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Poetry on Aging
To play (MIDI), click here Bundle Of Rushes
Memorial Day Parade
Well, I see that they've come, but now they've moved on;
that brave boom of drum and blare of trombone
all punched up in front with march tempo meters,
but trailing a hush full of loners and greeters.
I look for friends' faces that went by way too soon
but there's lots of glare in the late afternoon
or is it the evening when my eyes and mind
so often glimpse snapshots that I cannot find.
Shields and placards full of sidewinder deceit
still wind-surf paraders along the main street.
They play in the wind, flap, soar and stoop
while airy dust-devils whirl loop-the-damn-loop.
Then, whooshing and swooshing in scuffling procession,
the Vets in the rear re-align one expression.
The rhythmic bass echoes are absorbed by their feet
as steps out of time brush away the drums' beat.
Someday I'll be here to march with my friends,
not just show up as it interminably ends.
We'll pass in review then and laugh when we see
all those strangers' faces where we used to be.
I'd like to push on and catch up with the rest;
one of these years I will give it my ....
...Oh, what the hell! Maybe this is the year
that I'll go over the hill and then disappear.
How did that beat go? Move over! Make space!
We'll show this tank town we're still in the race.
Come on, look alive there! Let me hear you bums
put down some footprints in time to those drums.
Think of the old days when we fought the grand fight
and think of the ladies that we loved with delight
or think of the hours that we have left, you're right
SOUND OFF! One, two. SOUND OFF! Three, four.
When it's time to rest up, we've got the whole night.
To play (MIDI), click here The Lame Yellow Beggar
The Man I Used To Be
Well, no! I'm no longer the man I once used to be;
I know that's a really big shock for you to hear.
What once lasted all night, now takes all night;
what once was simply commonplace is now very dear.
Hell no! I'm not the kind of man I then used to be;
let us discuss my muscle and sinew and bone.
Once they merely hummed while they worked at my will,
and now buried in flab, if they don't bitch, they moan.
Incoming scents and sounds must swim through a swamp
of hair, otherwise rare, and now quite localized.
My weary, bleary eyes take in all the dim views
through cloudy mirrors totally bi-focalized.
Those once proud knees have now turned repentant
and there's rarely a day that contains no mean feet.
I have ankles by which no good turn's unnoticed
and a day off my feet is a mighty sweet treat.
Premature withdrawals are no sweat to paupers;
and three-legged races are rare, don't you see?
sharing the sack is sure fun when you're young
and still not too shoddy if you think just like me.
Now I seem to remember almost all my past lives
(and every one of them since I was only a child).
And I'm not really sure of just who I would be
if the real me returned to be young and be wild.
No sir, I'm just not the man who had turned into me;
not now since my scalp is slightly covered with fuzz.
No ma'am, I'm not the same man I once seemed to be.
In reflection, I'm not quite sure that I ever was.
Home Free All
She never dreamed she'd ever be
classified as a homeless statistic,
when she was young and charmed by life
and not nearly so fatalistic.
To this day, she has no idea when
the turnoff came that took her life
and replaced it with another.
A mother, yes, and well before, a wife,
somehow passed away with those she
cared for. No, they didn't really die,
but died for her on some past day;
to say they passed away is not a lie.
Friends she had, in early years,
available to her for comfort,
though rarely then she needed it;
little was there to cause her hurt
or joy. Her children grew away from her;
a husband built a wall with booze and beer
as high, wide and deep as required to
surround himself and isolate the fear
that he would be needed. Not willing to
treat her friends merely as an audience,
to share the cares that she alone might bear,
docile withdrawal encouraged indifference.
Made barren, orphan, widow, as well
as recluse by time and circumstance,
she wandered off the way most chosen,
no echoed percussion pacing her advance.
Adrift in time, mired in uncertain space
she foundered in her daily tasks, lacking
cadence and confidence in her conclusion
and fearing the isolation, backing
away from a life, her life of almost
silent desperation, there finally came a day
the Spinners dropped a thread, she went away
or perhaps not, and her world had gone astray.
She's now surrounded by the artifacts
of a new life that alleviate defeat:
layers of ragged clothes to keep her warm,
cardboard bedding to soften bare concrete;
there are friends too often missing,
gone without a trace on any given day,
a shopping cart of discarded things
that she does cherish, because they say
to her: You are someone. Yes, you are!
We're your children, mother, father, mate
and we care for you. We do love you and never
would we go away and leave you to this fate.
To play (MIDI), click here A Little Hour
Away From Home
There's a spot I know
a little town
It's just far enough away
from the whisper and the hustle
from the flurry and the tussle
It's just near enough to play
with my careworn heart
It is that small place
I left my youth
that recalls me now and then
to renew a fallen friendship
and take the time I need to slip
away from the where and when
that is here and now
You know how it is
a home like that
abode to loving memories
all of the joys that we had shared
all of the love of those who cared
the source of my reveries
a robe for my soul
It's a quiet place
so many friends
all like milestones on my way
I'd thought someday to go back there
to settle down without a care
and stroll along everyday
all around my past
But now it is time
to move away
farther even than before
to take my leave of kith and kin
say my farewells and then begin
to regain my path once more
upon life's journey
Three Lost Rings
A lance of dusty light relieves the dark
but cannot find to touch the spectacle
of life and joy, of love and laughter bright
that lately whirled our souls in carousel.
Clowns and devils came to fall, and dared to fall
to ta-dum drums of laughter, rippling drums of fear
as bugles bragged and tubas blared and glared,
all lit by sparkles, summoning each Cheer.
Now forlorn, an empty tent mirage once ruled
that left us not so hollow yesterday
Yes, follow it I would, if I but could
But where does Circus go to run away?
Orb of Wonder
So long has been the evening, so slow has been the pace
I wonder often now just how and why I hold the line.
Why do I wait for her return; she left a time ago?
Perhaps I'd find her somewhere else, a trace, at least a sign.
At least a sign.
But no, she bid me wait for her until the ball was done
So eyes and mind now seek her long-beloved eyes and smile
And idle here and there between on other dancers left alone,
To pass the time in search of ways to pass the time awhile.
To pass the time awhile.
There is a lady fair who's danced a little longer now,
Across the room somewhat, alone a lesser time I'd say;
From time to time all eyes, including ours, admired her
As she sailed and swirled in her husband's arms, singing the night away.
Singing the night away.
Now quiet is she, her partner's gone, and like myself alone,
I see her now more clearly as if lit by the mirrored sphere
That turns above the hall, now choosing her to sparkle on
And catching her essence in a single lovely crystal tear.
A single lovely crystal tear.
And something else within that orb, I wonder to behold,
I hope that she will see what I do see, as I gaze above,
Another crystal tear draws near, the one she's held so dear,
And the last dance will bring her home, home with her lifelong love.
Home with her lifelong love.
To play (MIDI), click here We brought the summer with us
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