IT’S RECALLING ALL THE RACES RUN
That makes me tend to frown
and often fret.
It’s recalling that my memory’s gone
Left behind in all the struggles and
The races I never ran
but still regret.
IT’S KNOWING THAT AS A YOUNG MAN I
Had muscles, wavy hair and
Unspent power that
Fueled my stride.
All receding in some cruelly ebbing tide
Leaving a shell that clings
With diminished self awareness and
Deflated pride.
IT’S NOT LIVING IN A WORLD I NEVER CHOSE
That makes me question
The young man that stands
Behind the eyes.
It’s living in a body that fails too often
And takes me out of service
With a sudden and disturbing
Sense of surprise.
It’s feeling shackled and forgotten
In a prison of my Maker’s
Cruelest device.
A prison whose walls crumble and fall
Once so proud and oh-so tall
Now projecting one’s
Inevitable demise.
IT’S THE CARESSES AND THE WHISPERS
Of lovers whose final tally
Will never change.
It’s the walls and fences
Once there to jump
That leave the fading athlete
blushingly contained.
No more Siren calls to
Draw the man
In search of treasure
Or hollow fame.
Not even when the Siren calls him out
By his once
Familiar name.
IT’S THE POWER AND THE FIRES OF MY YOUTH
Thoughtlessly squandered and
Stupidly spent,
The races I now count as lost
Beyond repair
Whose echoing absence
I sacredly repent.
Till I cannot count the years
That connive to outgrow my body,
Weaken my resolve and, yes,
Haunt my soul.
They undo my plans and cause
Me to ask with grim reality,
When did I ever get
So fucking old?
Dear Paul–I am a little relieved that old age has dulled my hearing of the Siren’s call. But somehow I can still hear that owl in the middle of the night. Sending you love–VA
May the owl never stop screeching for either of us, dear, old friend. So good to hear from you. And so happy you’re still at the receiving end of my blog posts, which have been scarce of late, but threaten to pick up weight and purpose as we move ever nearer to a national election of tremendous import and consequence. Hope you and Doug are doing well. I’ve been hit with medical setbacks this year, but honestly consider myself to be in good shape and ready to be productive once again.
Sending hugs!
Paul
Wonderful poem of a life’s lament.
Bridget:
You are a true example of a person sharing their light! Thanks for always being ready with a kind, uplifting comment. And for sharing the beauty and depth of your artistry.
Hugs,
Paul
Paul, truer words have not been spoken! Funny how the body just struggles to keep up with your mind sometimes!
Hope you are well, (obviously still kicking!) should get together for coffee again soon!
Hi Peter!
How nice to hear from you. And I agree, we’re overdue to sneak out for coffee sometime soon. I will send you an email. Let’s both keep kicking!
Best,
Paul
Dear Paul,
Our shells get thinner and more frail, but you are youthful in your thinking and ready, on-the-spot
humor – a gift to be embraced. In community, Mary
Mary:
Thank you for sharing your thoughts, and your kind reflections of me and my writing.
Sending hugs!
Paul
A thoughtful and evocative reflection
Hey Brad:
Many thanks for sharing your response!
Warmly,
Paul
Excellent Poem!!! I enjoyed it immensely; I have heard the sirens sing; although they no longer sing for me, I am dealing with my mortality with great equanimity. (Forgive me T.S. Eliot).
Very Warmly,
Harris
Harris: As always you are generous and kind to a fault, though I won’t fault you. Thanks for your kind words, and for sharing your thoughts. Blessings to you, old friend!
Paul