Short Obsolescence Poems

Watch me walk the mile
approaching death unfamiliar
finding hills of home...

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I've
seen the future
no different
from the past
built in obsolescence
from the first breath
to the last gasp....

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Because things ... 
Fade whenever obsolescence,; 
Because forever, just a myth. 
I thought  .. 
Spill my heart now in flower....

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Born in the latter part of The Great Depression
Don't know how my parents managed with eight dependants
I was the last in '35
But we all survived
Growing veggies in the yard avoiding senseless obsolescence...

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OBSOLESENCE
evaporates
in
conventional
enterprise
intricate
 delicate
an
abstract
setting
    memorably
vibrant
 flamboyant

 iridescent
gleaming
alluring
an
liberty
in
literal highlights
with
reserved
reality...

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The dance goes on; and every generation
Imposes measured steps and calls fast time.
I would sit this one out, but for the few
Opportunities for joining hands. 

My awkward feet remember dated songs
And struggle with the strains of obsolescence.
The dance goes on and is oblivious
To slower time when need outlives a style....

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I wail lonely
in your distances
as endless trestles travel I

Know

I was here I was
present
on your horizons,
present in your town

Come, ride with me
Come, keep me 
from obsolescence, keep me
alive

Without you
Within me
I am meaningless,
blind

For how can I see, and, yes,
Who can I show,

If  not you... if not you... if not you...

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Wagon ruts--those cut backs
Of roads along a ridge
Heal in natural obsolescence,
Heal with rock and wash ripping gullies,
Bearing gnarled root
And jagging teeth of jutting quartz,
Heal with rain and wind
Flinging seed darts to stubble thickets
For holding in a mountain's side,
Heal and vanish from all those
But that old man whose weight
Was of the time and purposes
Of wagon ruts....

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Frailty is your beauty,
your inbuilt obsolescence
drives me to maintain you,
to hold you,
to protect you from the progress.
It comes in words,
it comes in boxes,
a gift not chosen,
but forced upon you,
as life itself is.

In stasis,
like a trick can of worms,
a jack in the box
awaiting some momentary joy,
gone too soon,
a heartbeat not followed by another.

I was not the first to touch you,
I will not be the last to hold you....

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How raged the moon with whitest luminescence,
Reflected in my starving eyes,
Dominance, nocturnal omnipresence,
Swelling in the black eternal skies.
And how it shone with pallid incandescence,
Turning tears to icy milk,
Freezing them with spectral iridescence
Upon my cheeks like balls of frosted silk.
Until I wept to point of obsolescence,
When the rivers all ran dry,
I knew you stood and felt the equal presence
Underneath the self-same moon as I…...

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