Tag Archives: poem about aging

Ruins: The Sunday Whirl Wordle 581


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

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

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

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.



After all the rushing, the extremes and the thrills,
After all the ups and downs, declivities and hills,
I’ve shot enough wild rivers, forded my last rill.
I do not mind the still life, that cup that I must fill.

Ghosts need not be ghouls, I’ve found, except at Halloween.
In dreams and poems they visit me, recalling where I’ve been.
Temporary comfort are what they provide at best,
promoting hopeful hunches that death is just a rest.

Does another life exist somewhere beyond the mound,
and will its joys exceed the present comfort that I’ve found?
No past love gives an answer, so I wrap my queries up
and abandon pen and daydreams to stir my brimming cup.


Prompt words today are still, extreme, ghoul, declivity and brief.

I think I have finally lost it. I woke up this morning, picked up my computer from the headboard shelf in my bed, and found the beginning stanza of this poem. I worked for an hour or more completing it, posted it, then posted it to Facebook, but when I did, I found another poem entitled “At 74,” that had the same illustration and opening line and several comments and likes, but when I tried to open it, it said it was no longer available!  It was not in Trash or Drafts on my blog, but people had commented and “Liked” it, so it must have been published. I am totally clueless as to what happened. A case of the entire world having deja vu? The only thing I can think of is that an old version of “At 74” was on my second computer and when I picked it up and finished it, it erased the old version which had been posted on my other computer. And the old version vanished forever. I have no idea what it was, but to all of you that liked and commented on it, thanks for reading. Does anyone remember how it differed from this version, other than by name? Can senility be far behind?

So, the mystery continues.In yesterday’s drafts,  Forgottenman found the previously published poem with the same beginning stanza but a different second stanza!  I rust republished it, but it went back to a yesterday posting.  If you want to see it, HERE it is. To avoid confusion, I changed the photo, which was the same as this one. Ha. How  futile is that–trying to avoid confusion at this late date? It must be my fault but I can’t for the life of me figure out how this happened.

Eaten Away


Eaten Away

Now that my skin’s been exsiccated,
I think it could be debated
whether now I’m liable
to also be more friable.
Pounds drying out and crumbling?
If so, I won’t be grumbling.
I’ll be real glad to lose some mass
from upper arms, tummy and ass.
If so, aging could be a treat,
for no matter what I eat,
my fat would crumble and fall away.
Naughty eating with naught to pay.

Prompt for today are exsiccate, real, kin, friable and treat.


A Woman Alone: for the Sunday Writing Prompt


A Woman Alone

I am airborne in the hammock,
the small dog on my stomach,
but patting the bigger dog
on the ground below us
to assuage his jealousy.

I watch this week’s brand of butterflies
popping like popcorn
above the audacious flowers
of the tabachine bush,
and that confused hummingbird
that has mistaken the Soleri bell for a flower.

I eat pizza at midnight
and swim naked in the pool at 2 am.
My cats know my sins
and like me better for them.

When I talk to the air,
it is unclear whether I talk to the cats
or to myself.
Who might the neighbors think I am talking to?
Some new lover?
Most probably not.

Those of us who live alone
are never really quite alone in Mexico,
where private lives
are so easily shared
in spite of walls.
It is as though
sounds echo more easily
in the high mountain air,
and we become one large family,
putting up with each other’s secrets.

But, no responsibility
for husband or children or roommates,
we sink into the luxury of selfishness.
Sleeping at odd hours,
wearing our pajamas from bedtime
to wake-up
to next bedtime,
calling out to the gardener from behind curtains,
accustoming the housekeeper to our sleepless nights
and long mornings of slumber.

No one to explain the junk drawer to,
or the large accumulation of toilet paper rolls,
for which you have a definite purpose
that you never quite get around to.

The luxury of a nude body
no one else short of the doctor
will ever see.
The back of your head
where snarls can exist
until the next trip to town.

The Petit Ecole cookies
you need not share
with anyone.
The unmade bed uncensored.
The best hammock always your own.
An internet band unshared.

Only your toothbrush in the glass beside the sink.
Every leftover cup of coffee
sitting on surfaces around the house
one you can sip out of
with no fear of any disease
other than the ones you already harbor.

What you always feared.
That fear now behind you.
You were so wrong.


For Sunday Writing Prompt: The Quiet One

Final Curtain

Final Curtain

Behind a tangle of bushes and impenetrable wood,
paint peeling from its walls in strips, the ancient mansion stood.
A blemish on our neighborhood, the property condemned.
By its neighbors’ pristine hedges, its boundaries were hemmed
like burnsides on each side of an unruly mustache.
And no amount of pressure and no amount of cash
could persuade the one who lived there—a widow old and frail
to repair her ravaged property or put it up for sale.

And though neighbors voiced their protests, she challenged one and all
simply by remaining behind her crumbling wall.
At night, thin wispy music from her gramophone
leaked out through the bushes as she danced on all alone
over creaking floorboards, reliving bygone days
and a life once vivid now diminished to a haze.
Reenacting dramas of a life gone by too fast,
she played the heroine while other roles all went uncast.


Prompt words today are challenge, blemish, burnsides, tangle and property. Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash, used with permission.

Fruitless Efforts


Fruitless Efforts

I know what they say because I’ve heard the buzz.
My profile, alas, is not what it was.
But the fact that some parts of me have required
more helpful support as they have retired

does not negate the simple true fact
that all my former charms are intact.
They shifted location against my behest. 
My breasts have moved south, my hips east and west,

and my upper arms have chosen to rest
in regions below where they’ve deemed that it’s best
to hang in their hammocks without so much tension
as when they were forced to remain at attention.

Some women thirst for their trim bods of yore,
but frankly, I find their efforts a bore.
Whether they seek them by suction or scalpel,
by fairy wand, prayer or by decree Papal,

it doesn’t seem worth it for when they get fit,
what are they going to accomplish by it?
For though they are going to look mighty fine,
what lovers are left by the age 89?


Prompt words are tired, wand, thirst, negate and profile.


Cease and Desist Order


Cease and Desist Order

My car’s due for an overhaul, but unlikely to get it.
My dog could use a clipping, but I’m not going to vet it.
I’m balking at improvements. I like things as they are.
I don’t want people poking at my dog or at my car.

Though my house might be enlivened by another coat of paint,
I like the faded, peeling look. I think it’s sort of quaint.
And though my coat is tattered and fraying at the hem,
it is my favorite garment—my closet’s unset gem.

You won’t wrest it from my clutches, for my grasp is strong and sure.
There’s not one thing in my whole life that’s needful of a cure.
So let my grass grow longer and let last fall’s leaves lay.
Let us all just rest here to molder fast away.

I do not want a face lift. I’m fine the way I am.
I have no need for beauty aids to make me look more glam.
When it comes to your suggestions, I must beg for their surcease!
All things don’t need improvement. You can let things age in peace.



Prompt words today are wrest, overhaul, balk and liven. First photo by Forgottenman. Second photo thanks to Curology on Unsplash. Both photos used with permission.