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The Golden Gait?
“We shrink as we get older.” I know I’ve heard them say,
Will someone please explain how come the floor’s so far away?
‘Cause every time I drop something, I have to think about,
Once I climb down to pick it up, how will I climb back out?
The gravity well encircles me, a shadow of my age,
I’m getting deeper in the thing with every turning page,
And every birthday candle, has mired me in its wax,
My legs festooned with stalagmites, I’m stuck here in my tracks.
The looking up from way down here has caused my neck to pain.
I think my final follicle’s allergic to Rogaine.
My teeth are like my friends who cannot visit any more,
And I never venture out without the cane beside the door.
Essentially, I think you’ll see, I’m falling all to ruin,
As conversations mystify me with the words I’m misconstruin’
My hobbling gait attests that I have grit within my gears,
So tell me how it is that these are called the Golden Years?
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . February 11, 2006
Graphic by MamaBear
Harvesting Joy
Can one grow tired of too much happiness,
..... too much joy, too much bliss?
Would you wish for a more quiet moment,
..... if the world would give you this?
All our happiness comes in bunches,
..... like the harvest for the feast,
And we all give grateful “thank-you”s
..... from the greatest to the least.
The rising swell of Nature’s bounty
..... will be followed by a trough,
And the day of laughing hearty is
..... soon followed by a cough.
All these things are in a balance,
..... day is followed by the night.
But that portends just as truly,
..... that great darkness yields to bright.
If you find yourself in doldrums,
..... there’s a zephyr coming soon,
And the path in utter darkness
..... will be glistened by the moon.
Baking days of Summer sunshine
..... will be chilled by Winter snow,
And the tiny leaves of Springtime,
..... slowly turn to gold, you know.
Life is filled with passing patterns,
..... first the bitter, then the sweet,
And the sadness of a parting
..... is forgotten when we meet.
Save the moments of your treasures,
..... hold them in your bosom tight,
That in darkness of their leaving,
..... you’ll be glowing by their light.
Take the time from Summer’s harvest,
..... to distill a warming brew,
Of the sweetness you remember,
..... when the Winter threatens you.
In the darkness of December,
..... light a candle for the time,
That the Springtime of your journey
..... was so brilliant and sublime.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . July 12, 2004
Graphic by Billie
Dancing Together
To play a song together, that lasts for all your life,
It helps that you can be good friends, although she is your wife.
They played this at our wedding. It was a merry tune.
And we’ve been dancing ever since, a lifelong honeymoon.
The music’s got some age on it. It’s slightly out of style,
We’ve added grace notes through the years, in keeping with a smile.
We danced the dance together. We walked together too.
I’d not have stayed so long to dance, except to dance with you.
The time has gone so swiftly, I guess we had our fun,
I know we’ll stay together, even when the dancing’s done.
So save the last dance for me. We know the music well,
And give a kiss at music’s end, this party has been swell.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . April 27, 2004
| An older couple are lying in bed one morning, having just awakened from a good night's sleep. He takes her hand and she responds, "Don't touch me."
"Why not?" he asks.
She answers back, "Because I'm dead."
The husband says, "What are you talking about? We're both lying here in bed together and talking to one another."
She says, "No, I'm definitely dead."
He insists, "You're not dead. What in the world makes you think you're dead?"
"Because I woke up this morning and nothing hurts."
Graphic by Billie
Album Pages
The sky was milky blue, with clouds of perfect white,
I knew that it would gently fade, into a misty night.
A day of quaint perfection, to steep our memories,
Of laughter, hands in hands, and smiling in the breeze.
I always love a perfect day. I gather all I can.
Sometimes I have to bend the rules, to make them fit my plan.
A little bit of rain is not a killer of the day.
And splashing through the puddles is a way to make it play.
Even snow can sometimes be a pleasure to enfold,
Perfection isn’t measured by the heat or by the cold.
It’s measured by the moments that are strung up just like pearls,
As are the gilded seconds that young men enjoy with girls.
Every day’s an album page with images to hold.
The sunshine seems much brighter, and the colors much more bold.
We turn the page with sadness til we get a chance to look,
Back upon the memories we cherish in our book.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . July 1, 2004 |
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