I am looking for a poem about old age. forgotten poet. It's about an old lady who defies convention and decides to wear purple etc



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 09/13/2006 06:30PM by lg.

"This delightful poem that speaks of growing old in a wonderfully outrageous style was written in 1961 by Jenny Joseph who lives in Minchinhampton, England. The poem is popularly known by many titles including, of course, the actual title Warning."

WARNING
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.

Full words at [alt.venus.co.uk]

I am also searching for this poem.
It was in a book, very irreverant book about being "old and bold"

The poem goes something like "when I am an old lady I shall wear purple and red and learn to cuss, and spend all my money on brandy, and learn to spit in the gutter.


I am really keen to get hold of this poem!!!
Any clues???


Cheers Kate

As Henry in the post immediately before yours suggested, click on the hyperlink to read the poem:
[alt.venus.co.uk]



Stephen

Words to: "When I Am An Old Lady I Shall Wear Purple"

Try this link:
>[www.poemhunter.com];

Stephen

Warning
by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that 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 eat bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats 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 practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.

Stephen

[www.redhatsociety.com]

I have seen them in public and it's mighty scary

.
the poem has been found, I know
but a couple more . . .

The Red Dress
Dorothy Parker

I always saw, I always said
If I were grown and free,
I'd have a gown of reddest red
As fine as you could see,

To wear out walking, sleek and slow,
Upon a Summer day,
And there'd be one to see me so
And flip the world away.

And he would be a gallant one,
With stars behind his eyes,
And hair like metal in the sun,
And lips too warm for lies.

I always saw us, gay and good,
High honored in the town.
Now I am grown to womanhood....
I have the silly gown

...................

The Little Old Lady in Lavender Silk
Dorothy Parker

I was seventy-seven, come August,
I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I've experienced zephyr and raw gust
And (symbolical) flood and simoom.

When you come to this time of abatement,
To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
As to what you got out of it all.

So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me
And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
There was nothing more fun than a man!

In my youth, when the crescent was too wan
To embarrass with beams from above,
By the aid of some local Don Juan
I fell into the habit of love.

And I learned how to kiss and be merry- an
Education left better unsung.
My neglect of the waters Pierian
Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.

Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
Were I given the chance to repeat.

For contrition is hollow and wraithful,
And regret is no part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory's faithful)
There was nothing more fun than a man!

.............

Afternoon
Dorothy Parker

When I am old, and comforted,
And done with this desire,
With Memory to share my bed
And Peace to share my fire,

I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
Beneath my laundered cap,
And watch my cool and fragile hands
Lie light upon my lap.

And I will have a sprigged gown
With lace to kiss my throat;
I'll draw my curtain to the town,
And hum a purring note.

And I'll forget the way of tears,
And rock, and stir my tea.
But oh, I wish those blessed years
Were further than they be!