deepundergroundpoetry.com
Growing Old
These present moments that cannot be dismissed
are now becoming all
the rough beginnings of my latter days
when eyesight fades and letters blur;
when strength begins, like water on the seer,
to leech away;
when memory becomes a series of lacunae
and names that were once ready on my tongue
are strangers, ghosts,
some haunting foreign words astray,
locked up,
so vague and inaccessible to me.
This is the murky edge of older years
when I increasingly forget why I have come
into a room
and stand all puzzled and beguiled in unfamiliarity,
adrift within a space no longer mine,
when I leave water running in the sink
for hours on end
when I no longer feel the need to shave
or buy new clothes
This is the milepost in my span of time
when now I find myself avoiding mirrors as I rise;
the man I see there, when I am brave enough to look,
is surely wearing some disguise.
It is not me, that person there
the one who’s looking back upon myself.
But looking back upon my severed self
is all I ever seem to do within this entrance to my latter days
are now becoming all
the rough beginnings of my latter days
when eyesight fades and letters blur;
when strength begins, like water on the seer,
to leech away;
when memory becomes a series of lacunae
and names that were once ready on my tongue
are strangers, ghosts,
some haunting foreign words astray,
locked up,
so vague and inaccessible to me.
This is the murky edge of older years
when I increasingly forget why I have come
into a room
and stand all puzzled and beguiled in unfamiliarity,
adrift within a space no longer mine,
when I leave water running in the sink
for hours on end
when I no longer feel the need to shave
or buy new clothes
This is the milepost in my span of time
when now I find myself avoiding mirrors as I rise;
the man I see there, when I am brave enough to look,
is surely wearing some disguise.
It is not me, that person there
the one who’s looking back upon myself.
But looking back upon my severed self
is all I ever seem to do within this entrance to my latter days
Published 12th Jul 2021
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
29th Sep 2023 2:31pm
You describe perfectly the essence of decay which all are powerless to resist amid the bewilderment that often accompanies old age. There's an air of resignation seeping betwen your lines which underscores the inevitability of it all. I've often considered that if I was the Creator I would have bestowed each human with an alloted span of years during which everything functioned normally until death.
My own style is very different to your own which makes your request for critique a tad difficult, however here is how I would write your poem.
These present moments
that may not be dismissed
are now becoming all
The rough beginnings of my latter days
when eyesight fades and letters blur
when strength conspires to leech away
When memory's a wall of blanks
and names once ready on my tongue
now ghosts or haunting foreign words astray
The murky edge of older years
locked up so vague and inaccessible to me
when I increasingly forget the reason why I came
then stand all puzzled and beguiled
when I let water run for for hours
adrift in space no longer mine
when I no longer feel the need to shave
or buy new clothes
a milepost in my span of time
When now I wake
avoiding mirrors as I rise
the man I see when brave enough to look
is surely clad in some disguise
Can it be me
this person staring back
though all I seem to do reflects my severed self
in shadow of my past
I do not consider myself a poet rather an entertainer and to be that I must appeal to the audience of today which if it means sacrificing punctuation and grammatical rules I learned in school to convey a message more effectively then so be it.
All the above JMHO of course. If it's a teeny bit helpful I'm happy, if not feel free to ignore.
Best ~ Abra
My own style is very different to your own which makes your request for critique a tad difficult, however here is how I would write your poem.
These present moments
that may not be dismissed
are now becoming all
The rough beginnings of my latter days
when eyesight fades and letters blur
when strength conspires to leech away
When memory's a wall of blanks
and names once ready on my tongue
now ghosts or haunting foreign words astray
The murky edge of older years
locked up so vague and inaccessible to me
when I increasingly forget the reason why I came
then stand all puzzled and beguiled
when I let water run for for hours
adrift in space no longer mine
when I no longer feel the need to shave
or buy new clothes
a milepost in my span of time
When now I wake
avoiding mirrors as I rise
the man I see when brave enough to look
is surely clad in some disguise
Can it be me
this person staring back
though all I seem to do reflects my severed self
in shadow of my past
I do not consider myself a poet rather an entertainer and to be that I must appeal to the audience of today which if it means sacrificing punctuation and grammatical rules I learned in school to convey a message more effectively then so be it.
All the above JMHO of course. If it's a teeny bit helpful I'm happy, if not feel free to ignore.
Best ~ Abra
