My brother and I, reminiscing,
Realized we’ve
an impossible task,
For as we’ve
gotten older, with facts that we lack,
There is
nobody left we can ask…
Like the age
that our grandparents lived to
Or the
circumstance when each one passed.
We each had
our thoughts but they didn’t line up,
From the mem’ries
we both have amassed.
There are
records and photos and treasures
Which attest
to important events,
But the
questions which no one can answer
Will forever
be kept in suspense.
It’s a little bit warmer,
Much better
than colder,
For time’s a
transformer
And thus, I
am older.
We’re subject
to weather
Beyond our
controlling
And, lone or
together,
There is no
cajoling
Since Nature
likes toying
With our
expectations
And, though
it’s annoying,
We make
adaptations.
The heaviest
jacket
Is not what
I’m wearing.
This cold,
we can hack it,
But I am
preparing
For temps to
start crashing
Once we
think we’re past it
As Nature,
eyes flashing,
Will once again
blast it.
In a Paul Simon song
Called “Old
Friends,” an exchange
Mentions how
being 70’s
“Terribly
strange.”
When he
wrote those lyrics,
Let me
underscore,
Simon’s age
was, believe it
Or not, 24.
Most folks
in their 20’s
Or decades
way past,
Have no clue
just how long
Their own
vigor may last
Since we,
each of us, age
At a
different pace.
Some may
carry their youth;
Others don’t
hold a trace.
Yet Paul got
one thing right,
For we must
rearrange
Thoughts of “old”
as we age
And it’s
terribly strange.
Watching the Olympics
Does provide
the perfect view
Of athletes
doing all the things
You couldn’t
ever do.
A triple
axel or a quad,
A backflip
or a grab
On skis or
skates or snowboards,
No one with
an ounce of flab.
Whether
skeleton or bobsleigh,
Curling,
hockey, Nordic, luge,
Every type
of competition
Highlights
skills not short of huge.
So it’s nice
to eat some popcorn
And relax,
in from the cold,
With the TV
turned to Italy
And races
for the gold.
To marvel at
competitors
And hear
their praises sung
For the
feats beyond your talents,
Even back
when you were young.
My grandson loves being on stage
And with
characters he does engage.
In his middle
school show
He let
everyone know,
By his
actions, he was of old age.
Old Man
Jenkins* was his latest part
And he
nailed it from right at the start.
With a walker
he moved,
Stooped and
slowly, and proved
Comic
instincts will set him apart.
For he
stayed very true to his role,
Which, of
course, is an actor’s real goal.
Though he
wasn’t the lead
I think he
did succeed
To win
praise in the spotlight he stole.
*from “Sponge
Bob, the Musical”
I haven’t seen “Melania” -
To do so, I’ve no plans,
For I am not, in any shape
Or form, one of her fans.
It’s just another instance of
A move that’s gauche and crass,
To rub into our faces
All the bad that’s come to pass.
Our country ruled by tyrants,
Lowlifes bringing fear and strife
And now 40 million dollars
Spent to showcase one such wife.
Just to think of all that money
And the homes that it could build
Wasted on each White House lily,
Which just reprobates would gild.
When I checked “Rotten Tomatoes,”
Which rates many movie picks,
I was not surprised to see it rated
With a lowly 6.
Called self-serving and pathetic,
Boring, dull and bad and bland,
Critics hated it but not her fans,
Who grovel on command.
There are people who measure
And those
who do not;
People who test
drive
Or give it a
shot.
People who
research
And those
who just act;
Those with
rough guesses
Opposed to
exact.
Some follow
instructions
Right down
to a T,
While others
will wing it
(And that
includes me).
I don’t have
the patience
To make
things ideal.
If something’s not perfect,
It’s not a big deal.
I like that
philosophy
Most of the
time,
But I have
exceptions
When it
comes to rhyme!
