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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 Mother’s Day. “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

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

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

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

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

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

Funny poem highlights how the meaning of words have changed

<img width="144" height="196" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/29255/bob_144x196.jpg" alt="Bob" style="float: left;"/>Bob Pacey, 65, is the Rockhampton region’s best-known bush poet. He has a verse stored in his memory for just about every occasion. Getting Older Well I must be getting older And I don't know who to blame All the words now have new meanings Though they still sound just the same. And I was so good at English Now I get the words all wrong cause when I put them in a sentence it’s just like they don't belong. Like, when a bloke was really happy it used to be ok to say “He's gay” a “Rap” was how you hit a door And Hi! just meant gidday. “Grass” was grown upon your lawn We used a "Pot" to cook a stew A “Score” was what your team made And a "Dope" meant silly you A “Dyke” that was just a little dam A “Poof” a puff of smoke and “Bread” was flour and water Now if you've got none well your broke And “Cactus” was a prickly plant But now it means you’re dead a “Joint” was an old run down shack A place to rest your weary head. “Acid” was something we used in Chemistry at school and winter was the only time that we could say we’re “Cool”. A “Trip” meant falling over when we tangled up our feet And lollies were the only thing that we could say were “Sweet”. A “Camp” was just a little tent set up out in the scrub. We only “Stuffed” our chickens and food was our only “Grub”. If someone had a bit of luck we’d say that's really slick now when something’s great mate well they say it’s “fully sick”. And we put “ice” into our eskies just to cool our beer and rum and the only "Smack" I ever got was on me bloody bum. People stopped you in the street to talk about the weather now when you ask a question the kids simply say “Whatever”. Well I’ve tried to understand it It's progress I've been told But I really have to face it mate Gees I must be getting old. Do you have a story or poem to share? Please head over to the Over60 <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/">“Share your story” page.</a> Related links: <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/09/the-biggest-problem-new-retirees-encounter/">The biggest problem new retirees encounter</a> <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/09/is-it-ever-too-late-to-get-healthy/">Is it ever too late to get healthy?</a> <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/signs-you-are-ready-to-retire/">8 signs you’re ready to retire right now</a>

Retirement Life

68-year-old’s poem reflecting on the passage of time

Anne Marr, 68, is a registered hairdresser, whose hobbies include writing, gardening, caring for wild life and learning. She’s also studied health, journalism and pain management. Time If a wish could be granted for me it would be for more time to see All the wonders of earth and more time in this space my soul has chosen to grow; Please time go slow. There’s so much to learn and so much to do it’s hard each day to see it all through, And I sometime feel that my time is not real but just in my mind as each day I leave behind; With always a wish there was more time to fit it all in and where to begin. How do I choose which is right for me when there is so much my heart wants to see. I wonder if time will stretch for me with spreading arms that grow like a tree. And I must remember it all should be fun even the days when I’m on the run, And then I remind myself, just love, breath, pause, and feel the sun. For if love comes first in all that we do then there’ll be enough time to see us all through to the next timeless step of our soul as we leave this place in search of our goal. If have you have a story to share, please head over to the <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/">“Share your Story” page.</a> Related links: <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2016/09/crying-can-be-good-for-you/">Having a big cry can actually be good for you</a> <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2016/09/10-steps-to-build-your-confidence/">10 steps to build your confidence</a> <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2016/09/5-scientific-ways-to-make-your-brain-happy/">5 scientific ways to make your brain happy</a>

Mind

Poem about how difficult the English language is

Prepare to have your brain doing backflips – this poem will make you incredibly grateful to be a native English speaker! In 1922, Dutch poet Gerard Nolst Trenité wrote this poem (aptly titled “The Chaos”) to highlight just how difficult English is to learn, and we have to say, it’s a real tongue twister. Want to really test yourself? Try reading just a few verses of the poem aloud without making a mistake. Dearest Creature in creation Study English pronunciation I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse corps horse and worse … Hear me say, devoid of trickery, Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles, Exiles, similes, and reviles; Scholar, vicar, and cigar, Solar, mica, war and far; One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel; Gertrude, German, wind and mind, Scene, Melpomene, mankind. … Billet does not end like ballet; Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would. … Banquet is not nearly parquet, Which exactly rhymes with khaki. Discount, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward, Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet? Right! Your pronunciation's OK. Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live. … Finally which rhymes with enough Though through plough or dough or cough? Hiccough has the sound of cup. My advice is to give up! How did you do? Watch the video above to hear how it’s supposed to be done and tell us in the comments below, could you read it without stumbling? Related links: <a href="/entertainment/books/2016/08/what-your-book-organisation-reveals-about-your-personality/">What your book organisation reveals about your personality</a> <a href="/entertainment/books/2016/08/what-i-learnt-from-500-self-help-books/">What I learnt after reading over 500 self-help books</a> <a href="/entertainment/books/2016/07/12-hilariously-honest-alternate-titles-for-books/">12 hilariously honest alternate titles for books</a>

Books

Poem captures what it’s like to get older

Warren Cox is happily married to Robyn, his wife of 52 years. They have two daughters and three grandchildren. Warren’s hobbies include fishing (as often as possible) cooking, reading and writing poetry. “This poem was born after a Saturday BBQ with a group of friends, all well and truly in their senior years. It didn't take long before the conversation turned to bad backs, knee replacements and of course failing memories. One of the group made us laugh when she said she could never remember where she puts her reminder notes. We all agreed that it was sometimes a trial but at least we were still here to laugh about it. I sat down the next day and put it all to rhyme.” Who You Gonna Call? Who you gonna call when you notice that you’re greying; when you’re getting out of bed and the room starts swaying? Who you gonna call when your knees start to creak or you can’t remember where you put your teeth last week? Who you gonna call when the print disappears, or the kids ask what it is you’ve got behind your ears? Who you gonna call when you slip upon the grass and no matter how you try you just can’t get up off your…? Who you gonna call when the credit cards fail and it’s yet another week before you’re pension’s in the mail? Who you gonna call when you can’t see without… your tri-focal glasses – and the bludgers aren’t about? Who you gonna call when your plumbing makes you wait and no matter how you try you can’t increase the trickle rate? Who you gonna call when you try with all your might to get the button through the hole but it’s too bloody tight Who you gonna call when the anti-ageing creams make no difference to the wrinkles and the creases and the seams? Who you gonna call when the final bell chimes and it’s time that you were taking stock of all your life and times. Who you gonna call when there’s no one left to call? When the song is nearly ended and snow begins to fall? When far far behind you are the wild and glory days, but the memories are veiled; just a gossamery haze. So you sit beside the fire in your favourite chair. Try to conjure up the names of all of those who used to care. Those who dried your tears and those who helped you smile. Those who’ve gone before, and who have walked that final mile. You breathe in very deeply. Your mind is now intent on conjuring up the images of those who came and went and you realise a truth that surely one day comes to all. You’ve lived and loved a lifetime. Now who you gonna call. If you have a story to share please get in touch at <a href="mailto:melody@oversixty.com.au">melody@oversixty.com.au</a> Related links: <a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/new-research-proves-life-is-better-in-retirement/">New research proves life is better in retirement</a> <a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/break-out-of-your-comfort-zone-in-retirement/">Why everyone should break out of their comfort zone in retirement</a> <a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/perks-of-getting-older/">8 perks of getting older you might not know about</a>

Mind

A 72-year-old’s moving poem on getting older

<img width="70" height="94" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/26824/jackie_70x94.jpg" alt="Jackie" style="float: left;"/>Jacqueline Steyn, 72, finds comfort in expressing herself in stories and poetry. It was not until she reached her seniors year, where age and live experience gave her the confidence and courage, that she began to showcase her writing. Seasons of Life I've reached the autumn of my life Now little bits are falling Boobies reaching for the ground Ears not hearing when you're calling My limbs have somewhat weakened Golden hair has turned to grey I think I hear speak to me But I've forgotten yesterday Flat tummy, tight bum They're all things of the past Brittle bones are part of me now Just like this plaster cast Four eyes not two help me read a book My face has many wrinkles now I'm looking bloody crook When we are out walking If I stumble and fall down Will you reach out and help me With a smile and not a frown Will you look upon me as a nuisance Or a treasure from the past Or some fossilised old lady to gotten rid of fast If you have a story to share please get in touch at <a href="mailto:meldoy@oversixty.com.au">meldoy@oversixty.com.au</a> Related links: <a href="/health/caring/2016/06/18-great-quotes-about-ageing/">18 great quotes about ageing</a> <a href="/health/caring/2016/06/poem-highlights-the-beauty-of-ageing/">Poem highlights the beauty of ageing</a> <a href="/health/caring/2016/05/10-beautiful-quotes-about-grieving/">10 beautiful quotes about grieving</a>

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

A heartwarming poem about life during COVID-19

Hilarious poem about the perils of men in retirement

Woman dodges parking fine after writing hilarious poem to council

A humorous poem about “man flu”

A poem looking back on the horror of polio

The poem that will solve your gift buying worries

A poem about our mother

Poem captures joys of ageing

Poem on growing older

What happens to your brain when you read poetry

A humorous poem about ageing

Funny poem highlights how the meaning of words have changed

68-year-old’s poem reflecting on the passage of time

Poem about how difficult the English language is

Poem captures what it’s like to get older

A 72-year-old’s moving poem on getting older