Category: aging

Particulars of Peace

The past is a narcissist,
Assumes forgiveness
encourages participation
makes promises to restore
harmony, but the walls
of his imprisoning nature
seldom change – stay away

I seek a place, nestled
in the present, where
I can dwell in simplicity –
nothing too taxing on mind
or pocketbook, a modest
abode with room for a pen
and an outdoor kitchen

Burdened by sensitivity
life becomes deplorable,
I can abide the presence
of dog, but never cat –
allergies create restrictions
makes finding the perfect
place for respite difficult

The numerology of 8
would be preferable
a figure demonstrating
balance – as above, so
below – could settle into
eight with confidence
reassure my partner
that I’ve found peace.

 

Ode To The Road

A kettle over boiled
will put him in a snit
Leaving a light on,
a sin I often commit.

He forgets the garbage
leaves it in public sight
likes clutter around him
causes me such fright.

Annoyances are doubled
when living in tiny space
yet never will they overtake
the magic of this chase…

For everyday is adventure
when life is on the road
imagine all the memories
and stories yet to be told.

Colouring

Remember when lines meant challenge
and colouring was not confined to
parameters, but an invitation
to explore, and days spent
contemplating invited
song, and nothing
really mattered
except the
moment?

There is a place
balanced between
the bustle of doing and
the edge of non-existence
where fantasy beckons,
where aged minds, content
with past accomplishments
come to rest, to ponder –

who once again recognize
that lines hold no significance,
that colours know no limits,
that music uplifts the mind,
and that memories are places of
exploration, and the moment
is all we ever have.

 

 

Wasted Time

It’s Monday again –
days passing through
my hands like sand,
no receptacle in which
to catch the granules –
why this sense of urgency?

In high school, I played hooky
wiped away the hours in empty
places, sought answers for
questions I could not articulate,
chased dust while others formulated
dreams – how is this any different?

Am I not just recreating the pattern,
painting over efforts with adult hues,
donning the pretence of self-importance
while occupied with vapid tasks – time
continues to slip by, and what have I
to show for it other than incessant panic?

Parental Passage

Carefully we construct
security for offspring,
add luxuries to entertain,
accommodate growth
with additions, play host
to revolving-door friends.

And yet, we are graded
on performance – met
or unmet expectations –
help up against a stack
of other super parents –
silhouettes of perfection.

Still, we celebrate growing
aspirations, sprouting family,
ignore the slanders, and ease
into age with a tad of kook,
or wild inappropriateness –
all expressions of our love.

Unsettling

Have opted for a minimalist existence –
efficiency dependent on accessibility –
still suffering the effects of disease, age.

Used to dwell in the sarcasm of fixed roots,
keep-up-with-the-status-quo, thought that
swapping furniture equated with renewal

Now the only fitting-in we do relates to
rig size and whether or not the next stop
on the road can accommodate our home

Have sold off the real estate, motivated
by simplicity; seek vistas that restore
our souls, preferably with a water view.

We are comfortable marrieds, adapting
new perspectives, easing out of the shell –
shock of former agendas, rat-race lives.

 

 

Devilish Young Men

Young men are pursuing me,
in my dreams, I am too old
and wily not to recognize
the evil of this intent

wonder if I’m being stalked
by a stroke, or worse –
I wake up, overheated
fling the bedclothes off

as if they are the offending
infiltrators, dismayed to see
how little I have slept, knowing
that the relief will now pass me by

Young men possess a virility
redundant in my life – sexuality
long ago sacrificed on the altar of cancer –
their presence is disconcerting at best

stirring up old emotions, luring me
into nostalgic memories – trickery, I say
to think that masculinity would entertain
intimacy with a mad old hag like me.

(The Daily Post prompt:  entertain.
Image:  Daily Mail)