Anatomy of Aging



I’m old enough now to rust.
Mother, still here, grayer, still gives me things
at ten she bestowed. Gout attacks me
whispering, when I’m sleeping. I think
of my father, still here, still giving
advice, he, wiser than I was, wiser than I am.
At night the dark frightens, its fingers poking
me into awakening; this will never change. I sleep
alone; this may never change: if I marry,
she will say I’m still young, give me things
I never received at 10, visit me in a whispered
language, shape me into realizing she is here
and never fear the dark or its nosy fingers.


Anatomy of Looking Out the Window



Cars are wrestling, honking, childish. Autumn,
its usual orange and yellow, signifying next season’s
becoming white. Rocking in the chair given from my mother,
I’m imitating seasons’ movements. Clouds from the east
indicate wetness entering in divided deliveries. Main
Street houses two types of people: coming and going:
found and lost. Dusk’s unalterable gray
blankets my town like the quilt atop
my shivering thighs. My eyes turn closed,
ghosts appear. Grandmas, Grandpas, raising me
from across mountains, behind garbage cans,
underneath the earth’s dirt, put there by disease.
Looking out the window, reflections of things
I cannot forget.


Anatomy of Shaving



The face must be washed,
a turning of the back on the unsanitary.
Laid out like resting baby ducks
atop the countertop: razor, cream,
mug, and brush. Polygamy takes place:
the face, narcissist, king waiting to take
his harem: cream to mug to brush to face,
ending in the mirror’s staring reflection.
The razor becomes artist—
each three-inch stride across the neck
and cheeks, takes away, making sculpture
out of marble, man out of beast. The face
must be washed, a closing of the pores takes
place, signifying closure of the act.

Your anatomy reflections of "aging" -- "shaving" -- & "lookin' out the window" -- All have a unique & wonder~FULL point of view -- Which -- Since you've been gone, has been missing! -- :)


(((WELCOME BACK))) -- *smiles*


Stick around, aaiight? -- :)

welcome back...

and again...

again

and again... Peace~

------------------------
Pinwheels and Hula Hoops: my book
http://www.lulu.com/content/132318

http://msmind.blogspot.com

Life is complex
Life is difficult
Life is…
Pick an adjective ©gee

no shit in 06.

I always seem to sense a certain physicality about your poems. The body is often present (in most people's writing), but you find novel ways of using its actions to communicate things.

____________________________________________________

Loose Lips Sink Ships!
*stop by, say hi*
http://shattered-star.blogspot.com

"in faith
we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail
among sacred islands of the mad till death
shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real." --Sylvia Plath

what a blessing to feel your energy prez(huge grin)....believe me when i say u have been missed...

second...this is the one i'm lovin'



Anatomy of Shaving



The face must be washed,
a turning of the back on the unsanitary.
Laid out like resting baby ducks
atop the countertop: razor, cream,
mug, and brush. Polygamy takes place:
the face, narcissist, king waiting to take
his harem: cream to mug to brush to face,
ending in the mirror’s staring reflection.
The razor becomes artist—
each three-inch stride across the neck
and cheeks, takes away, making sculpture
out of marble, man out of beast. The face
must be washed, a closing of the pores takes
place, signifying closure of the act.




guess it's the artist in me....WOW....glad u are still using the gift....love...miss k

i dug the first the most, but i dig it all man, when you write it.

peace.


***********************************

myself is sculptor of
your body’s idiom:
the musician of your wrists;
the poet who is afraid
only to mistranslate
a rhythm in your hair...
-E.E. Cummings

the first

i appreciated the third one the most.

good to see you.


soul.

shameless upping for one of my fave poets

gee

The key is complexity

and when i finally make it back, i'm blessed w/your words...it's been too, TOO long

thank you...

Looking out of the window spoke a thousand words..
first time reading you and thoroughly enjoyed


Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach you. Kahlil Gibran