Category Archives: Poetry

astounding

Birth to adulthood, a time for individuating, separating early to late elderhood, a time for togethering and yet day is clutching, midnight is also out and opening to the macro astounding :- Doug.

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Life softens

Life softens us death more so :- Doug.

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Clear eyed

Clear eyed How do we get there? We work at it Aunt Bee Andy himself avuncular Longer view, equable Perhaps we don’t turn the world We can be its safekeepers Grumps can gritch We can look for Clear eyed :- … Continue reading

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Menu for the ages of aging:

Menu of the ages of aging: Crabby → Crappy Playing → A time to not remember Eldering → Grace Which are you choosing? :- Doug.

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Beings capable

As elders, we are beings capable of the threshold beyond generation beyond our own ego beyond our own planet-time :- Doug.

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We may be here for the sole purpose

We may be here for the sole purpose —the soul purpose— of helping one another through grief This may be why tears bring us closer than anything else weaving, weaving despair, outrage, vulnerability, lostness into souls, weaving :- Doug.

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Has a back side, the waterfall

Has a back side, the waterfall perhaps more beautiful still, shadows, sinfonia :- Doug.

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We are the step between

We are the step between where we have been and what we might be :- Doug.

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What can possibly go better?

What can possibly go better if we combine eldering and poetic imagination? :- Doug.

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Poetic imagination

Elders partake of poetic imagination. :- Doug.

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To be sharp to the end

Not everyone gets Alzheimer’s To be sharp to the end is likely To elders belongs a joy available to most :- Doug.

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a step further

All an elder’s got to work with Is what’s a step further Than wits :- Doug.

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An elder’s poetry

An elder’s poetry is complete if never done :- Doug.

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first snows

This first snow like all first snows, returning, sticking enspirited me :- Doug.

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Poetry is a way

Poetry is a way of not facing in order to face :- Doug.

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stories work

We tell ourselves stories To chase away our fear of the dark Because fear is turned imagination We’re afraid of the light too Stories work there :- Doug.

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compost heap poet

Interesting. The roots of “poet” are making, creating, composing, piling up, building, heaping up, piling up. So there is a sense akin to the compost heap, and reminds me that I sometimes start a poem by making a list, or … Continue reading

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