the clouds. It could be worse though. You could be reduced to, say, an eyelash. A whole head in a jar is nothing to sneeze at.
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Halloo Hariood, Mooving my lips sloowly to(o) shoout a looud cuccu froom inside the Leyden jar to(o) yoou. (exit o-doubleation routine)…
Been missing your presence in various whereabouts, rolled up and down the street to share Hariodinal news with all the neighbors and neighbours I did. Wishing you well wherever and whensomeever those whereabouts be and are. Well you may ever be, my friend, fellow jar-inhabitant, and formaldehyde floater-inner 🙂
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Hello there, dear Bill! Yes, been in a pickle of late, old chap, keeping a lid on things so as to preserve my sanity; hence the creation of a lengthy jam in my WP Reader list. My very best to you, fellow jarhead!
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Hello my dear pickled pal, you harried Hariod you! As you may have surmised, I’ve been spending entirely too much time seeking alternative sustainable energy sources to power my steampunked time-foolery machine. Schroedinger’s feline found herself in the Leyden jar, or not, and I either rescued her, or took her place, in Leyden’s charge machination. Glass-wall-jar transparency allows me to wave (or particle) at my fellow travelers on this same esmeal table, Kilroy-demeanored, from behind that copper wall. 🙂 https://makezine.com/2008/02/25/homemade-capacitor-leyden/
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“I’d be interested to know the average age of your readers (challenge to out yourselves). I’m guessing it’s over sixteen, but I have been wrong before–once.”
Hello mellow exiledprospero!
I’m outing myself for sake of challenge: 17, as a mettle of fact, over 16 by integered count. My numbering system, by dint of presentation, brings units to the fore and tens in sequentation, thereby expressing my ageination.
Another closet exit-takened 🙂
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