Tag Archives: aging

THE BOOK OF LIFE

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Live long enough

and enough becomes more

then was once imaginable.

It is not resignation

to the seemingly insoluble

problems making the young

passionate and high strung;

nor to youth’s perception

that old people are stuck

in the past, and even the mud.

No, the old are simply elated

that problems which once made them 

passionate and high strung

have been overcome.

The old simply have

more hope for

and less fear of

the future the young will live

with greater energy;

a future which the old may not live to see.

Reluctance to become irate,

wave arms and raise voices of dismay,

may simply be the wisdom to see

no problem is without a solution.

It just my not come for a few more days.

Truly, the old and the young

are writing the same story.

They are merely on different pages

in the book of life.

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Ruby Slipper Hydrangea

Photo 8/7/22

Innocent white petals first unfold.

Pink hearts softly begin to show.

Soon her petals redden in the sun.

All innocence comes undone.

She begins to slowly grow old.

Autumn stealthily takes its toll.

Finally, she turns russet and gold.

Such changes offer chance to survive

The winter of a life which thrived.

Lesson from the garden to live by.

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THINNING OUT LIFE

Photo by Edu Carvalho on Pexels.com

My hair is so thin

and so fine,

so unstructured

by aging design.

A blanket woven 

from my hair

could not warm

a body cold

from aging blood

flowing so slow.

All of a piece

are these changes

noted and coded

to bring the message

that life is also this:

so fine and 

unstructured

except in my mind.

I brush my hair and

watch it fall

loosened from its frame

like my muscle and bone.

The stories it tells

as it catches the light

separating so many colors

into memory’s delight.

If this be aging

I welcome it close.

Aging brings wisdom

to bear each loss

before the final

loss comes and I

am finally bald.

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PASSIONATE WOMEN

“Enjoy it, while you can!”

never makes sense

to young ones whose only goal

is to get old enough to let life unfold

on their own.

Until, they are old enough to love.

Then, as the old ladies foretold,

“Enjoy it, while you can!”

I see those women still.

Still young.Still passion filled.

Still yearning for more, and amore.

They gathered for morning coffee

on the screened-in porch.

Pulling me within

by their passion, a torch

to light my way

to womanhood, day by day.

They were all related

by marriage and by blood,

or paesans from villages abroad.

They formed a sisterhood

from marriage to widowhood.

They aged, yet, their passions still raged

at husbands whose passions had been spent

on youthful challenges and endeavors

they embraced as leavers

to lift their families higher

than an immigrant could aspire.

Worn out before their time.

Passions worn too thin

to please their wives.

“Enjoy it, while you can!”

Ah! Now, I am finally

old enough to understand.

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LETTER TO THE YOUNG AMONG US

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Rain has ceased her assault for now,

broken records shattered faith 

in weather patterns, and how!

Streets flooded and gardens submerged.

Waves above plants crested and surged.

Climate change shows the fruitless folly

of distracted senses unable to observe

nothing that matters more

then destructive weather battering the door.

Mother Nature refuses to give up on us,

On Earth’s survival and our own.

She bellows and blows

to drive her message home.

The nihilism of our young is no surprise

as they watch all they knew of truth and honor die.

The hopefulness of youth also decries

the callow acceptance of loss

by ancient leaders who fail to count the cost

as their years surmount their reason

in their final season.

Time to allow youth its voice

and watch them lead us forward

to a better choice.

Allow youth to set aside 

the greedy old clinging to their wealth;

as if wealth, not life, is the real prize.

Stay strong young sons and daughters.

These old bones are counting on you

to laugh and love, to plant and grow

a world much better than we have left behind.

I salute you and offer you

all the wisdom you can unwind

from old codgers 

with weak limbs, but loving minds.

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HAIKU

Passion breaks apart

fired in ovens too hot.

Cool love lasts longer.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

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LETTING GO

Carrying away the day in buckets of lost dreams

is a waste of good time and makes 

the compost pile scream.

Waiting in the wings are characters

preparing the next act with useless tact.

Who knows what adventures lie ahead for those

willing to drop the text and pretext of prose

to bring the old play to a close?

For those starting the next chapter

with brave and honest laughter

in a new script meant to convey

a future of happy possibilities,

despite life’s fragilities, all is good.

Right now. This time.This day.

Stand and bow to applause

just as you should.

Now, get off the stage and live.

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FADING DAFFODILS

The daffodils and I are fading.

Our tulip friends who bloomed later not far behind.

The  bright colors once so gaily waving

in gentle sun now unwind

the cord which seemed to hold back

warmer days and nights; the cord which holds back time.

Clouds continue to place a sack

over Sun’s greater insights of reason and rhyme,

sleeping still too many hours

to bring the garden fully back

to life.

What is it in the soul that yearns

for Spring in Winter and Summer in Spring?

How to live in the moment I’ve yet to learn.

Around and around the seasons I go,

seeking to learn just one more thing.

When I shall stop nobody knows.

Until then I shall dance and sing

among the flowers which in my garden grow.

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AGING CHILDREN ALL

Healthy minds come in all kinds.

The butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker

all row together or sink below the sea at best, 

or wander earth’s oceans without rest.

Too much anxiety, too little propensity

to throw out life preservers for everyone,

it is clear, makes enemies where there are none.

Children’s rhymes are true for all times.

Those who think they have left behind

childhood are out of their minds.

Forever childlike is my goal . 

It is the only way to assure I stay whole.

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AGING OUT OF PLACE

Years weigh down the lane I travel.

The dust has settled, as have I.

Even the air seems dense and pale,

too easy to inhale or exhale.

My pace must slow,

each foot placed just so.

Should I fall the earth would feel

hard as glass.

We both would shatter.

Eyelids weighted by experience

of both grief and joy dim the view ahead

of this road I know

must end, sooner than I’d wager,

anyone would hope.

It grows quieter here.

My ears have dried with my tears

remembering  long lost friends and family.

Crystals form within bright as stars

then shift from their moorings

as I walk, daring me to fall and jar

the brittleness of each new morning.

So, I slow. But still, I go.

Where? None of us really know.

which makes this journey

an adventure beyond this space,

an exploration of love and grace.

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