Just a fun little poem on aging 10-2016
Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry
When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old
What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,
In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.
The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,
Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.
As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
What is the happiest moment of the… When I make someone laugh When I am of use for the good When I show kindness When I hold a hand
I remember your smile, your laugh,… you gave so freely. It’s hard that you are gone. I sigh and walk along the bay.
The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free
Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
If we could embrace our sorrow and surf on our tears, surely our hearts would grow wider to hold the years
Easing down the gravel road, yellow leaves spiral across, like a welcome