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If I were not old
I would paint the house
and shore up the insulation.
I would go out and **** the garden
and cut down brush and vines
that have taken over the yard
and suffocated my flowers.
I would put in a metal fence
and plant roses around it.
But I am too old for that
and I may die here one day,
in a darkened room, caught
inside the crumbling plaster,
whose windows are covered by ivy,
which reaches its fingers across the walls.
It is almost as if the errant plants
strive to imitate the flowers
I used to bring inside and
place in bouquets to brighten
my world, no matter how small.
I shudder to think what will be,
now that the flowers are gone.
The idea of painting the house came from a line in a film; a man was asked what he'd do if his situation were different (can't recall what it was) and he said "I'd paint my house'. I identified with that and the frustration of not being able to do it. Then it veered off into aging and death, and I just followed my errant thoughts--it's foolish to ignore them!
Dom 7d
They never said
Growing old would mean
The loss of everything
That made you, you
When the past haunts
And the mirror steals youth
It’s all encompassing.

And I remember when
But I’m so far from then
And the laughs and cries
Echo to a silent goodbye
When all has given way

Well I guess there’s still today…

And I remember when,
The rain didn’t pierce the skin
And nothing could harm,
No, nothing could enter in
These parapets built so high
That none could vault to breach
But now the walls tumble over
And I’m disposed to the siege

And I remember when,
But I’m so far from then
Oh bring me back to yesterday
So I can face today.

Take me home one more time,
To the days locked away in a haze
Listening to my favorite bands
Louder than concert speakers
Pounding my chest with bass drum tweakers
I’m hopelessly lost in this modern world
Where autonomy is monotonous
And I can’t see the vision I once had
When did I go blind?

One more ride into the past,
I’ll promise to make it last
If only you’d take me back,
And let me lie here awhile

Oh well, I guess there’s still today…

But I remember when.
Turning 40 this year, been in and out of deep introspection and reflection. I’m both scared and excited to enter the next half of my life…
Iska Feb 27
Days flit by
like a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
So too does time slip from the basin
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the drip
and the drop
this is the day I begin to feel old
the back is always sore
the knees are shot
the shoulder aches
my real teeth are down to four

a bout with cancer has taken its toll
but they caught it early so I shouldn't moan
what little strength that had remained
has left with my testosterone

my feet and toes are turning numb
my eyes are fading fast
it takes an act of congress now
to exercise my wrinkled ***

my memory now is headed south
it wasn't good to start
the only things I do more often
is eat, sleep and ****

but I'll be 70 come July
I really shouldn't *****
I've seen and done some crazy things
and I've yet to lose that itch!
getting old
Ruben Whitter Feb 24
His fears were eclipsed by crackling amber crystals caressing the plums on each side of his nose, retexturizing the
squelches beneath his marooned tread – cushioning this fallen star as he prepared to grow new roots. Hurricanes of
melody camouflaged his screams with a symphony of vibrato from an overseeing parliament of wise, wide-eyed, totems with infinite flight. Silently, the heavens rinsed the pain from his eyes to sweeten the acorns of lost hope he had
****** upon him as a souvenir from his shipwreck. Depth begets strength to this sapling as he embarked on this
streetified forest through a shimmering of honeycomb and goldenrod shards cutting through crimson flakes as if nature
was stealing pigment from God herself; only rejecting the royalist of purples to comfort peering shining stars as they
witness his resplendence amongst a grounded haze of jewelled apricots greenly repulsed by the sin of gravity.

Imposed poison touch
forced ejection from the womb.
Run! Rebirth? Marooned.
First published in Chappy - Whittword Publications - 2022
Ralph Bobian Feb 18
..Reminiscing..
Thinking back on all the memories
And priceless times that I had
And how I should’ve valued in the moment
every moment that’s passed
But ****..
I never thought this feeling young for so long
would end up passing by me so fast..
What I promised myself everyday for tomorrow
Now lies dead in the past
..I guess life needs to give you a reality check
But now I’m looking for closure
Stuck in the dying days of my youth
Fighting this losing battle
of trying not to get older
I’m colder
because of it
Can’t stomach it, can’t run from it
& can’t be done with it
Unless it’s done with you
But that’s life..
or at least from my experience
Rarely does it leave you
feeling left in a bliss
Rarely does it leave you
feeling west of what is..
Who could’ve expected this?
No one
And yet we all experience it
At least one way or another,
So it’s one foot in front of the other
Next day after another
Stuck chasing after the memories
we reminisce with each other
****…
neth jones Feb 12
im so tired   and poisonous   and old
where do i go  my heart stuffed with this dry darkness ?
   with my aches   and my revealing pained impressions ?
death via exposure  would be timely                                          
with the short days   and straining snow   and thick winds
   i could step out   and follow their tugs and ropes north
                                        doff my gear and 'take a walk'
Logan Jan 28
they say that this is the best time of your life
to explore
but I have been there and been dissatisfied
rolling hills
misty mornings beneath the dew of trees
paved roads
a highway hitch and a stranger to talk to
time passes
I am home now but remember
only pieces
existing and fading in memory
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