Peter Jeffrey: Two Poems
Kranky
If you can’t be
An old goat when you’re old;
When can you be?
Archaic in address,
Eccentric, you allow
Yourself, antique
Or inappropriate
Styles of dress.
Write disgusted comments
On and letters to,
Tabloids, magazines,
Curse, bitterly, and frequently,
Inanimate machines.
The universe against us
Tangles hoses, ropes, and cables,
Makes paintings fall from walls
And pens to roll off tables.
Entropy wins;
You lose your keys & glasses,
Things move from where you put them,
And, friends aside,
The world is full of asses.
Young women, if they notice you,
Take compliments as passes;
What would once have passed as romances
Would now play out as farces.
Peter Jeffrey
Third Party Selfie
If you happened to meet him in ALDI,
You’d probably be unimpressed,
With his hair so white and his smile so tight,
And his Ralph Lauren Fair Isle vest.
He’ll talk about poems and past glories
And if you’re around him for long,
He’ll tell you some dubious stories
And he might even burst into song.
In his youth he was much better looking
And considered himself quite the rascal
But now he’s become old and cranky
He just sits and thinks, like Blaise Pascal.
His poems have been praised by Les Murray
And he likes to think he can paint.
He does everything in a hurry
And thinks he can sing, but he caint.
In his closet are racks full of glad rags
Bought in Op shops for just a few dollars
They’re old but they have the right name tags
From Saint James and Milan in their collars.
His three sons and two daughters are handsome;
Their mothers all think them hot stuff.
Their trajectories are zigzag and then some
But they seem to get by well enough.
He drinks claret and whisky and gin and champagne;
His old friends are treasured like gold.
He hopes that one day he’ll smoke seegars again
But not ’til he’s grown very old.
For some time his neurones have been tiring
But while the connections are strong
And a few last synapses still firing
Let’s bring an end to his song.
Peter Jeffrey
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6 mins
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2 mins