Poems

When I am Old I Shall Wear Purple

When I am an old women I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph

If

If it was right to be believing,
And write his name in blood
And then I met him when I died,
Well I’d have it out with god.
But if it means degrading scenes
And sanctioning crusades,
I’d know we couldn’t stand man to man
Without feeling afraid.

If it was wrong for not believing
In fairytale façade
And then I met him when I died,
Well I’d apologise to god.
But if it meant I went down on my knees
Well where’s the spirit gone
Where’s the love you’re talking of
When you can’t stand man to man?
Man to man
When you can’t stand man to man.

I find it hard to believe
In these ‘gospels’ that I’ve heard
The forked tongue of the bible belt
The ayatollah’s word.
I don’t believe most anything
Spoken by anyone
As hell’s fanatic paranoids
Fire heaven’s loaded gun.

If it was right to be believing,
Then it must be in this
That difference is beautiful
And living it is bliss
There are no teams
There is no side
That life on earth is done
By living the love you’re only talking of
By standing man to man.

Roy Harper

I'd pick more daisies

If I could live my life again,
I'd be a little lazy,
I'd stop this rushing to and fro
And stop to pick more daisies.

Through all the lovely summer months,
Though days be clear or hazy,
No more to fret over tasks undone,
I'd stop to pick a daisy.

Not so important what I did,
This fact time now discloses,
While running through
Life's garden green,
I'd stop to smell the roses,

If I could hold my little ones,
The children in my care,
I'd scold them less and love them more
with so much love to share.

If I could pass this way again,
Though folks might think I'm crazy,
I'd work and worry less, but I'd
Take time to pick a daisy.

The rush of life has passed me by,
Now I have leisure hours.
but time has taken such a toll.
It's to late to pick the flowers

Mildred F. Rowe

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
and make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And to hold on when there is nothing in you except the will
which ways to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings-nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty
seconds' worth of distance run
-- Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more
--you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling