Tag Archives: aging

BY THE GATE

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

I stand by the gate and yearn.

I did not build the fence.

It serves a purpose, I suppose.

I did not build the gate.

There was no intent to close

the being standing here inside.

I stand by the gate and yearn,

by the gate which keeps you away.

It has no lock. 

You could lift the latch.

But, you simply wave and walk by.

I stand by the gate and yearn.

For what, I no longer know.

It was not always so.

There was a time 

when you would have leapt over

the fence, the gate, any enclosure.

Now, you walk by and wave.

I remember now. I yearn

for you.

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HOAR FROST

Photo by photos_by_ginny on Pexels.com

Frost rises before dawn and flees the garden bed

before Sun can catch her in her splendor.

Faster than squirrels she runs across fields and rivulets

leaving white crystals trailing behind in a momentary glittery shine

across the folds of orange and gold left by falling leaves

that shimmer in the slight breeze of Sun-warmed air

to prepare us for the day to come.

Each morning I rise and try to catch Frost by surprise,

but she is too slick, too quick; and I, now too slow.

She laughs in my face with icy breath until I am so cold

my limbs tremble as the those of the trees shedding leaves.

I shed my earthly dreams as frost awakens me to journeys ahead.

Frost is a fleeting thing, reminding me that I am, too.

Frost has turned my hair white; it seems, overnight.

And so I say, “Good morning, Frost.”

And she replies, “Good morning, you.”

Such days are numbered, and too few.

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ANGELA’S CHILD

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

How can time get away

when it stands still so much of the day,

encased in memories of yesterdays?

I know I should be doing more

but what more seems 

too tentative to explore.

Batteries charge in the sun as do I,

walking block after block

avoiding clouds’ shadows

avoiding stepping on cracks

lest I break my mother’s back.

I often wonder if she knows

I still follow her path

and watch her back

to find my way;

and, if she 

still watches me.

If so, I know, she is the wind

pushing me along

and keeping me strong.

The wind washes clear

the fog of discontent

and lackadaisical malaise

that seems to come 

with greater age.

I am my mother’s child

wily, wise and wild

still able to get up

off the couch 

and run, and run, and run.

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THE BOOK OF LIFE

Photo by Askar Abayev on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

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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