One day, I looked in the mirror
and saw my parent staring back
Was it the gray hair?
A face more lined and wrinkled?
Or, was it the sadness in my eyes?
The anger in my furrowed brow?
I stared harder.
Had I grown into the hero? The villain?
I blinked and my parent was gone
Did I pass the exit to drop off my young person's clothes?
I could see the surprise in their eyes
When I turned round and said "Hi"
In my sneakers and pearls and a skull patterned swing skirt
I just smiled and twirled.
Does my face no longer fit my clothes?
Ahhh what the hell...
I'll rock this look and
dance to the beat
of my death knell.
What is it really like to be old?
Read along, and you'll be told,
Well, there's spectacles and hearing aids,
Also along the way, by the way,
There's dentures in glasses,
Zimmers on greys who want to make passes,
Then there's incontinence aids, bad hips,
Appointments at medical specialists,
Then you're off to the pharmacists,
To get all your scripts,
Then there's the alphabet song,
Read along, read along,
A is for Arthritis,
B is for Bursitis,
C is for Constipation,
Always a grey consternation,
D is for Diarrhoea,
And no doctor wants to know ya!
Finally, Z is for the big sleep at the end,
No wonder geriatrics go round the bend,
Yes, greys, these are our golden years,
Have fun learning, no need for tears!
Who will love you my lady?
When your breasts are on your stomach
When your arms are flabby and your hips are saggy
Who will love you?
You're aiming for the cutest guy in the room with no thought to heart or character
But there's nothing to be said about a boyish grin nor handsome eyes that are as guilty as sin
He is sculptured to perfection with no hint of imperfection
A man worthy and suitable for a magazine cover
But nobody can cheat time and only character will survive the ticks and outlive the tocks
Shall he love your soul as much as your body and appreaciate the fine lines and the elegance of the wife of his youth?
Look carefully through the room
who will love you?
Who will love you when you're grey and old?
Who will appreciate the dips when there's no longer curves?
Who will stick around when beauty flees and declare without missing a beat
"She is mine"
Twenty years and the birth of sound
Laid your name to rest
Forgotten and forlorn,
An artifact of years past
Supernova collapsed into itself,
Swallowing time and temperament
Perpetuating the past in an
Isolated pull of gravity
Your fame is facade
An actress in her greatest role yet
Maintaining character until the day
You’re taken away
That sexy girl's sexy smile
Ain't for me.
That she doesn't need
To loosen up subluxations in her back
With compact foam rollers.
Sexual Intercourse and dancing
Are the only exercises she needs to do
To stay loose and limber
At her age.
When I do my sit ups,
I'll attempt to emulate her.
I lost track of my idea
Was I having a "Senior Moment"
Or was it just a
He spent his lifetime chasing rainbows,
All the colors, bright and bold
But the years of stormy weather,
Left him lonely, gray, and old.
For the sun to make a rainbow,
There first must be some rain,
For the soul to be forgiven,
There first must be some pain.
Judge not the book you haven’t read.
Your conclusion may be wrong.
The bravest of the armies
May not be so very strong,
For when the battlefield is littered
With bloodied bodies of our youth,
There is still a final chapter,
And that chapter holds the truth.
The sun shines bright and warms us,
Then it hides behind dark clouds,
Skies overtly ominous
Suggesting funeral shrouds.
He sees the remnants of a rainbow,
Fleeting, fading fast,
Strains his aged eyes to see it,
And he prays his faith will last.
Phil Lindsey 2/11/17
Click, hum. The phone line dies,
The ghost of rejection tickling one
Ear as it floats across the other. Her
Breath goes with it, a short exhale
Of frustration and grief.
The room is now silent, save for the
Shallow breaths of the aging dame
Grey mascara rivers running down
Thin crevices, inexorable lines of
An inevitable future. No makeup
So fine and polished can mask: she’s fallen
Victim to the times, pushing and straining
As far as the limits of her youth will allow
Cold remnants of an untouched meal
Watch from the corner, stale, unwanted
collecting dust and fleas,
Waiting to be disposed of, bound to be forgotten.
She pauses, blinks. The pit of her stomach
Grumbles in understanding -- two hands
Jump to grasp a cinched waist.
Open bourbon, brought in anticipation of good news
Teases: no cheers for the old hag!
A fist and a table, an empty glass soon
Filled as she pours herself a bitter dose
Of panacea, just a little something to take
The edge of her face, to knock off a few years and
Quiet the pain.
Fifty and forgotten, candle in the wind
A name that once drew the largest of crowds,
Full theatres and a demand in the public eye,
Now brings nonchalance, indifference, or
Worse -- ignorance! Who?
The young starlings, bright, eager doe-eyed
Little things: they are the new pull, the desired
Flavor and choice eye candy. She trembles, but
Blames the alcohol: after all, it whispers,
Who wants to look at you?