King Kind Old Soul Cole

 

King kind old soul Cole

Was a merry ole soul

Silvery and gray

With a peppered moustache

Short as a pompom or

As long as a rabbits tail

A grizzly snowy white Santa Christmas

Ghost Beard

Grew out as tall as an X’mas Tree bough

Camouflaged the bright baubles and spiffy gifts

Holly, ivy and mistletoe to steal a kiss from his highness

Golly good! A wooden old face full of grace

She seldom shied a peck or love bite

Exchange of true blue lips!

 

Decorated underneath it

That even hid

Pearls, amethysts and Cherokee coffee

Stained on his brown fudgy lips

As a rose red blush of rouge on his rosy cheeks

A cherry cheery fiery ember blossom

As lit his cozy fireplace hearth

Golden and warm toast to his aging Queen Beauty Mole

For she always sported a mole on her chin

As big as a mole of a mountain

 

The King Kind Ole Soul Cole declared

Making divine decisions and

 Taking charge of routine Royal affairs

Seemed a trivial Bonafide matter of discussion he relayed

Sometimes with prong and horns called Conscience

Taking into his own hands playing with

An elderly Groom, mistress and tinder head matches

A Mountain of a Mole Hill in vain

A barrister must make mountains out of molehills, 

To find a point of law where none had previously been known to exist"

And so a king for his flames

 

It was time for another leap year

And a long leap

A milestone in a century

For his hair to turn more silver

To match gauntlets the silvery moon wore

One more wrinkle one more crease

When he smiled so butter uppity Cheese

His smile creased smaller

In wrinkles full of care

So small and tiny

Without a single tooth in place

Not even a cavity!

Expressionless and bare

 

As he aged ripe and so full of wisdom

His cheeks so cerise a glow

As warm as cherry sunset

Though less of wisdom teeth within

He cackled a warm hello

With dentures he used

Often stored in his wine goblet

In case he forgot to don them on

Contrariwise sipped a whiff

 His favourite red spirit concoction

Almost every day before he could kip on bed

To spare him ghosts and nightmares

Only his reflection a ghost of the past

Named merry old soul kind King Cole!

 

His poor legs even his ankles not spared

No not even elbows or shins

Even the backbone once supple a spine

Without a care of a bow bent like a question mark

Or a riddle like a conundrum it spelt

Now everywhere he went

He hobbled and bent

Like a candle in the wind he swayed beyond

It’s hey days of enlightening

As gaunt as a bauble of disgrace

The one that showcases on an old Christmas Fir

Spruce or Pine tree

So bent and warped as him

Good grace! So hardened and stiff

A criminal those age old bones and stiff joints

 

Even a crooked stiff upper lip

He so jovially could crack jokes as supple

As his golden youth many many years ago

With those adult limericks

Woman he teased so often a belt

Around his waist

Now only the belt he wore

Supported his back

And those for leaky taps

Called adult diapers

As he flexed his muscles

No, not by any chance at the gym

But on the bed shaken up

So bad every time he woke up

With the bell that he rung

Instead of the doorbell

He once fetched the handle

To help his wife before she

Snatched the morning papers

A daily dose of trouble and mayhem everywhere

Riding his hobby horse

The rocking chair in his short frilly breeches

Giddy yap giddy go!

To and fro

 

Now he rang the pied piper whistle

And a jarring dinner bell gong

To wake up the butlers of the castle

For his muscles were stiff

As ever

As his varicose veins thickened

Like walls of a buttering fortress

Up his burning thighs and calves

Even up to his aching hip bones

That creaked as he walked cringing and

Full of despair

Of anointing with holy oils

Called iodine’s and balms

So purifying with numbing relief

That at least lasted till he realised

It was arthritis

Old bones seldom replaced

Those at knee joints costing

A fortune remedy

 

The heart grows fonder of all things older

Only baby pichpach in an alphabet soup bowl

When he thought youth to be so fair

To bite into a crunchy carrot

Or a juicy cucumber

Even chew a fleshy bone

Or a crab shell and its mussels

His teeth so strong and sharp

How he missed those adolescent days

Though fully now maturity ripened him as

An overripe fig of course

Could go without saying

Peaches and strawberries

Or milk and honey!

 

When he thought youth so fair

In the bygone hey days of courtship

His Queen belied amorous amours

 She loved his many astounding muscles

Called Romancing the stone

In steely suit of armour

A chivalrous knight I suppose

Riding like a night rider

His Silver Horse Moonshine

When in fact she was used to

Making him lift weights so full with experience

As a weight lifter lifting the toughest barbells

 

A fifty kg priceless work of art

His masterpiece

She took his strength of muscle power for granted

As he carried her over the threshold

Now gaining mass nor momentum

Neither weight nor weightage

 Ton or tonnage!

As twisty as a tongue twister

“Weight and tonnage equals to dwontage

Twilly or silly as old Mister Willy

Old age an advantage to the gross pillage

Of youth forsook as you cross three fourth century

Curst blunder never revoked beyond 100

As a joke that cost

 To stay alive forever those precarious years

 Once again a toddler or tot!”

 

A conundrum that took him ages to fully understand

He stood shuffling his brows

And furrows on his high forehead

Not a single hair

Could he go through with brush

As sparse as a receding hairline

Looking as bald as a plate

That smiled with a grin

And a shine of gloss on bare porcelain

You play with a Horsehair bow

On a cat shaped Violin!

‘The cow jumped over the moon’

 

Even his vision so crystal clear

Now bifocals

With higher numbers and special

Magnifying lens

He called his rosy spectacles

To view his iron thumb

In an iron wrought ailing spectrum

A rusty iron robot

Dithering and doddering

Bolts, nuts, screws, washers

Rivets and nails

Not one in a good place

All strew about from head to foot

He’d have to assemble its pieces

As you hammered out

Like an Old Knight Old Sole Cole

Of a Jigsaw framework puzzle!

 

He rocked yet

Now upon his rocking chair

So nimble like a fairy good soul

As old as timber or teak yet

With a humble heart up his sleeves

A good as glittering one in his chest

A starry diamond inside a precious cavity

Cushioned by air inside a diaphragm

That pounded so hardly inside his stomach

One could hear every beat as it ticked

When he lay to sleep

Like an outdated alarm clock tick tock tick

He wondered if it would ever stop

Ticking!

 

Would be by Cardiac Arrest

Maybe even Parkinson’s, Blindness

Cataract eye or Alzeimer’s

An array put to test his existance

Better blind than those deadly diseases

Rather handcuffed by the prongs and horns

Of a ghost from Christmas Carol

By his favourite writer Charles Dickens

Maybe because he turned the stingiest King ever

In recent spate of years outnumbered

By his growing fat bank balance

Of a treasure vault

 

‘God rest ye men who inherit

The skeleton key to my Treasure Island’

Maybe a few of his princess and princely heirs

To his throne

Based on morality and good conduct to elderly

Would certainly win the Poor soul King Cole’s

Beating heart tick tock tick

So frail yet toil worn

Without any worldly care

Only wont of dire affection and love

In such a damned affliction of sordid sense

Called sensibility of the senile populace!

In some home for the aged for Kings or Queens

Discarded and abandoned from

Their royal thrones and carriages Alas!

Deemed by cruel fate and twist of luck

If hadn’t a soul to look after them

 

Even the weighing scale

That measures obesity flops

As he cradles his pounds and ounces

Exercising to remember the last date

When he put on or lost maybe a kilojewel

Instead of a date on the calendar

Called Dotard or ripened age

In new wine bottles

It would work wonders

If the cane supported his saddles

When he walked from here to there

Now unfortunately on a wheel chair

He was trundled like a spare tire of a car wheel

Once not in use

It was kept safe like Retirement on its dole

To provide the good, kind, ole soul King Cole

A helpful housemaid

To do the dishes and tend to his

Bothersome quarries

Without a whimper or a complain

As the King would fight for senior citizenship

In every ball room

Maybe a bank, dance, hospital

Bus stop or cinema theatre

Maybe as the saying goes

To be first

When the saints go marching by

 

As old as glittery gold

That never grows old

Neither loses charm

Maybe just found inside a mine

Like a trinket or charm badge brooch

Of good age an honour to admire and display

Of once a palace with a gurgling fountain of youth

Now the mine with a mountain

Full of wisdom and rivulets

That stored stout brandy pegs

A shot to go at it

While baring toothless grins

On a face shrivelled and wrinkled

With many lines

As many as I have described

That doctors with medicines prescribe

Bottles of Allopathy or Homeopathy

To cure it named.....

Senility and with it Dotard

 

You’ll find a ton of those

Royal gentlemen

With a sapphire robe and ruby crown

An emerald sceptre and a fortune globe

To read your mind

And in between his furrow lines

So black, white or peppered

Once sandy hay and golden

Making hay whilst the sun always shines~

As good as gold

 KING KIND OLD SOUL COLE!