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Friday, October 14, 2011

Aging is not for Cowards - a poem from a non-poet


My God, my God
What have I not done,
Not seen my own city,
not been downtown.

I'm in my home and look across --
lights sparkling on the hill --
far away from us.

I've not moved around our city much,
not seen the folk that are poor or are lost,
"sit down" they say, "enjoy your old age,"
but today I know, sitting back is a cage.

The brain must be challenged -- must conquer fear,
our inside must laugh,
our eyes lose a tear.

Terror -- the inner kind --
is n'er far away;
we have to feel it --
lest our humanity decay.

Age is not for cowards,
though cowards we are --
all the same, walk on,
leave parked your car.

Feel the nerves quiver
and -- when you think -- you'll break,
have a big laugh for laughter's sake.


Here is a comment from Marlis:

(Karla) I beg to differ with ‘sitting back is a cage.’

Somehow that idea seems to be central to your poem. Now, think, are there not all kinds of cages? - some locked from the outside, others locked from the inside?

The first are truly troublesome, but the latter are of our own creation. If I see a cage in your life at all, it has got to be academia and your specialization in it.

Don’t you believe that the brain can be challenged outside of that cage?

Unlock that cage (it’s an inside lock) and see your own city, go downtown, see the folk that are poor and lost, feel inner terror if it arises, let your nerves quiver, let your inside laugh, let your eyes lose a tear --- and remember, sitting back allows one to contemplate experiences and their meaning in our lives.

And if you’ve read this far, have a good laugh for laughter’s sake.

Luv ya,

Marlis

Karla to Marlis:

You are so right. It's academia; It's my latest concern with the past; and the cage is locked from the inside. But, I seem to be unable to find the key to unlock it from the inside until I have answers to various things. Then -- who knows -- the door could also be unlocked from the outside.

You raised a real puzzle
my blood pressure rose,
my life is a hassle,
my thoughts oft morose.

There is a way out
if I could but see,
human good will sprout,
like blossoms on a tree.