Tag Archives: Aging

Roadmap

Roadmap

I’m held captive by your wrinkles, dear, enraptured by your ripples.
I love your freckles and your moles and all of nature’s stipples.
They are sacred landmarks. When I find one that is new,
I must give thanks to nature for adding more of you.

Sometimes with the darkness around us rich and deep,
my mind goes on a walkabout as you lie asleep.
The roadmap of your body is the terrain that I pace—
the ravines and the gullies and your face’s fragile lace.

Some bemoan the changes that nature brings about,
and they bring a different beauty. It’s true, without a doubt.
But as I trace each special feature of your body and your face,
I’m reassured that nature’s carving instills a deeper grace.

 

The prompt words today are ripple, special, enrapture and sacred. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/10/rdp-monday-ripple/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/12/10/fowc-with-fandango-special/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/10/enrapture/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/10/your-daily-word-prompt-sacred-December-10-2018/

The Twins at Eighty

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Leonora

The lustre’s left my hair and skin. I’m simply bottom drawer.
My lovely high soprano voice has deepened to a roar.
My joints are gnarled and knotted. My back is bent a bit.
I’d prefer my stomach if I could see over it.
To say I am exasperated would be understating it,
but at least the truth cannot make the claim I’m skating it.
I blame it on the influence of age, chocolate and gin.
I’m simply not responsible for the shape I’m in!!!


Isadora

The gentlemen surround me in an unbroken cluster,
exclaiming over my smooth skin—its creaminess and lustre.
My drawers are full of love letters. Exasperated lovers
seek to win my girlish shape and woo it under covers.
They fall under the influence of my winning ways.
They do not guess my actual age when held rapt by my gaze.
I do pilates every day and all my life I’ve fasted.
Although I haven’t had much fun, at least my looks have lasted!

 

The prompts today are lustre, drawer, exasperated and influence. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/10/22/rdp-monday-lustre/
FOWC with Fandango — Drawer
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/10/22/exasperated/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/10/21/daily-addictions-2018-week-42/influence

The Old and Unrested

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The Old and Unrested

The old and unrested return to their beds,
propping their pillows under their heads.
Pulling their blankets up to their ears,
they let up on the gas and go into low gears.

Setting their brandies or porters or gins
on their bedside tables, they settle their chins
upon their chests and watch some TV
on laptops that sit where their boobs used to be.

Life is confusing when you are too near it,
especially ’cause it is so damn hard to hear it.
Then when you’re alone, it’s entirely too loud.
These neighborhood noises should not be allowed!

They turn up the volume to drown out the noise
of the car alarms, weed eaters and screaming boys.
They lie all morning, secure in their beds.
Life is much easier lived in their heads!

For Daily Inklings, Objects at Rest.

Fallen Memories

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The monsoon rains come like a blessing, relieving the hot humidity, building the lushness of the rice terraces. Green everywhere. Energetic monkeys in the sacred monkey forest grab my postcards from my hands, leave teethmarks that will delight your children more than anything  I might say in the postcards I send as recompense for the father I have taken off with me to another part of the world.

We grow into these long hot humid afternoons that are washed away for a mere hour or so by the seasonal rains. Shedding clothes like years, we live naked underneath sarongs wrapped tightly for security. You sit on the porch, your soon-to-be-old man’s furry pot belly proudly obscuring the tightly wound tuck of your sarong. Over twenty years later, it is that sarong made into a jalaba that I now wear almost daily,  hiding my soon-to-be-old lady’s pot as well. 

How I cope with growing old without you is to sift through these memories like playing cards or photos fallen from old albums that have lost their ability to secure. As gullible as upon our first meeting, I wipe away your inadequacies as I’m sure you would have forgotten mine if you had been the one left sorting the fallen memories in the bottom of the album box.

Monsoons, I have been told, blow both moist and dry, as we did over those fifteen years. But we endured and built each other, coping as all of those in marriages judged successful by their lasting power do. Today you are the photo fallen from the album to the floor.  Quickly, as you fell from my life, I tuck you back securely into your correct place, placing on top new albums with new memories built on the foundation of you and all those memories a life, in the end, is made of.  You slip into that middle place old loved ones eventually  are relegated to. Our way to cope. Our way to live life instead of merely remembering it. Because that is what life is. We keep trying. We keep on.

 

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The grab bag of prompts today were cope, monsoon, gullible and energetic. Here are the links in case you’d like to play along:

https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/06/06/welcome-to-daily-addictions/ (Cope)

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/08/01/rdp-62-monsoon/

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/08/01/fowc-with-fandango-gullible/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/08/01/energetic/

Blown

 

Blown

It whistles a soft melody, this whisper of the wind.
Sings a mysterious lullaby, seemingly without end.
We do not know its language, but know it well by Braille.
It makes a tangle of our hair and swells our vessel’s sail.
It blows into a tempest that hurls us off our course.
Where it once took us willingly, it takes us now by force.
It is that infinite mystery whose answer is unknown
until someday, perhaps, when we arrive at where we’re blown.

The prompts for today are: unknown whisper infinite  lullaby
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/07/29/fowc-with-fandango-unknown/
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/07/29/rdp59-whisper/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/07/29/daily-addictions-2018-week-30/(infinite)
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/07/29/lullaby/

 

The Harvest

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The Harvest

Most of my lifetime, I’ve gone for the “zing,”
Excitement and novelty were my main thing.
I wrung out of life all the juice I could wring–—
all the diversions existence could bring,
constantly reaching out for the gold ring.

Life without change seemed pointless and dull.
I wanted my life without any lull,
so I greedily sucked all the fruit from its hull,
finding on my own what I needed to cull—
which things I should keep and which to annul.

As I fell to the ground after soaring the skies,
I sorted successes from my mere tries.
I learned from my tendencies to aggrandize,
gave up on false dreams to follow the wise,
and sometimes I managed to capture the prize.

Only now as my life has finally unwound
have I gained some perspective and finally found
that all those wild oats I have sown may be ground
to release all the lessons so carefully bound.
What is seeded in ounces may yield by the pound.

 

The three prompts today are “zing, pointless and wise.” . Here are their links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/07/23/rdp-53-zing/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/07/24/pointless-july-24-2018/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/07/24/fowc-with-fandango-wise/

In Quick Time


The more I slow down, the more rapidly the days seem to slip by. This oxymoron dominates my thoughts in those wee hours when I am trying valiantly to sleep. The awareness of how quickly my life is advancing into its third trimester plugs up my throat until I find it hard to breathe. I fumble for the door key, open the sliding glass doors and slip out onto the patio to gulp the cool night air.

The dogs circle round, Morrie drops hopefully in front of me, a ubiquitous green tennis ball in his jaws. There must be one of those balls hidden behind every plant in my garden.  Just four months ago, I had bought five tubes of them at the sports goods store—each containing three balls. I was about to set out on my yearly  two-month trip to the ocean. I wanted the house sitters to be well-supplied in everything, and the balls were on sale, so I had purchased what I thought would be a lifetime supply. But those balls seem to have vanished as quickly as the two months since my return home had. Two days ago, I had purchased two more tubes of balls. They sit unopened in the doggie supply vault that stores the large bin of dry dog food, a small fridge that holds the wet food I add to the dry food twice daily when I feed them, and other doggy paraphernalia: leashes, collars, medicines, rawhide bones, doggy biscuits.

And so this is a ball he must have rapidly reclaimed from some garden shadow when he heard my key in the lock to the terrace. I bend and reclaim the ball, then throw it over the pool down into the lower garden. Almost as soon as my arm falls to a vertical position, he is back with it again––everything in life seeming to speed up as I slow down.

Now, hours of insomnia and fewer hours of sleep later, I hear him whining on the other side of the security bars outside the open bedroom sliders. He would now have his morning come on more rapidly as I lie, computer on chest, writing my morning blog. I have slowed the world down for long enough. I find an appropriate ending and swing my feet to the floor, in search of Crocs. Time to get in line with the faster world’s schedule, at least for the time it takes to feed the dogs and cats.

 

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The prompt today is rapid.