If I Make It To Old Age
If I make it to old age, I’ll count myself lucky.
Not careful or clever, not courageous or plucky.
It’s all down to fortune at the end of the day.
Despite what the best advice is, or what doctors say.
There’s fitness freaks popping their clogs in their twenties,
While ancient old alkies live surrounded by empties.
Well alright, those folks are excepting the rule.
Life can be implausibly generous or cruel.
Don’t get me wrong now, I don’t want to pop,
But the day with my number on will be time to drop.
There’s nothing can stop it, when it’s time it is time,
Be you ancient and venerable or right in your prime.
If I make it to old age, it won’t mean I’m cunning,
Just that I’ve managed to stay in the running.
I’ll keep cracking on, just like anyone would,
I’m middle-aged now, so it’s so far, so good!
(CHILDHOOD)
Start with no feathers,
warmth is around, we are fed.
We grow, we will fly.
(YOUTH)
As eagles, we fly high,
above everything, free, no fears,
all the sky for us.
(MIDDLE AGE)
Not far from rooftops,
doves flying together are,
they follow the rhythm.
(OLD AGE)
Not many high flights
concerned under the branches
digging into our soul.
November descends delicately,
crisp, crimson-gold
landing languidly midway between
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'
and 'Now is the winter of our discontent' -
dead center between its nurturing tree
and the leaf pile bound for burning
Casually clad in T-shirt and shorts
on my makeshift cardboard sled
middle age's gravity conveys me irreversibly
down summer's green, grassy slope
towards the snow-shrouded vale -
I find myself halfway between
where I did not want to leave
and where I do not wish to visit
Midway between the eulogy
and the forlorn trumpet playing 'Taps'
it dawns on me that life is not entirely about the
sunshine on our backs nor the coming snowbank
but about searching for the sunrise
on the far side of
the next hill
1 November 2022
I'm free but imprisoned
I should be happy but I am not
I laugh but I want to cry
I continue but I want to stop ...
I want to be real, but I keep pretending
I want to go far, but I'm stuck
I do not know if it is me or my middle age that is making me feel this way
broken in half, one part want to live and the other seeks to give up ...
and rest forever
The optimist said that fifty years is half your life,
but the audience surely knows
that men don't live much longer than
the heyday of their town's proud factory
or the life span of an empire in the modern age.
Fifty-five years down a blind path cluttered with bombshells,
every wrong foot a heaving blast,
brickbats, not lemons rain down on
my tiny comic parasol till
I am left here holding only bent and rusty bones.
This is the part where the optimist will spin a yarn
about weaving a tapestry
from the ragged bits remaining,
the breathless crowd expecting the hero
to run their happy gauntlet again and again,
till the last clod falls.
SOFT MUSIC IN THE MORNING
They had made love
were wet and sticky like
rutting animals with a powerful odor
that filled up the room like pungent
plants in a tropical swamp, touched
every inch of fabric and skin, rode warm
evening breeze through the living
room window, across the small wrought-iron
balcony to the houses nearby
Early the next morning they did it again,
then deciding to shop but refusing to
shower, covered damp odor with cloth
and cologne and went to the market as
if carrying a secret in the pale, golden
light of an early sunrise
But everyone knew!
They were plump and too happy, their deep
satisfaction written on their faces like the
indelible masks of the neighborhood
raccoons
Soft music in the morning:
this middle-age couple, up and down
the aisles, gathering breakfast,
looking…. like they smelled
of love
Emanuel Carter
From birth to middle age
Tell tale signs sending us into a rage
Not knowing what to expect
Slowly approaching wondering what comes next
Hot flushes to mood swings
I wish someone would have told me these things
Trying to find a way to cope
Visits to the doctor for a glimmer of hope
Feelings of anxiety and despair
Searching for remedies it’s so unfair
Balancing hormones to reach a safe place
Tiredness constantly it shows on our face
Family life disrupted on a daily basis
Looking for normality researching cases
Always saying sorry to the ones, we love
Will it work out is it enough
You Tube fame,
reality
stars who
infamously
infiltrate our youth
and promote
success
for being
nothing
more than shrewd
salespeople
who market one thing:
themselves, anger me ‘cause
I
was born just too soon.
9-29-19
blandness of stories, the lines memorized.
fallen lashes thin my mind
bereft of stimulants.
2/6/2019
A bulging belly balefully belies
the vanished vigour of youth;
happens to most of us.
- - - - - - - - - - -
19 November 2018
MIDDLE AGE RIDDLE
middle-age riddle...
water splashes on my face
...fountain of wrinkles.
4/24/2018
As my brave abdomen is distended
pleasure in seeing my feet has ended.
4/6/18
When evening red surrounds our dream
A varnished crown glosses the breeze;
To summon love's ascent, upstream
On river's bend as moist lips tease.
A varnished crown glosses the breeze
Here, stars wiggle in blazed delight;
On river's bend as moist lips tease
When embers of dusk flames the night.
Here, stars wiggle in blazed delight,
Through middle- age, we find pleasure
When embers of dusk flame the night--
As tide cradles this love, it's lure.
Through middle- age, we find pleasure
From gentle floats of a damp kiss
As tide cradles this love, it's lure--
While years ripple in fiery bliss.
Juli-Michelle's Contest
Rhyme Battle: Round 7 Written 6/17/2017
.
&
if I
had
a penny
for every time
I lost my house keys
...........................................
there'd also be a jar full of coins
that I would have to
search
for
.
I'm tempted to let it spread.
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