I.
At 76,
I
am
growing
younger.
For what is youth,
but curiosity of the mind,
where everything is new
and begging to be explored.
It is a world filled with possibility and dreams,
that dares us
to try the unexpected.
A world
that is opened by optimism,
where passion fuels purpose,
and impatience pushes progress.
Youth
is not when,
but where:
a place in time
we inhabit,
and out of whose window,
we see aspirations and accomplishments
yet to be fulfilled.
And like an exciting retreat,
youth is a destination we can still visit,
if we allow ourselves
the keys.
II.
At 75,
I
am still alive!
And even though
I creak and crack
and groan and sway
as I get up to start the day,
and need to lubricate my joints
just to hobble down the hall
or use the wall
so I don’t tumble on my face and fall,
don’t mistake me
for one whose mind is slow,
whose spirit’s frail,
or one who’s lost the breeze
behind his sail.
I am not one
to be herded into the grey ghettos
of discount days, senior’s ways
or retirement communities.
The last thing I want is to spend my time
soaking up the sun,
drinking endless rounds
while listening to the sounds
of tongues grumbling and griping
about the younger generation.
I am not one
to sit on the sidelines
and complain
how the game is being run—
I still have a part to play
and can contribute something to the day.
I am curious about the world
and long to learn,
to master something new,
and bring another meaning into view.
And even though
I move a little slow,
don’t you dare
try to put me on a floe,
to live out my golden years
waiting for the ice to melt.
I will not go.
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Really enjoyed Birthday Poems.
No ice flow for me…never never never.
I liked Newfoundland, but there’s a limit as to far I will go on the iceberg floe
How far to go that is
Another poem that strikes a chord. There is indeed too much life to live (even at a slower pace) for one to sit on an ice floe. Thank you.
We shared your poem Standing in Solidarity with numerous friends.