Fruit For Thought…
“It is not all bad, this getting old, ripening.
After the fruit has got its growth it should juice up and mellow.
God forbid I should live long enough to ferment and rot
and fall to the ground in a squash.”
“It is not all bad, this getting old, ripening.
After the fruit has got its growth it should juice up and mellow.
God forbid I should live long enough to ferment and rot
and fall to the ground in a squash.”
When I’m old and wrinkled with hair so white
Will you ship me off to live far from light
Will I lose my friends and all that I love
With getting old, is that the rub
Will joy never more come my way
With life a great bore each and every day
So daughters, please don’t imprison me
Let me live where I can breathe free
Where I can write words deep in the dark
Where I can enjoy life, listen to the lark
Don’t imprison me in an old person’s home
Let me have freedom for my mind to roam
Let me feel the earth under these feet
Let me chat with any new people I meet
When I’m old and wrinkled with hair so white
Daughters, don’t ship me off to live far from light
Roz Levine
© 2011
My train of thought
derailed by something so simple
as the movement of a foot.
Where was I?
Telling you again
I would be there through it all.
I meant it.
I felt it.
I defined it in my actions.
Then a woman stood
to get her laptop from the overhead bin
and I was gone. That quickly.
Where was I
sliding into my 50s, aware now
of the signs, looking for slips
of the tongue, forgotten keys.
We must watch for these things
as decades pass and the time
comes round again where I may wonder
where you are.
Mark McNease
© 2011
Last years shadow
Where do they go
Shadows and years
Tell me
Do they age
Will my shadow live on
I hope so
Years are like bad dreams
They haunt you
More than you think
My shadow looked on as I was being exhumed
For the first time I saw my death face
Yes it was a dream
Seeing my demise looking grey but at peace
Years are like death they happen and don’t return
Make friends of your shadow
Dance with the year
Embrace both showing not an ounce of fear
Poem & Snap by Mitch Hicks, U.K.
© 2011
peach flesh, against flesh
aging, withered and worn
dry as a desert without a drink
your pulse beating
pitted against time
the rhyme has rhymed
again
we must change
as the seasons
teach us
Peach Foto by
© 2010
The last time my eyes saw his
He twinkled with mischief
Croaked how he’d shared his bed
With such a good old friend
The one who’d lost her breasts
The one with a heart as big as the Pacific
The one who breathed fire on him
His words whispered from a voice
On the low down of this battle
The big boom sound of yesteryears
Silenced by ALS creeping up his body
He whispered how his wife
Couldn’t bear to touch his flesh
Was she repulsed by the disease
Afraid of his coming death
Fearful of a life alone
He didn’t say what or why
Just whispered the beautiful
How it was to be close to skin once more
To feel a woman’s heat once more
To know he was still alive once more
Loved by someone
Desired by someone
Some place on this earth
© 2010
“But I think it’s a little different in Europe, because 40 is really the best age for a woman.
That’s when we hit our peak and become this ripe fruit.”
“It is not all bad, this getting old, ripening. After the fruit has got its growth
it should juice up and mellow. God forbid I should live long enough to ferment
and rot and fall to the ground in a squash.”
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“If you’re a singer you lose your voice. A baseball player loses his arm.
A writer gets more knowledge, and if he’s good, the older he gets,