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AGE
Brooks sing in spring
And in the summer cease;
I who sang in youth
Now hold my peace;
Youth is a noisy stream
chattering over the ground
But the sad wisdom of age
wells up without a sound
Another part of my childhood memory, a friend of mine had this framed in her hallway no writer name, anyone know who wrote it? I treasured it enough to keep many years.
 Jun 2014 Third Mate Third
Louise
I wonder if you know* ..

it's the way you gently touch my fingertips
while we are in bed together
between sleep and dreams

You don't realise ..

that I often just look at that soft, darkly tanned skin
at the back of your neck, and know what it feels like
against my lips

You'd never think that ..

the creases around your eyes
the grey in your hair
makes you look 'just delicious'!

You don't know ..

when you place your hands on my body
and you're not trying to be suggestive
is when I find it most arousing

Did you realise that ..

even after 25 years together
when "Louise" leaves your lips
that sound,  is my most favourite in the world

Did you know ...

among all the romantic gestures
that you have blessed me with
it is these things that allow me to fall for you even deeper
for Brian x
~

when your final day approached
did we know it when it came?
were we given time enough,
to trace the lines of your face,
before you faded fast as dusk?
will the final words we spoke,
the familiar sounds of your voice,
echo ever in our hearts as the
fading whispers of your sweet goodbye,
becoming etched indelibly,
in the pages of our memory?
yes...
your final day arrived,
but no...
we didn’t know it when it came
no trumpet blew, no drum was beat
no final hug, no goodbye kiss
just empty silence, only this
makes us ponder all we missed

we pray the hint of the forest,
that always lingered on your clothes,
will ever be reminders of your
yearning heart for nature’s wonder
and as we walk among the swaying pines,
beside the waters still you sought
we hope you’ll linger in the sunlight,
in lengthening shadows of the hills,
where you laid your weary head,
as we scramble to the heights you loved,
we’ll listen for your voice of bravery,
in the thunder of the waterfall.
we’ll see the outline of your footsteps,
imprinted always on the carpet,
of the room you’ve left behind,
all of these we’ll look for, reach for
in the home we’ve built for you inside.

~

*post script.

verse 1 looks back, as we must do for instruction on how best to look forward.
verse 2 takes its instruction from the pages of his life,
considers how he lived, his motto, his life creed...
“travel light, enjoy the journey!”
how we must choose to continue, chose to live.

we only wish we had understood his suffering better. the deep losses of others hammers home our own, losses from which we think we are recovering... and then this.

inspired by this note from my beautiful wife several weeks ago:
“I have this daily Bible verse app on my phone, it has not been turned on to notify me for months, but today, march 25- i woke up to this one. Last day i saw my sweet Daniel’s face. :'-( “

Isaiah 26:4  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.
College is a cancer clinic.
At this university, you either live long enough to die,
or die until you want to live.
Kids drag backpacks like bags of morphine,
and are attached to their planners like they are their heart monitors.
You do your own chemotherapy,
as you poison yourself with debt,
and Friday night nickel shots.
(or where i direct my attention)

yield to me
where i alone
can summon the
great forces in the trees
and i am not wrong
seeing only
the best in
you.
for me,
there is an undeniably
exquisite beauty,
in an aged face
it lies in the lines of life,
etched by angels,
as unseen cartographers.
it hides behind the crow's feet and creased frown lines. it is so apparent in the mryiad of tiny wrinkles
at the movement
of the faded red lips.
it is carried in the baggage under the eyes
and the luggage of wattle
at the throat.
it winks from slow
moving eyelids and thin arching brows.
it glows in a smile
that folds and creases
the skin like origami.
it is the beauty,
ethereal,
of a life lived,
of love found
and lost,
of hardship suffered,
and joys revealed,
of working hard each
and every day,
yet still finding time
to sing and dance
and play.
it is beauty,
created by endurance.
not manufactured
by cosmetics and pills
and machines.
it is a beauty,
so honest and true,
that it needs not
these things,
to embellish or frame,
it is the beauty,
of the years passing by, standing proud,
without fear or shame.
it is the old woman
sitting on the bus,
in the park,
having a quiet cup of tea,
it is my mother,
asleep in front of the tv.
and one day,
              i hope it will be me....
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