Care-less
Lately I don’t give a thought to what I’m going to wear,
and I’ve let my hair grow down to my derriere.
No longer do the men I meet ever stop to stare,
but it doesn’t bother me. I simply do not care.
The dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt today is “Care.” To see other responses to the prompt, go HERE. Image created with AI.
The prompt for “Take a Look Bacj” is to look back at what I published on this day, July 27, on an earlier year in my blog. I chose this poem published in 2016:. True now as then.
1958
Panic!!!
When I was younger and a rover,
the things I should have panicked over
never seemed to stick to me.
I guess that’s part of being free.
But now with bigger guns and Isis,
we all feel continual crisis.
Though it’s true, I must confess,
I overlook the world’s grand mess
and concentrate on creaking knees
and where I left my ring of keys.
As I get older, I would guess,
I’ll feel more panic over less.
The Wall
I cannot follow
where these lost parts of me go––
these thoughts, wishes,
aspirations
that I surrender to the wall.
It is not by choice, you know,
that I sit here facing what
has been leached out of my life.
I go on living what life I can,
knowing that in time
all of me will finally
flow into the wall.
So much of what has kept me engaged in life
has already gone into that gray world
where I cannot yet follow.
I’ve lost so much ambition to it—
and hope and curiosity.
Now I sit here, facing it,
acknowledging my failure
as well as the wall’s exclusivity.
Only my shadow
cast against it
reminds me that
somewhere behind me
there is a sun.
Twilight
Our turtle years are speeding up as though there’s sparse time left,
distorting all our reveries and leaving us bereft.
All that vanished life that fades into the mist—
those pearls of perfection like the first time we were kissed—
all the names and faces of those we once embraced—
dissolve into the air as though they’ve been erased.
All those former altars once bedecked with flowers,
garlands of celebration that vanished with the hours,
days and then the years now gathered in our past,
all those lives we built, not engineered to last.
Soon we will just be a name carved upon a stone,
to join with other spirits in the twilight zone.
Twilight
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle # 663 the prompt words are:air embraced pearls perfection turtle altar garlands reveries vanish name built mist
I answered a prompt for a quatrain about maps on dVerse by submitting a poem I’d written entitled “Roadmaps.” Although no one objected, it bothered me that I’d just fulfilled half of the prompt, so I decided to transform the poem into three quatrains. It only meant adding a few words to each stanza. Here is the rewrite. I don’t know if I like it better, but at least it follows all the rules:
Road Map
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 give thanks to nature for adding more of you.
Sometimes, dear, with the dark night around us rich and deep,
my mind goes on a walkabout as you lie asleep.
The road map of your body is the terrain that I pace—
the slight knolls and the gullies and your face’s fragile lace.
Some folks bemoan the changes that nature brings about,
and they bring a different beauty. It is true, without a doubt.
But as I trace each special feature of your body and your face,
I am sure that nature’s carving instills a deeper grace.
To read the original poem go HERE. Which do you prefer? This illustration and the original poem are from my adult coloring book entitled When Old Dames Get Together and Other Confessions of a Ripe Old Age. Available from Amazon HERE.
For the dVerse Poets prompt. Go HERE to read other poems to this prompt.
Intimations of Mortality
Though I am still active, for sure I’m not my best.
Whereas once I boogied, now I find I’d rather rest.
I know I’m winding down for sure but I feel I must
achieve those things I said I’d do before I bite the dust.
While I’m waiting to be cancelled, I’ve agreed that I’ll be wise.
My finale bears no stigma, for everybody dies.
Prompt words today are wise, agree, finale, stigma, active and cancelled.
And for NaPoWriMo
Ruins
The walls of my world are numb to touch.
Split with longing, they stand alone,
the only light inside, my own.
That burning flame that lit my youth
reduced to ashes, has left a gap
to which this poem is a map.
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 581 prompt words are: walls world numb touch spilt longing own burning flame gap light ashes. Image of burned house by Hans Isaacson on Unsplash.
Old Bones on a Long Hike
Traipsing along under vanilla skies,
the splatters of rain came as little surprise.
Then the spray of the sea salt blew into my eyes,
providing my tears a means of disguise.
Climbing the hillside, away from the surf,
my ancient legs struggled with the rough turf.
Once I tripped lightly whereas now I trod
with difficulty over each giant clod.
But then a companion looks down from the view
and points out it’s wild ginger we’re struggling through.
Regaining my humor, I start to have fun,
always a sucker for a corny pun,
for without a clue and with no way of knowing,
I’ve been gingerly coming and gingerly going.
For the dVerse Poets prompt, we were given a list of spices and asked to include at least three in our poem. I couldn’t find a picture of me hiking lately (for good reason) but could only find this photo of me in my twenties, perhaps imagining how I’d be fifty years from now ????
Brutal Truth
Fresh as they come, you’re the pick of the litter.
Though too young for pathos and too soft for bitter,
how can I describe what fate has in store
later in life as the innocent lore
of your earlier life is exposed as just part
of what might affect your innocent heart?
Prompt words are soft, describe, pathos, later and young. Image by Alex Gomes on Unsplash.
Working Out in My Seventies
I badly need a product that will make me indefatigable.
I have not the energy to blow, and less to bat a bubble.
It is just unfathomable that I ever walked
twelve miles through the jungle and barely even balked!
At the high point of my youth, adventures were my thing,
but lately I feel much deprived of energy and zing.
Swinging in my hammock is now enough for me.
It seems to mark the zenith of my energy!!!
Prompt words today are zenith, unfathomable, indefatigable and product.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 