Life Stage


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I hope I’m not a “pantaloon” in my middle-age

Clowning around in my own self-importance.

with paunchy sides and drooping eyes

Silver–lined hair wanting repair,

Laughing at my own self-imposed despair.

 

I want to be elegant in my carriage

With eyes bright like morning’s light,

And poetic tongue—quick and lithe

to praise the soft petals of delight

And sing my urgent heart’s desire.

 

Who wants to be a doddering fool

With slack mind flowing with repetition

Of unsung dreams, and hopeless monologues

Of how things aren’t what they used to be.

 

Instead, take me to your snow-clad mountains

To drink, to taste, to breathe such majesty

And let my blood run wild like maple syrup

Such sweet infusion of sun and scent and

Spring me, pour me, take my every starlight fervor

For if “All the world is a stage”, I’ll be alive

til’ my last bow, when petals fall, my day is done

without so much of a second childhood.

 

April 1, 2015

*Note: Shakespeare writes of the seven stages of mankind, the 6th being the Pantaloon.

Ode To An Old Wild Rose


Final poem for NaPoWriMo 2014:

#30

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Your petals are wilting,

Still soft with sun

And rain that graced you

In soft mists and torrent showers

In your youth,

Survived,

Though the heat was strong

your fragrance held its own

Sweet with knowledge,

Heart flushed with beauty,

and wild with impulse,

You blossomed,

Opened,

Despite your thorns,

Despite pain,

Despite sorrow,

Your touch remained gentle,

Delicate resonance,

I inhale you,

Breathing in

All that you are,

All that I am.

 

 

April 30, 2014

Poetry

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