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My Old Sweetheart

entry picture

Many years ago I met a lovely girl. 
She was fun to talk with about most anything
We walked through woods 
and climbed some hills together, 
She made lunch for picnics that we shared.

We walked on beaches, felt the crunch 
of wet sand underfoot,  
listened to seagulls and ocean waves, 
and felt the caress of sea breezes.
We gathered shells with no place to keep them.

We were caught i...

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agingfamilylovemarriageoldsweetheart

Sonnet No. 2

I tried to write a sonnet. I was quite proud of it, but it didn't win.

 

Engaged since birth against one deadly foe,

A mortal combat all must surely yield,

No clemency or kindness can we know,

No soul alive will leave this battlefield.

 

The lines of combat proudly crease my face,

My hair turns slowly, unabashed, to gray.

I must accept with honour and good grace,

to b...

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agingdeathsonnet

How Can I Tell You

How can I tell you that I love you?
I've said the words so many times; it's old hat to you.
I could quote Browning's poem of how she loved.
I'd say it's mine and mean every metaphor,
but you'd know she wrote it and you'd quote it.

I can write love poems just for you,
and every word I write is true, 
though I'm not adept with metaphors 
and don't use fancy words. 

I can bring valentine...

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agingcaringdementialovemarriage

Betrayed

While the world
goes about their day
talking about trival things, 
laughing their troubles away,
I am struck with 
paralyzing pain
that I try to contain. 

Everyone close to me 
is oblivious 
to my suffering.

Why should they care?
They have their own 
drama to deal with.
There is nothing 
anyone can do anyway. 

Meanwhile, my body
betrays me more 
each passing day.

I want t...

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agingdeathdiseasehealthlifemindsetpainsoulstruth

Bodies

Mother:

I look at your body with curiosity.

Your curves, hirsute and strange,

fill me with awe.

You undulate where as a child I am firm and flat.

Mother:

same four walls,

waiting for me to anoint your back.

Bent and frail,

spent, wrinkled, deflated,

unsure where once you were deft.

I look at your body with curiosity.

Mine will follow,

always behind.

I shad...

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agingdaughterfrailtyMotherold age

Salutations for Sally

I wrote this poem for my wife's birthday.

Salutations for Sally

The years don’t pass slowly anymore,

But there’s still time for an eternity

In your eyes, in your arms, your love.

Each moment a step to infinity,

But time doesn’t march, it ascends,

And we rise on the years,

Sadder, yes, but wiser and

More loving, more understanding.

And you lift everything around you

...

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agingbirthdayeternitytime

Misplaced Memory

Minds mould cannot always bend to the will - Look!

A blur of surreal reality:

it’s vivid, a memory, a means 

but travel through years 

and maybe it’s a dream,

or the worst fear:

(for the youth with infantile stretch marks to hear)

Forgotten.

For the youths with flat ironed flesh and barely dogmarked ears,

what we all fear

 is to forget.

Tell the boy with the newly ...

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agingdreamelderlyfearforgetmemoryremembertreasure

The Future

entry picture

a week ago 

a professor asked me 

what i wanted to do with my life, 

the quesiton caught me wrong-footed; 

two decades ago

learning to walk, 

a decade ago 

learning my body, 

5 years ago 

discovering love,

3 years ago,

accepting my body

a month ago,

accepting who i am 

and now? 

thrust into the unknown,

an oblivion that teases me;

infinite doors t...

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agingcareerconformfatehopejoblifeloveparentsschoolSelf-acceptancetime

Autumn Changes Me

entry picture

Autumn changes me

I grow stiff as a tree

The falling memories

Are piling all around me

And my color changes

Emptying into grey

I feel broken and cold

As the November rain

Turns into December Snow

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Agingpoemshort poem

lawn

I remember him now and then

When I’m feeling brave enough to recall my childhood

Mr. Strathclyde

He was a welcome break from the ceaseless banality of the suburbs

I’d see him every Saturday morning on my way to work

Damp panatela clamped between his gums

Stained string vest and pyjama bottoms

Smirking like he’d just told a racist joke that no one had heard

‘Morning sport’ h...

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aginglawn

did I ever say I was “good people”?

did I ever say I was “good people”?

some days I miss the hasty shouting

the crack of fist on salted cheekbones

 

better that than the nauseous choice

of considered upholstery or designer phones

never weather appropriate, rather, accident

 

ripped and bleeding, waiting for some other

and days my head will fill with men of war

always in shock yet mostly in awe

 

a...

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agingdespairlonginglossself destruction

Curioser and Curioser

as the dew dropped tulip two-steps over my tongue

so a pubic slaughter of moonbeams and drag queens

leaves so little space in-between the longing

hung, low slung, below the eaves of this curious abode

 

where pregnant questions await the gaunt relief

of a crucified thief who has chosen his flavour

so sure the house has fallen on the queen of the east

love thy nei...

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abstractagingmemorysexuality

The Budding Senescent

The Budding of the Senescent

`

 

When you reach the forgotten age
like 45, between 40 & 50
you realise that you need someone
by your side to remind you
that it isn't who you're with
but what you feel in your heart
they say life begins at 40
they also say that it's the mid life crisis

for sure you're no longer young
and for sure have not attained seniority either
...

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agingfearlifemusingpondersenescentthinking

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