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Life is a heavy hat,
we wear it, and we learn to bear it,
as we age the debris grows,
bright chapeau that once was trimmed with flowers
attains a brim of ***** crows, that peck and eat our dreams,
crap filthy ropes and jump upon the battered crown
weighing down upon our ancient heads,
yet somewhere underneath the mess, we smile
warriors all, those of us who tread the long and weary miles,
for we have hope, that small and shrunken ghost
companion of our youthful days
she follows as we turn each corner
not quite the cheerful girl she used to be
but clinging on,
the wraith of expectation
What joys, what torments, what treasures
does this new day bring?

I have left sleep behind,
fitful and unsettled as always,
with its strange images
and surreal conversations with the long dead,
conversations that make no sense.

As consciousness comes back to me,
I hear a tolling bell
calling the faithful to prayer
but I pay no heed
because I know my prayers,
if I had any,
would go unanswered.

Instead, what prayers I may have had
are given to the coffee cup
as I drain yet another
and swallow its bitter grounds
and draw on another cigarette,
taking its harsh smoke
deep into my lungs.

And even though it’s Spring
with the burgeoning of new life,
it is cool and a wind stirs the newborn leaves
and the sky remains dull and grey.

Fully awake now,
the familiar pains return.
Not just the physical
but also the ones in my mind
as I contemplate another day ahead,
mundane and alone.

But, if I were honest with myself,
the mundane satisfies me
and I relish being alone.

I put on some melancholy music
and lets its sad sentiment
flow over me, gentle, welcoming,
to keep my sombre mood
from falling too far into despair.

This state of mind
is all too familiar now
and I no longer try to push it away.

And every day I make a cursory effort
to stop myself from contemplating my remaining years
but acknowledging that all too few lie ahead.

Looking back,
I can recall from over those many years, many decades past now,
the memories I have
as a child,
as a youth,
as a man,
as a father.

I remember those memories fondly:
of people, too many now the ghosts I speak with in my dreams,
and of times when the future was so far beyond the distant horizon
that I didn’t give it a moment’s thought.

But now that once far-flung horizon looms ever closer
and where before I could contemplate
ten, twenty, fifty years hence,
now even a mere ten, twenty years from now
is uncertain and shrouded in a fog of unknowing.

It is with this mindset I face each day
and this new day is no different from yesterday’s
and will be again tomorrow,
and the next day,
and the days beyond that
until I reach that horizon.

And I dare not contemplate what lies beyond.


© 2025
A bit sombre but a reflection of how I often feel as my twilight years approach.
silvervi Apr 29
There is nothing wrong about aging. We all have been aging since we came to life. To exist means to age.
So why in some stages of our life we desperately wish to age and in others we try to escape it?
It has always been and will be an important and inevitable process inseparable from life itself. Can we learn to embrace it without judgement?
Nishu Mathur Apr 24
Like a stream that meanders
Cantering music sweet
Caprice treads whimsical
Lightly on her feet.

Like the wind that doesn't know
Where to gently breeze
Caprice breathes here, then there
... the air touched 'n teased.

Like the midnight stars that twinkle 
Through the darkness peer
Caprice in a wink
Appears to disappear.

Like the morning sunlight
That hides, then lights up hills
Caprice scampers up and down
Never a moment still.

Like waves and ocean tides
That ebb, rise and flow
Caprice heaves night and day..
Between her joys and woes.

Like raindrops and the rainbow
That hold the other's hand
Caprice sighs and smiles
In but a single glance.        

I wonder... if you sense her
Her murmurs, feel her warm breath
Caprice... right behind you —
Though you haven't seen her yet.
Gabrielle Mar 24
The woman, a nest of grey,
Takes you down to Chelsea Bay.

She stories you, and every time,
Mentions her garden, offers a lime.

A pile of words, so interspersed,
Grows so large, she loses sight of the first.

You scale the sentences, smile in hand,
Laughter, reveals, accusals grand.

She tells you, think differently, make circles of these lines
Use all the pieces of this fruity life, don’t dare discard the rind.

If minds had hands, as pontificate in tandem,
you’d hold hers steady, sliding addendum to addendum.

Then, saying goodbye, she extends once more a lime.
Forgetting, all too quickly, you’d already declined.
This is about my friendship with someone who suffers from dementia.
In the lines lines of his figure i search in vain
for the man full of strength and vigour
but all i see is an aging frame staring into eternity
sad and insecure with moistened eyes
i move towards him ,. he looks at me
and then i know this man shrivelled and old is he
in turn he sees a stranger with salt and pepper hair
is this the little girl i braught up with loving tender care
he rises and moves with a sudden spurt
arms open and i am engulfed
and then i know, these old bones still have
the power to comfort.
love for a father
filial love
Jaz Feb 16
A natural yet cruel reminder,
That we all have a hidden number.
Of decades, or years, or months, or days,
Left on this world, before we fade away.
“Grandpa had a fall in the middle of the night”.
And you start praying that he can win this fight.  
“Grandma has cancer and it’s terminal”
And you start hoping for a proper miracle.
“Your uncle Ben can’t walk without a cane”
And you start blaming God for all this pain.
Man for Sale

Man for sale slightly bruised and battered,
but still performs fairly well
in all the things that matter. 

He's a daily driver he never fails to start,
paints a little faded, but not falling apart.

He's never been a model that will turn a lot of heads,
his selling point has always been comfort,
and reliability instead.

So hop in turn the key,
take him for a spin.

He'll get you where you need to go
and safely back again.

The price is right,
practically free,
I'll even throw in a money back guarantee.

He's a certified pre-owned classic,
they no longer make them like this.

But this is not a handshake deal,
it must be sealed with a kiss.
Another one from the vaults thought it held up fairly well.

just posted to my you tube channel check it out.
www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
thanks
I wish that we had met as children.
And played all the games that children play.

I wish that we had run together
through the fields,
and laughed and joked those days away.

I wish I had been there to see you,
Blossom into the woman
you came to be.

And I wish in that hour
of self awakening,
I was the only boy your eyes could see.

Your first smile, first kiss,
first love, first promise,
and every other first along the way.

Now I look into your eyes
and see memories
of an alternate reality,
and all I can really do is smile.

Because no matter the past
you are here with me at last.

And a last love
beats a first love
by a mile.
This poem has been posted to my you tube channel please check it out.
www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
Thanks
Viktoriia May 2024
time doesn't slow down for a talk,
like the resting heartbeat
of a ticking bomb.
every pause could last days,
could last weeks,
could last years.
it could end with a shot,
it could break with a kiss.
like a memory, split in a billion pieces,
like a mountain, with all its valleys and creases,
like an enemy missile,
about to be dropped,
time doesn't slow down for a talk.
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