The Mandrill
I feel sadness for the mandrill held captive
Behind the cage bars. His listless demeanour
Is unnatural when compared to his free aboriginal cousin
In the African jungle an ocean away.
Despite his gaiety of colour display
And distant stare through amber, hollow eyes,
With laboured mouth ajar for teeth to bare,
He expresses neither aggression nor submission
Of territory dominance or subordination.
There is no bobbing of the head or crowing,
Nor slapping of the ground or rump showing.
These primates are the world’s largest monkeys,
Safe from leopards preying and human hunting;
They, his keepers say, are lucky to be in a cage,
Enjoying life’s comforts to a ripe old age.
How’s your finger?
How’s your rib?
These are words I don’t ad lib
How’s your backache?
How’s your knee?
Would you read this, I can’t see
Pass the sugar, no, best not
Off my meds now, I forgot!
Where’s the salt, oh, yes I know
Hid it, so it wouldn’t show
I can make it, park the car
Twenty feet, that’s not too far!
Vitamins?, I just took two!
Love to eat but I can’t chew
Perils of a ripe old age
Spiced by memories and sage
None-the-less, I’m here to stay
Hope at least for one more day!
Whom of you have never felt the pinch and pain
when inebriated thoughts begin to fall like rain
whom of you have ever poured it down the drain
when a loved one says, " this is insane"
Whom of you have peeled the mask of hidden truth
pushed beyond the shove and talked about your youth ?
Whom of you, worn down by life whipped the scourge
sobered up and restrained the urge...
Whom of you at a ripe old age still cry for your mother
when times get tough, do you have a sister or a brother
Whom of you faced and stoned don't give a damn
when a child cries out like an angry ram ...
Whom of you have ever been perfect before you were broken
when the hourglass of time says enough/here take this token
Whom of you grasped it with two shaking hands and said yes
I'm gonna rise up and be counted for I have made such a mess.
Whom of you like me still cry for the love that refuses to die,
when the stars of heaven split open their light, do you cry ?
Well, he walked away mid august,
Was following the yellow moon;
If he had left a letter there,
Would've said I won't be back too soon.
And not one time did he look back
At that house upon the plains;
He prayed that those crops would grow
And family survived the pain.
He passed through the land he knew
When he was a much younger man;
He walks back and forth across fields
As though they were built to his plan.
Recalls all the hard work he'd done
But with loving family by his side
They fell in love with their domain.
He did not know the time would come
When he'd leave without a goodbye;
Thought he'd live to a ripe old age,
For the life of him knew not why.
Suddenly, now, the clouds rolled in
And he took one last look to home;
Just when he was lifted up
He read his name upon the stone.
This is the place of my song dreams
the spot where my soul sings alone
here where my name is Kareem
I have found my lot overthrown
This is the place of my song dreams
a place for poets without memes
Love holds its own inside this heart
here you will find each hue of me
Canvassed in the light, I am Art
and part of God's fine artistry.
Love holds its own inside this heart
canvassed in the light, I am Art
In this parking lot I call life
I have learned without disparage
Been acute like an honest wife
and lived until a ripe old age
In this parking lot I call life
I never focused on the strife
from a big family
living to a ripe old age
lots of funerals
Life is an eternal ecstasy
Flowering as ripe old age
Liabilities over, shorn of shackles
Confined to oneself and free to peep into
Fads and foibles lying dormant for decades
The wisdom at its best, with the strings few
Leaves, petals, breeze, dawn, dusk and dew
As adorable companions offering divine notes
To the melody of heart, mood and passions
Echoing as penance, serenity and joy
With love, compassion and forgiveness
All in one
The hidden hues come to the fore
With unknown treasure on the fingertips
Making million times richer and able
Turning thoughts in to wings, ready to fly
To reach the stars, moon and the clouds
The exciting new self, hitherto unknown
Opening days as an era of joy and thrill
Planning solo journey to new destinations
It is time to rediscover the life
Merging with the chastity of earth and sky
And enjoying virginity of the divine
In the life’s second bloom
Every family has them
These unsettling times these misunderstandings
Times when many things come into play
In most cases these wee spats are soon over and forgotten
But sometimes differences run deeper
Because of other factors
Such as jealousy, middle child syndrome personality
It's only human nature at play
The necessity for all to find our place
In the overall scheme of life
To establish one's self in the pecking order
And accepting it without malice, without jealousy
A hard lesson to learn when we're brand new at he game
Always suspecting that siblings
Are the ones receiving preferential treatment
In reality, they are reacting in exactly the same matter
Trying their best to learn the ropes
To understand what life means what life is all about
But we never do have all the answers
Even if we survive those uncertain early years
And live to the ripe old age of thirty
Well that is what old age is when you're a teenager
Please be assured, you WILL get through
And be a well adjusted adult
I dread that day the 5th of May,
my loving partner passed away,
I find it hard that she has gone,
undeserved her death was wrong,
At 42 a life cut short,
I'de double that is what I thought,
She should have reached a ripe old age,
In her book i'de miss that page,
And add it to her younger days when life was dancing on the stage,
So why did she not have a say,
On when she'd reach her final day,
What made my lovers death so sad,
Was the cervical cancer that she had,
All you ladies take your smear,
Just missing one could cost you dear,
You lose the battle,
You lose what's you,
And your dignity,
You lose that too.
You would think at this ripe old age of eighty-eight
Love and romance would no longer be foremost in my thoughts
Well that is so very far from the truth, it's laughable
This is what I had envisioned when I was a much younger lad
Always thought love would be much less important to me
How wrong could one be... it is more important than ever
Love never leaves us... we can still smell the fields of flowers
Still revel in the sunshine of a warm summer day
Love is everywhere we look
It is on the faces of everyone we pass on the street
Some are harder than others to decipher but it's there
The trials of life can mask it but if you dig deep enough
Love is at the core of everything we do and say
All we need do is recognize it and it will be ours
Love is life itself
I’m Not Fifteen,
death won’t be sneaking up
on me, cause of something stupid
I can’t stop myself from, not doing.
Those days of wondering how in God’s name,
I manage to still be alive, with thoughts running
through my head of situations I put myself in,
that now.
Just thinking of them, scare the Bejesus
out of me, as.
I make one of those quickie signs of the cross,
'you know'.
The kind, that are over before they start,
to let God know.
I’m thankful He watched over me.
Let me live to this ripe old age, where.
Death’s gonna come through my front door now,
and.
I’m gonna be standing there, smile on my face
happy to see him.
Aunt Judith was the only tea drinker in the family;
Camomile brewed from bags - no loose tea leaves for her to read -
her future was foretold at birth: heart defect and early death.
The wise doctors were sure she would not live much beyond thirty,
but with faith and determination she surprised us all -
Joyfully, she left this world at the ripe old age of fifty!
An old peacock has lost his voice, among the hens
he wanders, his soundless beak a' clacking.
Once he rode the roof of life, once he strutted
across its gaming board, a tyrant lover,
a beady-eyed frightener to all comers.
The hens gather to ridicule the old cock-king,
and mock his silent passing. A younger cock must
by common law
topple his fan-feathered throne
upon the floor.
The voiceless bird must learn to be a poets page,
and there write the sorry history
of those that wander (most reluctantly),
into that choleric school
of chronic ripe old age.
Tripping my toes,
Everywhere I go!
He meows and cries piteously,
Obviously never fed!
Bumps against me,
To pet his scrawny head.
Used to be a plump old cat,
Now he's lost all his fat!
Shedding his fur,
Still complains mightily,
When feeling slighted.
With the dogs he is delighted,
They keep him close,
And keep him safe.
When he is aloof,
Wandering outside the house,
Never catches anything.
Not even a mouse!
He continues to live,
A ripe old age,
He's 18 today and still has a lot to say!
When Searching Depths Of Mind Questions Its Own Sanity
Go to the green, green blades of grass
Speak and watch the sunbeams obey
There in the mountain top, a frigid pass
What beast did brave boy David slay.
In rainbow-cast deserts wind swift blows
Its flying roses into an old silver jar
O'but nobody that tragic tale knows
Why the hell we are where we are.
What on earth do we darest to desire
Golden halls and living to ripe old age
To not gasp when others admire
Some vanishing letters on a torn page.
When spirit fights to soothes the aching soul.
Just who fired the shot from grassy knoll.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
April 27th 1974
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