Older People and a Spot of Poetry

Apparently, today is the International Day of Older people and also the UK the National Day of Poetry. I recorded a very short podcast for a charity, ADRA (Adventist Development and Relief Agency) UK about the day of older people. If you fancy a listen, you can find it here. (I think it might only be available on the 1st of October.) I used to work for this charity when I first moved back to England and they do some amazing stuff around the world. A very worthy cause to support.

I learned some interesting facts about older people during my research, probably the most startling was that women over the age of 80 are more satisfied with their sex lives. (I didn't include this fact in my podcast but I really wanted to, I also wanted to do a poll of all the over 80's I know but thought that was probably not appropriate). I was intrigued as to who they were more satisfied than and the reasons behind this because they could be so many. Things that make you go hmmmmm.

If you're over 60 you're considered older

As you hit 80 your sex life gets bolder

Is it a fact or is it a lie?

The statistic was out there but no reasons why.

That's my bit of poetry to support the National Day of Poetry. And my quote for today is a poem I enjoyed from their website. There's a lot of great poetry on there if you fancy a read.

The Poetry Guerrilla by Shauna Darling Robertson

That morning

the world woke up

to poetry.

Like some kind of Santa Claus of words

the poetry guerrilla had laboured all night

spreading the joy of line and verse.

At breakfast, the shell from Bettina’s boiled egg

unravelled to reveal a ballad.

At the launderette, Susie pulled three pairs of pantoums

from the drier. A little wiggle and they were a perfect fit.

Uncle Jim found a limerick printed on his lottery ticket.

His numbers didn’t win but still, he had a giggle.

Alice the hairdresser’s headache was instantly fixed

by a haiku etched into an aspirin.

Reverend Crick, the vicar, found his vestry filled with villanelles

which served as his sermons for the next six months.

When Tammy ordered take-out she got

a triolet with her chicken tikka, spare ribs with a sestina

and a free side order of odes.

But wait – someone had broken into the bank!

(Turns out they took nothing, just deposited sixty sonnets and a cento.)

Order! cried Captain Collis and sought to calm the crowd

with a warning shot from his hilltop cannon.

But it fired cantos, not cannonballs,

littering the town with a lengthy, living legend.

Brushing my teeth at bedtime, I noticed

a fading clerihew finger-written on the foggy bathroom window.

It had my name on it

and as I looked up I swear I saw

a shadowy figure heading for the horizon.

Man? Woman? Child?

I couldn’t say, but this I know –

there was a spring in their step,

a glint in their eye

and so much language on their lips.

Today's photo is of my favourite older people, my fabulous parents.