Category Archives: old age

At 70!

Vid 70 har man samlat på sig berg av illusioner, förlorade, återvunna, återfunna. Livet går vidare, javisst! Men själv har man nått sin vägs ände och går inte längre med. Och sedan då alla dessa berg som skymmer den fria … Continue reading

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And Sam said

  And Sam said “Lady, you shot me” and he fell back and hasty he bled to death, still in his 30s. Soon 70, I walk my way slow and oldish as life and people have hurt me hard but … Continue reading

Posted in aging, alienation, become old, changes, courage, create life, dancing feet, desirers, fooled, grief, life and love, living with chronic diseases, Living with chronic pains, loss, lost trust, love story, memories, missing, morality, old age, past, Poetry, secret love, sexuality, spring, surviving | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hen house

Part I, Saturday It’s the weekend after Sweden voted for new leaderships in counties and parliament. The mandates for the parliament after the final statement is 144-143 to the favor of red/green bloc, but Swedish Democrats receives 62 mandates. The … Continue reading

Posted in immigrants, inspiring music, inspiring songs, lost trust, maturity, obstacles, old age, poems by vonnely, politics, reading, repression and borders, right wing, satire, Sweden view, Swedish "culture", Swedish conditions, threatened | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Longing for the sea (längtan till havet)

I have lived at inlands my whole life. Now with age it feels as if the inlands choke me and I’m longing to the sea. But I feel trapped in poverty and my lack of health and supporting friends. You’re … Continue reading

Posted in aging, dreaming, longing, nature, old age, Poem in Swedish, poem in Swedish and English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, summertime | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Old Woman Blues

It’s a sad thing to have become an old woman, living alone with a cat and a TV set, desperately longing for a warm hand and a little sympathy and someone to talk to: easy victim of wreckers.  

Posted in aging, grief, loneliness, loners, longing, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, sadness | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

A future that’s not!

I’ve grown old thinking about renting a flat in a high-rise house. There’s one available now on third floor with balcony to west with a view over a bakery roof and with a window to north with big green plastic … Continue reading

Posted in living with chronic diseases, Living with chronic pains, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Friday now again – and I’m just tired!

No, I’m not breaking up I’m just too tired and too old for smileys, what about an old fashioned conversation improved over “keep smiling”? Another week has passed and I look in my bathroom mirror at that whey-face looking “before” … Continue reading

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Sadness is a seven letters word

      Sadness is a seven letters word. Seven black drops dirt your skin and you rub and rub to clean it off you, but you can still see there are remains of the stains. Some people are just … Continue reading

Posted in armed loneliness, become old, create life, dreamers, heartache, loneliness, love poem, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, sadness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Diamond love

I’m old, my feet hurts and I can hardly walk and surely not run. But my heart is in good shape, my doctors told me and my brain is better than ever before, you will find out. If you want … Continue reading

Posted in aging, become old, create life, dreamers, love poem, old age, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, walk of life, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Climbs the mountains (aging, part 1)

  Log for Tuesday September 12. I have a time  been thinking about write some blog posts about age and aging  – and maybe also about age discrimination. The latter, age discrimination, and myself now being an elderly person is … Continue reading

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Mr Peterson is dead

I The stench stayed heavy in the stairwell in the house where I live during November: Mr Peterson at the first floor was very dead. I saw him last this summer when he mow the lawn on his little patio. … Continue reading

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