Grandpa Club

Over four hundreds years of experience

Average age of eighty

Five of us.  Croaky, happy old mates.

“It’s our Grandpa Club,” I tell the kids

Each month we’d get into a tizz

Scratching for lost recipes

Kitchen timers that had gone on leave

Each month, well, a few days before, “What am I on this month? “

A mild panic, a healthy panic. It kept us active, together.

Five of us on Soup, Main, Dessert, Wine, or

“You’ve got this month off Chris, tell us more about you!”

An old Austin

In a hurry

South Africa

Stopped by a copy

“Hey,  you’re the doctor that delivered our son!”

“I’m about to do the same for a woman thirty miles away.”

“You’d better be on your way then.”

A Windy and Blustiferous Day

An inside day.

I perched myself in my ‘local

A small and more intimate place

We know each other

Easy to chat, enjoy respectable sky larking

(One day I shall become a respectable grand father)

It’s a good place, the staff are chatty, and, predict what I’m going to order. And next door, through a convenient walkway is the book shop. A very desirable way of farewelling my pension.

Today the place is more crowded. Probably because the weather outside is ‘stink’ as the younger ones say.

At a large table is seated one of our ‘older’ couples. They do look friendly.

“Do you mind if I sit at this table – I promise I’ll behave.”

“Please do, you’re most welcome. I can’t promise ‘he’ will.”

She gesticulates at her husband alongside.

An English accent. Welcoming.

They downed tools ‘back home’ and to retire, moved here to the colonies, New Zealand.

“Love the smallness,

the easy-to-get-on-with people here.”

He was a civil engineer

I describe my teaching days

“Specialised in music, creative writing, drama. Great kids, great days.”

The coffee was good

The conversation a pick me up on a Windy and Blustifereous day

Pony

Term Holidays

Walking
Head down
Country air
Happy thoughts

A light, rhythmic canter
Eager
Closer
Trots to the fence line
Her Pony

A communion of two

University Term break
My granddaughter is home
And down at the paddock

Instant recognition
Girl, Pony, together

An elderly man
At some distance
Captivated
Mystified
Ponies are so large
I’m not quite a Pony man

Me
Poppa
Great with cats, other people’s dogs
Chuckles with grandchildren – other people’s grandchildren
Crazy stories,
Laughs

Laughs, lies and teasing

A warm tan
Those large eyes
Teeth!
‘Flick!’ of the tail
Up close, ponies are enormous

Silence of communication
Inspection

Slow trot to the Pony Yard
“Come on!”
Right front hoof raised
Stones hooked out by some
Swiss Knife for ponies thingie

Me, the grandfather
First up in the morning
First up every morning
A well rehearsed
Making of that first coffee

Early morning light
Paddocks, cows
The ponies
Are waking
Space
Silence

David Legge, June 2025.

Set my Hearing Aids for Blackbirds

 

Three autumn leaves
A crack in the pavement
Nearby a blackbird
Love the sound of a blackbird
Strong, and clear,

A blackbird is purposeful

In the morning broadcasting

His plans for the day


My hearing these days not the best
A shame
 
Hearing aids,
“Now is the time Sir, your new hearing aids
What in particular
Are you listening for
And we’ll offer you hearing aids to match.”
 
What sort of a question is that?
‘I want to hear the footsteps on the moon!’
Nah, that’s being stupid.
 
I’m paying as much for these hearing aids as I would for a small car.
Why are they so pricey?
They make hundreds, no thousands, of these things.
A big machine, Whump! Whump! Stamps them out.
 
“Look buddy, sorry, Ma-am
(Do they still say Ma-am?)
I want to listen to my family
“Poppa, would you . . .?
“Hey Poppa look what . . .
“I’m hungry
 
And I want to be able to switch ‘em orf
Both the hearing aids and the family
 
But
Just as important:
In the morning
After the first highlight of the day –
Breakfast
I walk along the road
Up the steps
Under the trees
 
Blackbirds
Love the sound of blackbirds
Set my hearing aids for blackbirds please
Ma-am, Sir, buddy
 
And verily the hearing aids were set to blackbird
 
I don’t quite understand this
But hearing aids can somehow affect your balance
And
When I’m on the bike
I can hear stuff behind me

Yes
I can set ‘em for all around sound
Or diminished for restaurant clatter
A setting for music!
Bach
and the good old Sixties
Oh yeah
ABBA
I ain’t got no class Duckie
 
I wonder
Hearing aids
Do they make ‘em to hear in colour?
 
Just a thought
Could they make Chirping Aids?
For poor souls like me
Who find the price of hearing aids
.  .   .

 

A morning walk up the steps

Three autumn leaves

Black Birds

 

“To talk of many things: but not of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax— of cabbages—and kings


Does a poem have to rhyme?
My first two lines do, just this time

Popper, Karl Popper
“Never heard of him!”
David Benson has

So had that kind lady
Sheet (must be dead now)
“Oh I was his secretary dear – many years ago now.”
One seat left in the whole cafe
Wellington, early seventies, a student cafe
And she beckoned me over
“Come and sit here, love.”

And what are you studying?
“Uhm, Philosophy.”
“O O  O Oh.
You must have heard of Popper
Karl Popper”
“Yep.”
“Oh yes, I was his secretary.”

Karl Popper was philosphicating
philosphicating?
Lecturing
Lecturing in Christchurch
A long time ago

I never finished the degree
I have time on my side
I did finish that coffee

Thames
Saturday morning market
Greg’s $4 table of tired books
There was this book
Popper

And there was David Benson
“Oh yes,” he said
#Karl Popper,
I started philosophy
Never finished the degree.”

Two contented failures
In the dizzying depths of philosophy
The book, ‘Popper’,
I’ll leave casually on our coffee table.
And visitors will say ,
“Ooooh, an intellectual!

And
If I ever meet Popper
I can say
“Oh, Hi! David Benson
David Benson in Thames
has read a bit of your book
A likeable guy!”

“I’ll look Popper in the eye.
Now look old chap
Why don’t you brighten your book up a bit
Add a few illustrations, pictures.
No, not your cute young things in scanty summer frocks

“How about
Uhm
How about a cow in a field
Give a pastoral uplift old chap.”

I’m sure David Benson would say the same
Well, maybe David would say,
“Just one Cutey, in a bikini milking a cow or something.
.Anyway,think about it buddy”
And Karl Popper would dawdle off
Thniking about it.

One Day
David Benson will publish his book of poems
and I’ll say
“Now look old chap
Why don’t you brighten your book up a bit
Add a few illustrations, pictures,

Maybe of me
sitting on a three legged stool
milking a cow!”
And

Being a model,
Published in a book
I could make a few dollars

A a a a h
I’m not that comfortable being that close to a cow
They’re bloody big animals you know

Look
A picture of me
Holding a carton of milk
It would be a real hit!

Well, that’s me poem, no more cow
I’ll make the damn thing – rhyme somehow


.

On Reflection

An angry call
Wings flapping on water
“Listen Ducky, there’s enough water for the two of us”
Summer time
You can’t enter gracefully into this river
You jump, you fall
Or you slither
Like an eel

Poppa, at your age, you shouldn’t go swimming on your own!”
When I was very young, old people were always telling me stuff
“If I were you . . .”
‘But you’re not me’, I was too polite to respond
Now,  I guess I’m an oldie.
And young people are always telling me stuff

Floating, just floating
Such relief for lower back pain
Brief reflection, I’m coming back as an eel in my next life!”
But
Eels don’t ride E Bikes
Electric eel?


The flow of summertime cars
Friendly jostling for parking on that narrow grass strip
Squawking, happy kids
Half naked summertime bodies shiny-wet with water
Bits of forgotten clothing

Swirl of dark water
Small eddies –
Where do they come from?

White clouds, blue sky
Dancing in reflections

“Poppa, at your age, you shouldn’t go swimming on your own!”