Influence minimal,
once hair turns white
and body slows to sloth
Only words – genderless
and without context
serve to blindside
Last weapon of age.
(Image from created by yours truly.)
Tag: age
Lost Childhood
Gossamer
that thread,
that sparkle,
that vestige
of my youth
I try to hold on,
gnarly grip
no match for
her exuberance
Hope we reunite
next time around.
(Image from personal collection)
Old Codgers
Idleness fills his hours
as if time knows no limits
I devour moments, afraid
tomorrow will forget me
we see-saw between
treacherous righteousness
and fusty avoidance
ignoring balance –
a sensible response.
(Inspired by the perils of an aging marriage, and submitted for Ragtag Community’s prompt: Â fusty.) Â Image from personal collection.
Even Trees Fall
Majesty is a tree
quiet strength
and vulnerability
no more sheltered
from acts of nature
than I – none
impenetrable,
although youth
believes it –
days when strength
equates with rigidity,
resistant arrogance
A right fighter, was I,
iron will, in control –
never measuring up
such foolish nonsense –
destructive, no doubt,
took illness to educate
recognize courage in
withdrawal, merits
of inviting understanding
physical limitations
birth potential –
gracious acceptance
surrender of struggle
open, vulnerable,
rooted, like a tree.
No Expiry Date
Such a gift is youth –
silvers stars and bows,
jingle-jangle wishes…
Seldom opened –
shame and insecurity
casting doubt, despair
Shall we try again,
age and wisdom
steeped in appreciation.
(Written for Willow Poetry’s What Do You See Challenge, the prompt being the featured image.)
Aged
Even in the waning times –
memories of youth fading –
there are traces of a personality,
hints of the contours
of a life well-sculpted,
having weathered all that
the years dared challenge.
Past Ripe
Fertile is love –
an ancient fruit tree
soft and up-giving
were life root
almost too wet –
moony world
Secret: Â I wither,
am stone berry –
no rain at lake
walk bucolic earth
follow winter cover
shed colour
watcher,
will live,
do.
(Friday is Magnetic Poetry day. Â Image is from personal collection.)
Proposal Response
Aging I am/Â but not without wisdom,
and disabled / and in more ways, not –
unreliability / the state of my body
trending / creativity
Escape is proposed / from this hindering attitude
my oozing scars / soothed with tenderness
beg a stand/ that revitalizes
discover determination/ I am evolving
This slumbering/ now awakening
has become impulsive/ suggests renewal;
need discipline / new boundaries
to quiet the pain / still, I thrive
I am whiny / pay it no attention
self-mothering / not selfish
counselling bedrest/ a healthy balance
prone to coddling/ this budding creativity
need to shake off/ revitalize
this disoriented/ clearing
weakened state – / altered strength
escape is proposed / certain.
(This week’s challenge is a wild card. Â The catch is to look back over recent postings and find the repetition, that becoming the prompt. Â I noticed a repetition of ‘age’ and recognize a need to revisit my attitude towards this inevitability, so I decided to select an old poem which illustrates the issue and readdress it. Â Left side of each line is the original poem: Proposal. Â Italicized endings are the new response. Image from personal collection.)
Age’s Rant
What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?
How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –
I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory
There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.
End of Day
Sun blazes before it falls,
slashes the day’s sky –
blue guarding against blaze.
Golden grasses absorb
the fire, brazen in their
clay-baked fields.
Branches blacken –
forlorn bristles –
stark against light.
I stand on the precipice,
day’s end beckoning,
taunting, my spirit alive
Will blaze before it falls,
lashing against the heavens
who dare to threaten darkness.
One Woman's Quest 