When I think of aging
visions of nature appear poetically,
ready to be written across the page.
But my hand tremor sets script askew,
not unlike a preschooler’s
first attempt at printing their name.
——–
Bright pink ruffled peony
once perkily perched,
quite the showy thing
gleaming amongst greenery.
Now droops beneath residue
of last night’s fierce thunderstorm,
struggles to hold its bloom.
Newborn foal,
gangly tries to gain its footing.
Youthfully romps through fields
colored riotously in wildflowers.
Years later, put to pasture.
Stands swaying slightly,
head down, eyes clouded,
wildflowers a dull blur.
And I myself, mark changes in my body.
Steps slow and sometimes falter,
veins protrude on hands.
News comes
of friends facing grave illness,
friends who leave this earth.
I reflect more and more
on what was, and what is,
and what is to come.
Perennials dance in spring’s fresh air,
stand proudly through their season.
Then wilting, lie down to disintegrate
beneath winter’s winds and snow.
But their seed is strong.
The next generation takes their place,
for they are perennials
and their beauty continues.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, dear friend Sanaa is hosting. She asks us to write in the style of Amber Rose Tamblyn, an American actress, author, poet, and film director. Sanaa tells us Tamblyn’s “poetry is incredibly unique and descriptive. When asked where the power lies when it comes to writing, Amber Rose answered, ‘when it makes you feel every human emotion all at once.’” Sanaa asks us to create visuals in our poem and “aim to explore the human condition.”
Image by Tabea on Pixabay.com
lillian the home poet 