Tag Archives: old age poem

Spinning Top, for today’s Throwback Edition

Spinning Top

Is senility a resurrected prenatal state—
hearing the outer world
with limited stages of connection?
Or is it a journey backwards through a lifetime,
remembering details pushed into
the closets of the mind by daily tasks?

The hum of a life is deafening in this world.
Even with earbuds or headsets,
the noise of the world streams in,
wired direct into our consciousness,
quelling thoughts of our own,
wiping clean for the time being,
memories.

The whole world with us every minute
leads to no world of our own.
Barraged our entire lives,
more now than ever,
does senility offer a time before our death
to connect with our inner selves once more?

Relieved of the world,
do we spin like a top into that inner world,
remembering a lifetime lost to activity—
the resurrected adolescence of old age
evolving backwards into a dreaming time
wherein we joyfully wander ourselves again?

Some choose the rope, fearing a nightmare of senility,
yet some of us hope for a return to dreams of childhood,
relieved of all care, even for ourselves.
No one comes back to tell us which it is,
yet some of us?
We hope.
We hope.

( First published on July 4, 2018)

“Emptying” For Take A Look Back, June 22, 2016

Recently, WordPress has started sending reminders of past blogs published on the current date. Here was a blog I published ten years ago on June 22:

Why don’t you do the same ? If you do, please put a link to this blog in comments below.

The Comforts of Age

Click on photos to enlarge.

The Comforts of Age

My Donnybrook days of parties and fairs,
of baltering frolics in passionate pairs,
are primarily over. Instead of wild rioting,
I spend my weekends just grousing and dieting.
What has replaced my past jubilation?
I hate to admit it is blessed hibernation.

Prompts today are Donnybrook, balter, grouse, primary and  hibernate,

Ode to Father Time

img_1542
Ode to Father Time

What have you taken from my life?
Some of the sorrows. Some of the strife.
Drinking and dancing with my friends.
In youth, the party never ends.
Morning alarm bells, up at six.
Papers to grade. Coffee to fix.
Some nights of pleasure, some days of pain.
Then all of it over all again.
That midnight passion, brief morning touch,
fire of the engine, slipping clutch.

Trying to sort our lives out from
life’s busy energy and hum.
So very young, so very dumb.

When we grew wiser, we found the one—
a milder comforting type of fun.
Dependable like a well-worn glove.
a thirty-something sort of love—
not only heart, but also mind.
We ‘d finally found one of our kind.
Moving closer to ourselves,
picking new parts off the shelves
of all those selves we had inside–
out from where they used to hide.

Living life from day to day,
spending life along the way.
Not knowing we would have to pay

Now two-thirds gone, life prods us still—
a bit more slowly up the hill.
Support of friends, support of canes,
support hose for our varicose veins.
Blander diets, switch to red wine.
(Medicine grown on the vine.)
Earlier hours, newer friends
as the old ones vanish around their bends.
All of life is still a dance
that we’re still in by luck or chance.

So seize life by its swinging hair.
Pull it to you. Risk and dare.
Always changing, but it’s still there.

img_1510Take a vow to dance at least once in 2017

Today’s prompt word was “gone.”