Tag Archives: age

Monday Poem: “Old grey gardener”

Old grey gardener

She is dressed to impress
The 50’s while living in the now,
She seems to make her world make sense
Although I can’t imagine how.
Sullen and sad
But sometimes
Suddenly glad
She is around to see the destruction of the world.

80
Years
Old.
An investigator of time,
An observer of crimes against her fellow man:
A sleuth,
A solver,
A spreader of lies
And in her private moments alone at home
An unrequited lover of sin.

The old grey gardener waits to die
Or for a better offer,
She decomposes (the end is nigh)
Oh, won’t anybody stop her.
All it’ll take is a few kind words
To stop her tired old heart from bleeding,
She’s been waiting 80 years
For something to believe in.
All it’ll take is one kind soul
To stop her tired old heart from aching
She’s been there for 80 years
Just
Pruning,
Mowing,
Raking.

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Monday Poem- “Patchwork Quilt”

Patchwork Quilt

Not like clockwork but like patchwork
The old man pulls together
His last remaining
And fastly draining days.
Each stitch he’s sewing
Is quickly slowing
His rhythm and timing
But he keeps on stitching
(Keeps on shining)
Because he knows he ain’t got long
And who wants a tightly-wound-up old clock?
Isn’t that boring
Compared to this quilt?
Isn’t his story,
Patched from scraps that he’s been dealt,
Still imploring
An exchange of knowledge
For what can be experienced and felt?

So this old man
Will add patches
Thread by thread
By thread by thread
Until the clock runs out
And this patchwork-man is dead,
But the life he lives will keep going
Long after he stops sewing
Because the patchwork quilt gives warmth to all who know him.

Monday Poem- “Child/Prophet”

Child/Prophet

They didn’t hear the warnings
Of the prophet-slash-tiny-little-boy
Who screamed strange sounds
And utterences of where the world was heading.
They tried to pacify him with food
But the tiny prophet only spewed,
And continued to expose with rage
The scandal that we lose with age
Our faculties,
Our minds,
Our time,
Our ability to close our eyes
And with awe see our hearts combine
With our actions as we live our lives.
The prophet cried himself to sleep
And the witnesses began to weep,
In his silence he had shown them how to see
And in his passion he had shown them how to be
Partakers in a holy mystery
With the maker of this point in history.