Grandmother Vase

Pot-bellied, am I: misshapen by age and gravity – more rot than plump ripe pear – still, a vessel for love – grandmotherly vase.   (Image from personal collection)

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Lingering Laughter

Grateful for the wilder times, days when daring ruled – amassed fodder for stories, harmless antics eliciting laughter – ever more sweet as body fails, nothing left but to reminisce. (Twitter Tales.  Visit me @Vjknutson.)

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Love Matured

Words are leaves, poignantly bold when sprouted, destined to wither lose their hold – thank goodness our love is a trunk, solidly rooted, steadfast – no need for words.

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Losing Ground

In corners, I scrounge – resilience fading; hope, it seems, is sleeping. Living a quarter life, even ascents depressed; dubious that alternatives are worthwhile. Walls would suffice – once dreamt of co-habitating with abundance, now housed with constraints. Age losing preferences, counting worries either way.

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Sky-Suited

Do fiddle together, they say, as if man lust were in want when his smooth, cool music fingers my girly drives are I ugly – not gorgeous? Some waxy, like rust, saying one of thousand not sad, but like rain are sky-suited. (Fridays are Magnetic Poetry day.  Play online. Image from personal collection.)

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Sexy Sailed

Born brilliant, and good looking, he had me dancing, fevered – red cat woman, I am porcelain, prisoner, cup fishing, long to explore dark words – do not ask though – sexy sailed – ate godless byes. (It’s Magnetic Poetry Friday.)  

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Do

Ancient song of Eden, our nature, as above – light to watch for – my summer, withering, her insect breeze vined would come there and have harmony – beautifully fresh in prairie lake, air vivid. (Fridays are for Magnetic Poetry.  Play along online.)

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Lighting Call

Winter defines this stage, this page, night descending too early for my taste. If I catch a falling star, can I shed the excess layers of this confinement Follow animal impulses to a sunnier clime, restore exuberance of noble youth? Passion persists, intelligence in tact, just need a brighter angle from which to reveal it. […]

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Grey Clouds Hover

Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence.  How did we get here?  How did we dream so big and land so humble?  Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to […]

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Poetry on Aging

Originally posted on Michele Sharpe:
“Old grandmother with gray hair and a wrinkled face closing her eyes in black and white.” by Cristian Newman on Unsplash Aging is the sort of inevitable, non-negotiable topic that fascinates poets. Birth, school, work, death, in the immortal lyrics of The Godfathers. Some of us fight aging. Some of us embrace it. Whichever approach…

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