aging

by

self-delusion…

can your recall
their names
those
people
you called
lifelong friends
can you
recall their
face
their voice
the warmness
of
their touch
oh
it’s not a crime
if
you can’t
but
it’s
a reminder
you
will be
forgotten

 

by

gnarled old trees…

been
rooted
in the broken promises
of
freedom
for
over two hundred years
so
it should be of no surprise
that
we have grown
roughened
in
our views
of
the future
and
misshapen
in
our attitudes
for
hope
and
justice
in
this nation
oh
when we were young
we could
easily bend
and
not break
when
the winds
of
ignorance and hate
forced
us toward the ground
then
we would rebound
and
once again
grasp at the sky
but
now days
we refuse to bend
nor
do we have to
we have
an outside
that has grown hardened
and
an inside
having knotty memories
of
the pain
of
our lifetimes
we have
grown
and
survived
like
african mahogany

 

by

interference patterns…

by just looking
at it
one might
draw
some
negative conclusions
for
the case
is
well worn
it’s
wooden shell
shows
its age
and
how
hard
it’s been
handled
over the years
some parts
are
tarnished
resembling
the color
of
gray hair
other parts
are
dented
and
i doubt
work
anymore
but
when you look
inside
it still maintains
its
youthful beauty
my old
kaleidoscope

 

by

an old photograph…

i am
a fading
portrait
each friend’s death
dims
a part
of
who
i am
and
each death
within
the family
makes faint
a portion
of
who
i was
soon
i will have
no eyes
to
see
into
tomorrow

 

by

quarantine…


i suppose

out

of

a level

of

self pity

i called

aunt bea

to

see

how she was doing

without

visiting

her friends

and

to

lightheartedly

complain

about

my imposed celibacy

aunt bea

gave a giggle

and said

well

a number

of

my old friends

have

a hard time

getting around

these days

so

visits

were

infrequent

before the pandemic

and

as for your

celibacy

you’ll find

there comes

a point

in

aging

when

passionate romance

becomes

a mere memory

by

savor…

an old school candy jar
one of a kind
filled with
the finest sweets
individually wrapped
like
they were
special moments in time
these days
they’re unavailable anywhere
so
it can’t be restocked
of course
when young
the jar seemed
immense
and
the candies
were
endless
grasping handfuls
didn’t seem to affect
the supply
but
over time
the jar began to look
depleted
slowing
the pace
of
consumption
didn’t seem to slow
the rate
of
depletion
it’s obvious
now
the jar
will soon be empty
like
life

 

by

an old notepad…

pages full
of
broken words
some
never spoken
others
discarded
as
foolish
dreams
some
secrets
have been pressed
like
roses
between
the pages
left there
to
dry
and
die
never to be read
by
anyone
mere
remnants
of
what could have been
or
should have been
but
never
became
there are some words
even
if found
lying around
would be
seen
like
the scribblings
of
a child
who never learned
to
color
within the lines
a maverick
of
society
whose
offerings
of
words
without question
shall be
ignored

 

by

old friends…

sounds
of
night traffic
pulsing along
urban roads
have replaced
warm laughter over
dinner debates
debates
on
everything
but
not on
what
defines friendship
that
was
known
and
required
no
amendments
to
what constituted
why
we
loved
one another
but now
an
emptiness
a
fading out
into
the arid landscape
of
time
where
a grave stands
unattended
for
all those
who
cared
are
gone
so this
grave
bearing
my
name
will be
drought-stricken
no
tears
from
those
i
loved