Tag: aging

Eccentricity Counts

Professors may make strange bedfellows,
but originality does engage young minds;
ideology while exciting, repels intuition;
and doing well is not about belonging,
it is acknowledgment and reward received.

Listen to me, I am lost, begging for do-overs.
Superiority is a goal for some, while I retreat
into leisure, begin losing awareness, am an odd
gatherer, keeper of underdeveloped knowledge,
gushing creativity, and injecting limitations.

If I could meld empathy, follow unbeaten
paths, inform myself afresh, I’d be bloated
with enthusiasm, pregnant with progress,
but my outlook, like moss, is humble: I am
outcast, marginalized, insignificant…

Projecting discomfort into materialism,
may once have been healthy, now initiating
death by unconscious eating: a human sponge.
Instructing once fueled me –  my passion
eclectic, as all good teacher should be.

What remedies will persuade those who have
forgotten the way, are numbed.
What new dawn will force feed us out of this
resignation, instill pursuit of higher knowing,
ignite a quest for empowerment?

(Image from pinterest.com)

Lights and Shadows

City lights used to draw her,
unafraid of seedy corners,
she’d dress her sexuality
in understated costumes,
a long-legged confidence.

Strutted with the best, cat
eyes – a tigress prowling,
stalking a prey she could
not define, no man could
tame her, no women grasp

the coldness of her heart.
Travelled with an entourage,
first on the dance floor, last
to leave, she was desirable,
a temptress, her vibrancy

an unwavering beacon for
the dispossessed, wore her
independence like a medal,
vowed never to be trapped,
a promise she’d never keep –

Her spark is only legend now,
crowds having all dispersed,
she dwells in shadows, a bent
figure whose glow has faded,
movement stilted, she creeps

avoids bright lights and city’s
core, dislikes gatherings of
three of more, finds strength
on the arm of another, frailty
condemning her as a burden.

Dismissed now, she is society’s
disposable, unremarkable to
behold, the trail of her history
all but lost, save for the occasional
flash of wildness in clouded eyes.

(Image: grammywritesblog.wordpress.com)

Aging Relationships

Some say I’m away – spun
out of control: the dissolution
of so many years of denial.

With restlessness I circle
male species, perspective
skewed by parental fray;

have sweetness to offer,
ripeness – opposition’s grip
extinguishing marketability

we are all crazy, our seasons
passed, preferring the nests
we’ve built to new family ties

fear we will be forgotten, solo,
too self-centered to recognize
independence as exclusivity.

Clearing Corners

No more out-on-the-town bustles –
the late afternoon light fading in
my corner – focus now turned to
higher issues; try to keep company

with mindfulness – a worthy educator,
facilitating release – but my inventory
is too spun. Achieving a semblance
of completion, something to reflect

my life’s toil, would be welcome, yet
I fear my story is cooked. Guidance
might suggest I’m not alone, but
without my professional footing

I’m at a loss for identity, prodding
to find answers – a woman without
substance, grasping at what is mine.
Seems silly to think that breathing

might offer consolation for this no-
return-on-investment outcome; have
hit a wall, would rage if not numb, so
many parts of self lost in passage…

Midnight approaches and I am tapped
out – a social passenger hitching a ride
on hopelessness – flat broke, empty
(tried to dial up creativity – wrong#)

Contemplate sorrow, luck, temporary
breakdown’s, orchestrated scenes,
a lifelong inability to keep quiet (sorry
kids), a callous bitch – could never get

her to work in my corner, channel that
energy into fitness or financial success –
she just likes to stir things up, doesn’t
believe in peace of mind, jolts me awake

out of my comfort zone.  Maybe I need
her now – forgo relaxation and surrender –
to shake this inactivity, give a hand up
to those repressed, forgotten selves –

get her to lift me out this self-conscious
mire – she doesn’t care about feelings –
markets herself with confidence, breathes
assertiveness, knows her own business…

can you see me sitting up a little straighter,
composing myself in the light of this new
possibility, readying myself to relaunch –
reconsidering my stance on corners?

There’s remodelling to be done here –
and orienting to the new will take a bit,
given my age, but I’m willing to concede
that there is community to serve, and

that as long as human rights are being
violated there is a place for compassion,
and no town is immune to need, so I’d
better get my bustle on and start painting.

( Image: lokeshsomu.blogspot.com )

Suspended

What options for long term care?
Will life linger, abandon me, alone?

If unconditional love exists, then let
it talk to me, gesture desire, offer

support – safety only comes with sleep
despite this troubled unconsciousness;

oversensitive, naive perhaps, will make it,
if only I push outside the comfort of my bed.

suspicious of following, consuming, believe
that outsiders have forgotten me, worried –

security lies in the hands of loving, attentive
companion, otherwise; trying to trust life.

(Image: perfumeonherpassport.wordpress.com)

Split Commitments

Split commitments:
One is ambitious,
the other a wanderer;
one labours while
the other lingers.

Yet alike:
Polished political performers,
once knew how to party,
now regressed,
searching for youth –

His a flop,
hers nourished by weed,
each hiding
desperately attempting
to clean up the misery.

He overindulges,
she tries to steer,
both losing their edge
nothing new to offer
former lovers

now fading away,
only thoughtfulness
and a craving for
each others’ support
to bind them.

(Image: truefactsonlife.blogspot.com)

Impotent Pursuit of Perfection

Watching a movie that I PVR’d –
hunkered down with popcorn and fizz,
hoping to get lost in the couch cushions –
when I remember that I might have homework
more specifically an assignment related to a show
already in progress, and I don’t know where I put
my backpack, and while searching frantically, suddenly
recall that I have more work due, and my boyfriend is
coming over in an hour, and I panic that I’ll never get
it all done, and then in a moment of clarity, realize
I am also taping the program in question, and sigh,
and take a breath: it’s doable if I stay up all night.

Riding in the backseat of a jacked up jeep –
the taste of freedom blowing through my hair –
when the driver hits a bump, catching me unaware,
sends my lack-of-seat-belted-ass into the air, and I
frantically grab the roll bar, praying to get my bottom
back in the seat before he hits another bump tossing
me out of the vehicle entirely, when I realize that we’ve
driven onto the field, the entire school filling the bleachers,
and if I lose my grip now, it won’t just be my body that will
be broken, but I run the risk of becoming the laughing stock
of the school: my entire reputation at stake from a joy ride.

This teenage angst is overwhelming me –
guidelines and deadlines – too much authority
and not enough free time – just want to break loose,
shake off responsibility, hang with my friends, be
foolish, and to hell with consequences, but my
A-obsessed sensibility and “good girl” persona
take charge, and there’s no slacking off, and
I’m locked in an eternal state of yet another
obligation to fulfill before I can rest, and in a
blink I am fifty-eight and a Grandmother, and
I still haven’t taken time to watch that movie
that I PVR’d or dared to joy ride without a hitch:
still tangled in the impotent pursuit of perfection.
th-1

 

 

 

Call It Wisdom

Get back to work! Bravado punches,
but my pick up is shelved – would love
to wheel out of here and take flight –
and interview skills are ungrounded,
fear I will let fly unfiltered gibberish.

Go for it! Boisterousness cajoles –
but boldness is dangerous, and pushy
only puts up walls; shifting gears might
be an option, but the road ahead’s a steep
decline, and I have to carefully find footing.

You have to try! Good-heartedness offers,
but the path and I are both handicapped,
movement needs support, and my focus
is failing – am more tortoise than hare –
regressing into this pedestrian existence.

You can’t just give up! Impatience scowls,
but not only is the party of energetics with
its social antics out of my reach – nuances
included – but to be honest, I am no longer
interested in being a part. Call it wisdom.

(Image: http://www.astrolog.org)

Haunted Corners

There’s a place, at the intersection
of break downs and choices ahead,
where I have ownership, but avoid.

Courage resides there, and other
parts of self unnamed – I haunt
the place by night, intrigued by

the camaraderie, lack the guts
to venture into the unknown –
decidedly a criminal element;

need a sense of adventure to aid
escape, squeeze me past seedy,
neglected, cracked pane spaces;

lack wheels, coordinates confused –
am located who knows where –
war for independence my identifier.

In daylight, I am redeemed, visited
by semblances of normalcy, sweet
offerings of obligation, distraction;

revel in youth’s exuberance, pretend
that gifts of kindness sustain me,
ignore the relentlessness of corners.

I Stand In The Doorway

Surrounded by the animated chatter of youth,
a mother piles food on plates, busies herself
with addressing individual needs, smiles warmly.

In another room, a woman lies lifeless, grieving
a life now passed, children gone, an absentee mate;
she is alone, feels the burden of her inadequacy.

I stand in the doorway between the two,
longing to join the reverie in one room,
unable to tear myself away from the other.

Would you like something to eat? I offer,
wanting to draw her her out of isolation,
but she turns away, claims to be dieting.

That’s not the right way to go about it…
her eyes are cold, dying, my words a lecture,
how can she ignore the succulent aromas?

Outside, the men gather, raising glasses
and voices, masculine camaraderie, content
to let the women do their thing – oblivious.

We could join the party, I offer, but she is
tired of parties, tired of small talk, tired of
it all. I am inclined to agree, have known futility.

I want to go back into the kitchen, forget
about her, but it’s too late; I’ve touched
her sorrow, cannot let go, am powerless.

Think I’ll go outside, air out my mind,
sit amongst the clueless, talk about
everything and nothing, deny responsibility.

I stand in the doorway between two women
one who finds purpose in service to others,
and one whose life has lost all meaning.

I stand in the doorway between the two,
and notice that the mother is no longer me,
and that woman in the bed has no future,

and suddenly realize that I have choices,
and that motherhood or empty-nester
are self-imposed definitions, irrelevant.

Whether to participate or not in life is my call
and not a reflection of how I feel about my body
or whether or not I am giving or doing enough.

I turn from that doorway and make a decision
to just walk away – the kitchen will always be
a place of vitality and the bedroom a refuge

and me, I will be outside enjoying a drink
and conversing about who knows what
and living, obligation-free, in the moment.