I'm intuitively sensing a future collection of crusty haikus from a cranky crab. So relatable and making light of winking check engine lights seems the only sane option
Chuck, you're a master of conveying a helluva lot with few words. I love the check engine light *winking* at you, vs. something more aggressive like glaring or blaring. There's a playful ominousness there...
I love this, Chuck. It says so much with so little, and I think it illustrates especially well how sometimes aging can be frustrating, one problem after another, however big or small. But I feel a sense of humour in this as well, and a sort of resigned pragmatism.
I like this Chuck! My vehicle tire air pressure monitor lights keep malfunctioning, or perhaps it is a signal ! May your oil tank continue to be full! 🙏🏻
I lost my dad four years ago on February 22. I have found myself wondering what he would have been like had he been given the opportunity to grow old. He was so fiercely independent I’m almost grateful at times that he did not have to suffer the physical decline of aging.
On Not Aging
Sixty nine years had taken their toll,
In a dozen perceptible ways.
The bum knee that plagued you for years had grown worse.
I’m really taken by the way you used rhyme to create a kind, thoughtful, whimsical tone - even with the obvious grief woven through. What a beautiful tribute to your dad and what a loving way to think about your experience of losing him.
Thank you Lisa. I always worry about “rhyming virus” as a professor I had used to warn about. Given time I might make some edits so some of the rhymes didn’t feel as forced.
Karri, I'm sorry for the loss of your dad, and, at the same time, I empathize with your feeling that it was also a gift in the sense that he didn't have to slowly lose his grip on dignity and you not having to witness the indignity of him losing his independence. It was a long, slow goodbye with my parents, very painful to watch them unravel and disappear in plain sight. Also, your skillful rhyming delighted me :)
I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I know that the concept of a good death is controversial and daddy did suffer for those weeks. But in the end he was at peace.
Beautiful tribute to your dad Karri. I appreciate the many questions here in this poem. And isn't that what aging is, we just don't know how it will go. How death will be and when it will arrive.
This is such an open-minded and open-hearted way to look at your dad's early passing. There is so much love for him here. Great use of rhyme, too -- it lends extra power, especially in the last few lines.
Your dad sounds a lot like mine - I have often wondered if aging will treat him kindly, and I do worry that it won't. This is a really moving poem, Karri. I'm glad there has been some peace for you in this loss.
It has hit hard on occasions such as my daughters wedding (she carried a tiny vial of his ashes in her bouquet) but I always come back to the fact that’s he went out on pretty much his terms. Although I honestly always thought it would be a motorcycle accident. He rode up to the end.
This is a sweet and lovely poem Karri. What a beautiful insight to view aging through the life of another beloved. I love your witness to the blessing of a death that is quicker rather than lingering, the way that a long ending journey can take its toll on our hearts and spirits even as it also can offer gifts and blessings. A group of friends and colleagues testified yesterday in our N.H. legislature on a medical aid in dying bill, all of us in our families and many of us in our work having watched and been a part of so much pain and suffering in an ending journey. Complicated journeys of the heart.
I am moved by the knowledge that your dad had you for his 69 years on this earth and in this life. The ending of your poem brought tears to me, “if’s aging a privilege, then so too was your death. As you passed from this world, with your dignity left.” Thank you for sharing a bit of your dad with us. 🙏🏻❤️
What a beautiful poem, sis! Like A, I'm really taken with "wall of water paper thin / trembles singing / back to sea" -- and with this different way of looking at waves. I've always thought of the "second half" of waves as the first half, the sucking potential making way for the big crash -- but it's so lovely to shift my view and think of the second half as a well-deserved retreat, a benediction of sorts.
I must have had a mind-meld with Larry because my poem today is in honor of another folk great who is fortunately still among us, Joni Mitchell. I was really moved by Joni's performance of "Both Sides, Now" at the Grammys the other day, and this is what came of it. [Edited after the epiphany I shared with Larry, lol.]
Rebekah this is lovely. Joni is showing us how to do this thing called aging.
And you said it so perfectly, "Not from sadness, but from the evening’s tender harvest: Joni husking the words of her youth, savoring each lived syllable, still so wise in not knowing."
A beautiful ode to Joni, Rebekah! The imagery of the world's heart talking straight into hers, and Joni essentially channeling the world's heart as it pulses her forward with prescient wisdom is really so gorgeous. "Both Sides Now" was an oft-played song on our turntable when I was a child, so this is bringing back memories for me.
Rebekah, you are so amazing! Today you are my shero for your poem and your beautiful connection to one of my favorite artists, Joni Mitchell. I love your poem and loved seeing Joni Mitchell at the Grammy's! At 80 she was finally able and ready to sing in a forum she once avoided. What a gift for us all. I love the song "Both Sides Now," and when I was a teenager in the sixties, the lines "Now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads and say that I've changed..." was a life raft for me as my consciouisness and inner spirit was changing. This remakarble version of this song by Seal shared for Joni's 75th birthday is a breathtaking rendition of the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3J2nqeDf2g
As for your poem, it is as beautiful as Seal's cover of this splendid song. I hope you share it with Joni Mitchell. It can be a joy when an elder hears and feels how they have beautifully impacted others. I am grateful for you.
Thank you, Larry! I've been thinking of Joni almost nonstop since I watched her Grammy performance, and like you, have been checking out all the covers I can find (and even attempting to play/sing it myself). I appreciate the link to Seal's cover -- I'll check it out.
I think my poem might not be finished. It occurred to me that the main point of "Both Sides Now" is about the not-knowing in life -- and how poignant it is that 80-year-old, eternally wise Joni still doesn't claim to know all about clouds, love, or life. I'm going to try to craft another line or two at the end to honor that if I can. Ooooh, sending the poem to Joni sounds scary! But I will give that some thought.
I love this! Admittedly, I'm not very familiar with Joni Mitchell, but I feel like so often we're not able to see the artists we admire growing and creating as they age - "savoring each lived syllable," as you so beautifully put it - and this feels like a gift.
This is a very sweet poem - I love that you have focused your attention on the humble, receding wave as it "trembles singing back to sea." Such a good reminder that there is beauty in the humble, in the understated, in the oft-overlooked.
Here is what came out of me and my pen as I contemplated age and aging...
Thank you for taking us so deeply into your experience, Keith, with all its complexity and interweaving of birth and death, loss and renewal. This is so beautiful and helped my mind and heart stretch to hold a little more.
Despite all the math, this has a simple vulnerability that is so moving to me -- the grief in not having gotten to do life's early milestones in the correct body, the wish for a simpler story. The idea of death and reincarnation through court order is so powerful, as well as the idea of two lives lived back to back. Thank you for sharing this with us, Keith.
This is absolutely beautiful Keith. It feels so gut wrenching and honest, a clear eyed view of reality and the wonder of mystery; the challenge and liminality of being in between, exacerbated by societies, community, beloveds, and our own uncertainty. And truly the witness to a deep courage runs through your poem. I love the comparison and contrast to a tree, the difference in the viewing of age, and superb lines like: "death and reincarnation in a single afternoon...' so magnificient. An open heart of peace and grace to you.
What a gut wrenching and honest reflection. Thank you for sharing your experience with us so that we can more better appreciate all you have been through
So true, this linear counting means nothing yet it is the physicality of aging. And there is nothing tidy and simple about this messy thing called life!
Keith, this is so beautiful. I love that we were on the same wavelength with the tree rings, and how you used them to illustrate this complicated before and after, this gratitude and grief, and also the very human experience and feelings with the mathematical, the calculated, the court-ordered. It's an incredible juxtaposition.
Thank you for your perceptive and insightful reflections, A. Yes, I was struck by how the tree rings arose for both of us, then were expressed in very distinct ways. We live in such a linear culture, on that prioritizes the quantifiable over the qualitative, which makes for an incredible juxtaposition with our emotional experiences!
What a beautiful love poem! You manage to hold so much here - all the hiking and feeling pinched and plowed, the reaching for each other, your shared hope, and also the uncertainty that still (always) weaves its way through life. ❤️
Thank you LIsa! We have been on so many beautiful walks, hikes, backpacking trips, paddles, skis and bike journeys together. One of the somber realities is that on some of them we know it will be our last of a particular type, and that our bodies won't always go where our memories, minds and hearts would like. I trust you made it home safely and were welcomed roundly by your beloveds!
This was so moving, Larry. The idea of you and your love reaching for each other's hands to walk prayerfully into an unknown future framed by a rainbow. Such a soft, sweet scene. Thanks for sharing. And thanks to you & @Rebekah Jensen, I'm now listening to Joni sing "Both Sides Now" at various points in her career.
Thank you Keith! I am glad you are listening to Joni do "Both Sides Now" in various ways and times. There is an orchestral version she does which is pretty amazing.
I love the idea of you & your special person arriving together in this gleaming meadow of life, not knowing what's next, but trusting in love and each other and walking toward the rainbow. Beautiful, Larry!
How sweet and you have again moved me to tears. If you will indulge me in alluding to my dad again he and my mom had been married for 49 years when he passed and during g that time they traveled from one side of the country to another. And he got sick so quickly they never knew when the last time and trip arrived.
Oh Karri, I hear you and the pain and mystery of realizing in retrospect that a trip was the last one taken together. My mom and Dad were married for 52 years, and my older brother died right after their 50th anniversary and my mom passed right after their 52nd anniversary. Death can be a stark reminder of the preciousness of each moment. May you keep telling stories, writing poems, honoring legacies and holding your dad and beloveds so closely in your heart. Thank you for sharing so honestly and lovingly with us.
I am very touched by this poem Larry. This part here... "In one quiet moment, between anxious breaths of release, we reached for each other’s hands." I feel this unsaid understanding and acceptance that happens as two people move through life together. So much is experienced and shared through the years. All expressed in the simplicity of that touch of a hand.
Thank you Julie. It strikes me that so much of love and loving relationships are in the small and simple gestures, actions and intentions. Thank you for always reading with a loving heart.
This is such a beautiful picture of love and trust between the two of you and also with life and the universe. I love the image of you walking hopefully, hand in hand, into the unknown.
Thank you A. We work so hard along the way, to be in a loving space even when we are not physically, emotionally or spirituality connected. Gosh, that is a challenge! A romantic dreamer like me can be particularly hard to journey with, even when love is the foundation. Thank you for reading with such a beautiful heart.
Oh -- and also, Larry, have you seen the movie Coda? It wins for the version of "Both Sides Now" that makes me cry the hardest every time. Also, it is just an incredible movie -- highly recommended by me!
Lisa I love, love your poem. So poignant, beautiful. Even the ocean waves become gentler and quieter as life slows down. And I agree there is so much focus in our culture on being young! It is like aging is pathologized. Anyways, here is my poem...
.
In this wintertime of life,
come the echoes of ebbing and waning.
Even the outer season of unhurried coldness
a piercing hand of frost takes hold in my bones.
I feel more battle worn and weathered.
.
Landmarks and milestones
transform into wrinkles on my face.
Greying hairs blending into the overcast
skies of this darker blustering time.
Hibernation shows slow methodical movements.
.
And springtime is gradually approaching,
this elderly maiden within is awakening.
A more leisurely dance around the maypole awaits
as burgeoning shoots arise to the occasion.
Life can be refreshed, even for an old crone like me.
Such a beautiful dance of inner and outer seasons here -- winter clutching more tightly than it used to, gray hair "blending into the overcast skies," and how the "elderly maiden" is awakening to spring. I love the hopeful finish, as well as the winking sign-off as the old crone.
Julie, I love how you remind us here that, even as we approach the end of our lives (our ultimate winter) there is still the possibility of an internal and/or external spring. The cycle never really stops for any of us.
This is a resounding song of beauty to the dance of age on our journeys, Julie. I love the ryhthmic and lyrical cadence of your words, and how they beautifully connect to each other, line by line and word by word. Each line is superb, and I love these: "In this wintertime of life, come the echoes of ebbing and waning. Even the outer season of unhurried coldness a piercing hand of frost takes hold in my bones. I feel more battle worn and weathered." My heart and head are saying "Yes" to these wisdom lines. "And Landmarks and milestones transform into wrinkles on my face. Greying hairs blending into the overcast skies of this darker blustering time. Hibernation shows slow methodical movements."
These are lines of wonder and wisdom. Seeing my wrinkles and age spots as landmarks and milestones opens a whole new perspective for me. Thank you for the precious gift of your poem, Julie!
This is absolutely beauitful, A. What a journey you are living. Your capcity to learn from the "flood and fire," and "years of drought and spacious abundance" is remarkable and special. It seems quite clear that your learning along the way graciously and lovingly impacts others, as well. The term "spacious abundance" is a gift. The beginnig of the poem where you cast yourself as a tree is wonderful. The magical and mystical stories embedded in those rings and lines of ours.
What a gorgeous metaphor you've woven here, A. I love the idea of "honest marks of everything that has ever touched me" being etched into flesh and soul. I wrote my poem before reading yours, and I find it an interesting synchronicity that we were both inspired by trees and their rings.
So beautiful, A -- thank you. There is such compassion here, for yourself and all of the rest of us who bear our own "honest marks" and manage to still grow. The tree metaphor is perfect and gives the poem such a grounded quality. I love it.
Thank you for this, Lisa! I began the growing older part of my life long ago, and have been fortunate enough to be a good way into it! I love your beauitful poem. It is a song, a beautiful tribute to the next part wrapped in the beauty of nature. I finf that quite soothing and comforting. For my part, you are a shining mirror in the world!
The late Kate Wolf wrote a wonderful song about the second half, called "Across the Great Divide" and here is a link to it sung by another great songwriter, Nanci Griffith, who sadly too has passed on. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnzl-54YyKU
Thank you always for your inspiration. Safe journey home, friend.
I love this poem, Lisa. I, too, am "taken by the quiet return," and I can't stop reading "wall of water paper thin trembles singing back to sea, every wrinkle reflecting light, " which I can picture so vividly. I love this beautiful perspective on aging. Thank you.
(a crusty haiku from a cranky crab)
chance things start their stop.
and that dang check engine lite
keeps winking at me.
I’m delighted by the phrase “start their stop.”
I'm intuitively sensing a future collection of crusty haikus from a cranky crab. So relatable and making light of winking check engine lights seems the only sane option
Chuck, you're a master of conveying a helluva lot with few words. I love the check engine light *winking* at you, vs. something more aggressive like glaring or blaring. There's a playful ominousness there...
I love this, Chuck. It says so much with so little, and I think it illustrates especially well how sometimes aging can be frustrating, one problem after another, however big or small. But I feel a sense of humour in this as well, and a sort of resigned pragmatism.
Thanks.
ya gotta laff.
Chuck your words never fail to make me smile!!
😊
I like this Chuck! My vehicle tire air pressure monitor lights keep malfunctioning, or perhaps it is a signal ! May your oil tank continue to be full! 🙏🏻
I lost my dad four years ago on February 22. I have found myself wondering what he would have been like had he been given the opportunity to grow old. He was so fiercely independent I’m almost grateful at times that he did not have to suffer the physical decline of aging.
On Not Aging
Sixty nine years had taken their toll,
In a dozen perceptible ways.
The bum knee that plagued you for years had grown worse.
The black curly hair grown thinner and gray.
Would old age have been gentle?
Its effects have been kind?
A gradual fading
Of body and mind?
Or would there have been ailments
And battles to fight?
Crippling your spirit
And dimming your light?
I suppose it’s a blessing
You had so little time
Six weeks not six months
Or six years of decline.
If aging’s a privilege,
Then so too was your death.
As you passed from this world
With your dignity left.
Karri Temple Brackett
02/07/24
I’m really taken by the way you used rhyme to create a kind, thoughtful, whimsical tone - even with the obvious grief woven through. What a beautiful tribute to your dad and what a loving way to think about your experience of losing him.
Thank you Lisa. I always worry about “rhyming virus” as a professor I had used to warn about. Given time I might make some edits so some of the rhymes didn’t feel as forced.
Karri, I'm sorry for the loss of your dad, and, at the same time, I empathize with your feeling that it was also a gift in the sense that he didn't have to slowly lose his grip on dignity and you not having to witness the indignity of him losing his independence. It was a long, slow goodbye with my parents, very painful to watch them unravel and disappear in plain sight. Also, your skillful rhyming delighted me :)
I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I know that the concept of a good death is controversial and daddy did suffer for those weeks. But in the end he was at peace.
Beautiful tribute to your dad Karri. I appreciate the many questions here in this poem. And isn't that what aging is, we just don't know how it will go. How death will be and when it will arrive.
This is such an open-minded and open-hearted way to look at your dad's early passing. There is so much love for him here. Great use of rhyme, too -- it lends extra power, especially in the last few lines.
a privilege.
Your dad sounds a lot like mine - I have often wondered if aging will treat him kindly, and I do worry that it won't. This is a really moving poem, Karri. I'm glad there has been some peace for you in this loss.
It has hit hard on occasions such as my daughters wedding (she carried a tiny vial of his ashes in her bouquet) but I always come back to the fact that’s he went out on pretty much his terms. Although I honestly always thought it would be a motorcycle accident. He rode up to the end.
Yes, I'm sure that big moments like that have their own grief amongst the joy. That's a beautiful way for her to honour him.
I imagine my dad will be in the woods and out fishing until the end, if he can possibly manage it.
This is a sweet and lovely poem Karri. What a beautiful insight to view aging through the life of another beloved. I love your witness to the blessing of a death that is quicker rather than lingering, the way that a long ending journey can take its toll on our hearts and spirits even as it also can offer gifts and blessings. A group of friends and colleagues testified yesterday in our N.H. legislature on a medical aid in dying bill, all of us in our families and many of us in our work having watched and been a part of so much pain and suffering in an ending journey. Complicated journeys of the heart.
I am moved by the knowledge that your dad had you for his 69 years on this earth and in this life. The ending of your poem brought tears to me, “if’s aging a privilege, then so too was your death. As you passed from this world, with your dignity left.” Thank you for sharing a bit of your dad with us. 🙏🏻❤️
Although I wasn’t there for the actual moment spending that time in the hospital with him was truly a sacred time. Even if we rarely spoke.
That was truly a sacred time. And your love transcends any words, spoken and unspoken.
What a beautiful poem, sis! Like A, I'm really taken with "wall of water paper thin / trembles singing / back to sea" -- and with this different way of looking at waves. I've always thought of the "second half" of waves as the first half, the sucking potential making way for the big crash -- but it's so lovely to shift my view and think of the second half as a well-deserved retreat, a benediction of sorts.
I must have had a mind-meld with Larry because my poem today is in honor of another folk great who is fortunately still among us, Joni Mitchell. I was really moved by Joni's performance of "Both Sides, Now" at the Grammys the other day, and this is what came of it. [Edited after the epiphany I shared with Larry, lol.]
.
Joni at the Grammys
.
She was 23 and already
had her arms wrapped around
the world, its heart talking
straight into hers, pulsing her
forward into unspent decades,
letting her draw their wisdom
early, like an IRA. She sang
about shapeshifting frames
for viewing life, and
about how, for all the
pretty pictures, nothing
could truly be known.
.
That girl’s “both sides, now”
are mine at 48, yours at
whatever age you are,
ours. And they are still hers,
at 80.
.
Stuck for years on Blue and
Ladies of the Canyon, I hadn’t
trained my ear to her new voice.
I cried when I heard it
and saw her. Not from sadness,
but from the evening’s
tender harvest: Joni husking
the words of her youth,
savoring each lived syllable,
still so wise in
not knowing.
Rebekah this is lovely. Joni is showing us how to do this thing called aging.
And you said it so perfectly, "Not from sadness, but from the evening’s tender harvest: Joni husking the words of her youth, savoring each lived syllable, still so wise in not knowing."
A beautiful ode to Joni, Rebekah! The imagery of the world's heart talking straight into hers, and Joni essentially channeling the world's heart as it pulses her forward with prescient wisdom is really so gorgeous. "Both Sides Now" was an oft-played song on our turntable when I was a child, so this is bringing back memories for me.
we are stardust.....
Ooooh that's another of my favorites, Chuck! She is a genius.
Rebekah, you are so amazing! Today you are my shero for your poem and your beautiful connection to one of my favorite artists, Joni Mitchell. I love your poem and loved seeing Joni Mitchell at the Grammy's! At 80 she was finally able and ready to sing in a forum she once avoided. What a gift for us all. I love the song "Both Sides Now," and when I was a teenager in the sixties, the lines "Now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads and say that I've changed..." was a life raft for me as my consciouisness and inner spirit was changing. This remakarble version of this song by Seal shared for Joni's 75th birthday is a breathtaking rendition of the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3J2nqeDf2g
As for your poem, it is as beautiful as Seal's cover of this splendid song. I hope you share it with Joni Mitchell. It can be a joy when an elder hears and feels how they have beautifully impacted others. I am grateful for you.
Thank you, Larry! I've been thinking of Joni almost nonstop since I watched her Grammy performance, and like you, have been checking out all the covers I can find (and even attempting to play/sing it myself). I appreciate the link to Seal's cover -- I'll check it out.
I think my poem might not be finished. It occurred to me that the main point of "Both Sides Now" is about the not-knowing in life -- and how poignant it is that 80-year-old, eternally wise Joni still doesn't claim to know all about clouds, love, or life. I'm going to try to craft another line or two at the end to honor that if I can. Ooooh, sending the poem to Joni sounds scary! But I will give that some thought.
I like this Rebekah! Are our poems and songs ever really finished? I look forward to hearing your cover of "Both Sides Now."
Hey Larry, check your Facebook Messenger app (assuming you use that). I found you there and sent you my "cover."
I will for sure!
I love this! Admittedly, I'm not very familiar with Joni Mitchell, but I feel like so often we're not able to see the artists we admire growing and creating as they age - "savoring each lived syllable," as you so beautifully put it - and this feels like a gift.
Truly a gift!
I like the edit, Rebekah!
Wonderful! I am ashamed to admit I didn’t know much Joni Mitchell music until I heard a few of her songs in movies. Your words are a lovely tribute.
This is a very sweet poem - I love that you have focused your attention on the humble, receding wave as it "trembles singing back to sea." Such a good reminder that there is beauty in the humble, in the understated, in the oft-overlooked.
Here is what came out of me and my pen as I contemplated age and aging...
Age, simply calculated
from ground zero +1 (per year)
grows exponentially more complicated
in what seems - at once -
no time flat and far too long.
Death and reincarnation
in a single afternoon, the sum
of 1 court order + 1 crimp of seal.
If I were a tree, you would
inside of me see
54 rings.
But the original version of me,
which wasn’t an original at all,
accumulated just 46 of those.
This leaves the me you now see
at a mere eight.
The body, it tries like hell
to navigate, and the psyche
its utmost to compensate for
this simple subtraction.
But
menopause + puberty simultaneously = chaos theory.
And there really are no
simple operations to perform,
mathematical or otherwise.
And there really are no do-overs,
hypothetical or otherwise.
No boy scout badges,
no prom day tux rentals,
no fatherhood.
So the whole apparatus
throws down its pencil and
dances the two-step
of disbelief and grief
but in the calculus of the divine,
most days still add up
to full gratitude.
Yet when they don’t,
I do wish I were a tree,
with its 54 tidy rings
of continuity + simplicity.
Thank you for taking us so deeply into your experience, Keith, with all its complexity and interweaving of birth and death, loss and renewal. This is so beautiful and helped my mind and heart stretch to hold a little more.
Thanks, Lisa. That means a lot, since I already perceived your heart and mind to be quite expansive <3
Despite all the math, this has a simple vulnerability that is so moving to me -- the grief in not having gotten to do life's early milestones in the correct body, the wish for a simpler story. The idea of death and reincarnation through court order is so powerful, as well as the idea of two lives lived back to back. Thank you for sharing this with us, Keith.
Thanks, Rebekah...writing this helped me to sit with some of the grief I normally sweep aside.
This is absolutely beautiful Keith. It feels so gut wrenching and honest, a clear eyed view of reality and the wonder of mystery; the challenge and liminality of being in between, exacerbated by societies, community, beloveds, and our own uncertainty. And truly the witness to a deep courage runs through your poem. I love the comparison and contrast to a tree, the difference in the viewing of age, and superb lines like: "death and reincarnation in a single afternoon...' so magnificient. An open heart of peace and grace to you.
Larry, thank you for your open, peaceful heart and your always-generous and thoughtful comments. I deeply appreciate all of it <3
You deserve all of it, Keith. 😅
No do overs
What a gut wrenching and honest reflection. Thank you for sharing your experience with us so that we can more better appreciate all you have been through
So true, this linear counting means nothing yet it is the physicality of aging. And there is nothing tidy and simple about this messy thing called life!
Keith, this is so beautiful. I love that we were on the same wavelength with the tree rings, and how you used them to illustrate this complicated before and after, this gratitude and grief, and also the very human experience and feelings with the mathematical, the calculated, the court-ordered. It's an incredible juxtaposition.
Thank you for your perceptive and insightful reflections, A. Yes, I was struck by how the tree rings arose for both of us, then were expressed in very distinct ways. We live in such a linear culture, on that prioritizes the quantifiable over the qualitative, which makes for an incredible juxtaposition with our emotional experiences!
Rebekah's poem has me listening to various renditions of Both Sides Now--what a nice treat. Thank you Rebekah. This poem came from the listening.
Meadows
We stumbled into the open meadow,
spacious expanse of refuge and safe harbor,
battered from the hike from hell that pinched and plowed
our inner and outer spirits,
our tired and worn bodies,
stripped of any denial as to what we have become:
Elders, aka old people.
In one quiet moment,
between anxious breaths of release,
we reached for each other’s hands.
Unsure of what comes after this gleaming meadow,
a rainbow in the western sky appears.
Awkwardly moving into a future unknown
I say a silent prayer from heart,
grateful for the sacred music
of love,
always waiting beyond the meadow.
What a beautiful love poem! You manage to hold so much here - all the hiking and feeling pinched and plowed, the reaching for each other, your shared hope, and also the uncertainty that still (always) weaves its way through life. ❤️
Thank you LIsa! We have been on so many beautiful walks, hikes, backpacking trips, paddles, skis and bike journeys together. One of the somber realities is that on some of them we know it will be our last of a particular type, and that our bodies won't always go where our memories, minds and hearts would like. I trust you made it home safely and were welcomed roundly by your beloveds!
This was so moving, Larry. The idea of you and your love reaching for each other's hands to walk prayerfully into an unknown future framed by a rainbow. Such a soft, sweet scene. Thanks for sharing. And thanks to you & @Rebekah Jensen, I'm now listening to Joni sing "Both Sides Now" at various points in her career.
Thank you Keith! I am glad you are listening to Joni do "Both Sides Now" in various ways and times. There is an orchestral version she does which is pretty amazing.
I'm listening to it right now...really beautiful
I love the idea of you & your special person arriving together in this gleaming meadow of life, not knowing what's next, but trusting in love and each other and walking toward the rainbow. Beautiful, Larry!
Thank you Rebekah! It was a grueling hike through rain, mud, over rocks and down trees. True love!
How sweet and you have again moved me to tears. If you will indulge me in alluding to my dad again he and my mom had been married for 49 years when he passed and during g that time they traveled from one side of the country to another. And he got sick so quickly they never knew when the last time and trip arrived.
Oh Karri, I hear you and the pain and mystery of realizing in retrospect that a trip was the last one taken together. My mom and Dad were married for 52 years, and my older brother died right after their 50th anniversary and my mom passed right after their 52nd anniversary. Death can be a stark reminder of the preciousness of each moment. May you keep telling stories, writing poems, honoring legacies and holding your dad and beloveds so closely in your heart. Thank you for sharing so honestly and lovingly with us.
I am very touched by this poem Larry. This part here... "In one quiet moment, between anxious breaths of release, we reached for each other’s hands." I feel this unsaid understanding and acceptance that happens as two people move through life together. So much is experienced and shared through the years. All expressed in the simplicity of that touch of a hand.
Thank you Julie. It strikes me that so much of love and loving relationships are in the small and simple gestures, actions and intentions. Thank you for always reading with a loving heart.
This is such a beautiful picture of love and trust between the two of you and also with life and the universe. I love the image of you walking hopefully, hand in hand, into the unknown.
Thank you A. We work so hard along the way, to be in a loving space even when we are not physically, emotionally or spirituality connected. Gosh, that is a challenge! A romantic dreamer like me can be particularly hard to journey with, even when love is the foundation. Thank you for reading with such a beautiful heart.
Learning to love well is certainly a life's work.
Oh -- and also, Larry, have you seen the movie Coda? It wins for the version of "Both Sides Now" that makes me cry the hardest every time. Also, it is just an incredible movie -- highly recommended by me!
Thank you Rebekah! I have not seen it but will be sure to do so now!
Lisa I love, love your poem. So poignant, beautiful. Even the ocean waves become gentler and quieter as life slows down. And I agree there is so much focus in our culture on being young! It is like aging is pathologized. Anyways, here is my poem...
.
In this wintertime of life,
come the echoes of ebbing and waning.
Even the outer season of unhurried coldness
a piercing hand of frost takes hold in my bones.
I feel more battle worn and weathered.
.
Landmarks and milestones
transform into wrinkles on my face.
Greying hairs blending into the overcast
skies of this darker blustering time.
Hibernation shows slow methodical movements.
.
And springtime is gradually approaching,
this elderly maiden within is awakening.
A more leisurely dance around the maypole awaits
as burgeoning shoots arise to the occasion.
Life can be refreshed, even for an old crone like me.
“Elderly maiden” - I love this image and the idea of what her maypole dance might be! What a beautiful poem, Julie.
Your words painted a picture in my minds eye! I like the idea of so many elderly maidens having a dance around that maypole!!
This was a fun dance between the natural world and the natural process of aging :)
Such a beautiful dance of inner and outer seasons here -- winter clutching more tightly than it used to, gray hair "blending into the overcast skies," and how the "elderly maiden" is awakening to spring. I love the hopeful finish, as well as the winking sign-off as the old crone.
Yep, exactly the winking sign-off!
Julie, I love how you remind us here that, even as we approach the end of our lives (our ultimate winter) there is still the possibility of an internal and/or external spring. The cycle never really stops for any of us.
Yes!
This is a resounding song of beauty to the dance of age on our journeys, Julie. I love the ryhthmic and lyrical cadence of your words, and how they beautifully connect to each other, line by line and word by word. Each line is superb, and I love these: "In this wintertime of life, come the echoes of ebbing and waning. Even the outer season of unhurried coldness a piercing hand of frost takes hold in my bones. I feel more battle worn and weathered." My heart and head are saying "Yes" to these wisdom lines. "And Landmarks and milestones transform into wrinkles on my face. Greying hairs blending into the overcast skies of this darker blustering time. Hibernation shows slow methodical movements."
These are lines of wonder and wisdom. Seeing my wrinkles and age spots as landmarks and milestones opens a whole new perspective for me. Thank you for the precious gift of your poem, Julie!
Thanks Larry, I so appreciate how you made my poem come more alive. Thank you.
If you were to cut me open,
a cross-section of body and soul,
you would find in my end grain
all the evidence of my growth
in varied rings, reaching outward
from my center, a contrast
of dark and light.
You would find years of drought,
and years of spacious abundance.
You would find scars that run
far deeper than what can be seen
from the outside.
I have lived through flood and fire,
and there are honest marks of
everything that has ever
touched me.
And through it all,
I grew.
This is stunning, A!
This is absolutely beauitful, A. What a journey you are living. Your capcity to learn from the "flood and fire," and "years of drought and spacious abundance" is remarkable and special. It seems quite clear that your learning along the way graciously and lovingly impacts others, as well. The term "spacious abundance" is a gift. The beginnig of the poem where you cast yourself as a tree is wonderful. The magical and mystical stories embedded in those rings and lines of ours.
Thank you A.! You are a beloved soulful spirit.
Thank you for being endlessly kind, Larry.
You are a kindness magnet!!!
Damn. Just. Damn. Breathtaking words and imagery.
I feel like getting a swear word is high praise, haha. Thank you, Karri!
BEAUTIFUL!!! I love this! Like the rings of a tree and layers in the earth of geological time. Yes it all shows there. A life lived!
Thank you, Julie!
What a gorgeous metaphor you've woven here, A. I love the idea of "honest marks of everything that has ever touched me" being etched into flesh and soul. I wrote my poem before reading yours, and I find it an interesting synchronicity that we were both inspired by trees and their rings.
This feels very serendipitous. It made me smile to see the similarities and differences in our poems.
So beautiful, A -- thank you. There is such compassion here, for yourself and all of the rest of us who bear our own "honest marks" and manage to still grow. The tree metaphor is perfect and gives the poem such a grounded quality. I love it.
Thank you, Rebekah!
Thank you for this, Lisa! I began the growing older part of my life long ago, and have been fortunate enough to be a good way into it! I love your beauitful poem. It is a song, a beautiful tribute to the next part wrapped in the beauty of nature. I finf that quite soothing and comforting. For my part, you are a shining mirror in the world!
The late Kate Wolf wrote a wonderful song about the second half, called "Across the Great Divide" and here is a link to it sung by another great songwriter, Nanci Griffith, who sadly too has passed on. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnzl-54YyKU
Thank you always for your inspiration. Safe journey home, friend.
Your poem paints such a lovely picture Lisa and I can feel the peace of the water. I will do some thinking on this prompt today.
I love this poem, Lisa. I, too, am "taken by the quiet return," and I can't stop reading "wall of water paper thin trembles singing back to sea, every wrinkle reflecting light, " which I can picture so vividly. I love this beautiful perspective on aging. Thank you.