Tag Archives: aging

Rusted

Rusted–tired as an aging nail

Pitted and weak on the brink of fail

Facade held up against weathers rage

Protecting from rain, wind and hail

.

Years they’ve beat and worn it down

‘Til colors fade from white to brown

Chipped and peeling under elements abuse

No longer fitting in societies town

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A misfit amongst establishments fine

Red badge it wears as a sign

What once it was it is no longer

Spoiled and soured with passing time

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Forgotten to history out of sight

Grandeur lost to economies plight

Its majesty tarnished attic bound

Fading like the sun into the night

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Rebuilding the old into the new

It happens only to the chosen few

The rest are left to crumble to dust

Like southward migration away they flew

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Forgotten like elders cherished past

Now left alone to live their last

In sterile homes cold and dark

The time they have left goes by so fast

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All traces gone they are no more

For the final time we bolt the door

What once was loved is left to rot

Upon this worlds killing floor

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Curmudgeonly

Curmudgeonly, that is me I fear

I swore I would not become my parents loud and clear

I would not criticize the music I hear

Clothes, the hair, nor all they hold dear

~

But I lied or failed does it really matter much

I don’t understand rap, hip hop, electronic dance and such

Pants low with boxers high held up by belt buckle clutch

Publicly grabbing crotch with not the gentlest of touch

~

More critical of the guys than the girls I have found

Cars with whiny mufflers, where’s the glass-pack rumbling sound

Trucks that can’t pick-up cause they’re lowered to the ground

I guess its finally happened what goes around comes around

~

I’m trying my best to break out of this mold

Being more accepting as I so adamantly told

Judging by appearance is a form of profiling bold

Isn’t it bizarre how we transform as we grow old

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: These are just a few observations about myself that honestly, I find embarrassing since I promised myself from an early age that I would not succumb to this type of thinking, but to one degree or another I have.  I am working hard to change my mindset so we will have to see where that goes, but I’m sure that at least some of you can relate.

As We Near Our End (Tanka)

As we near our end

Do we find any comfort

Letting life go dark

Heaven awaits its next Saint

May you pass in peaceful sleep

~

~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~

 

Looking Back

Looking back over rounded shoulders,

At friends who’ve long passed;

He can see them like yesterday,

So much like him today.

“Maybe I don’t want to go forward alone”, he thought,

His blanket of bronze and gold

Offering little warmth to his heart grown cold.

His parched lips quiver under mossy beard,

Longing for a sip of cool mountain water.

What lies ahead scares him

Standing at rivers edge.

In his youth no apprehension would he have shown,

His fearlessness bringing out the best in him,

But no longer is he fearless, no longer is he emulous.

Instead he is resigned to spend his life’s remainder…

Waving goodbye to what was

And what might have been.

 .

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

(Words at the Weekend – 17-18 August 2013 prompts)

http://boipoet.wordpress.com/2013/08/17/words-at-the-weekend-17-18-august-2013/

Sentimentality And Longing

Sentimentality and longing–drowning

In a sea of what was.

Knowing that one can never go back

To childhood,

To before grandma died,

Before the loss of grandpa,

Before any of the idiotic decisions we make

During the folly of our youth and beyond.

The impossibility of this is obvious;

Time only marches forward,

Steady and resolute in its determination.

Leaving us, if we choose to stay,

in the dust and cobwebs of our past.

One must ask, “To what end?”

To be passed…

By opportunities for love,

The love of family,

All the good that life has to offer.

A life of misery,

A life of hoping for what was,

What can never be,

This is the fate of so many.

Living in sorrow, void of hope,

Void of happiness,

Drowning–in sentimentality and longing.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

Outside

Outside–

You see a face,

Weathered, showing the wear of time,

Wrinkles carved like dry rivers

Affixing character to a once youthful landscape.

~

Soft skin hands, wipe the sweat from the brow,

Long since retired from hard work,

Thin and gnarled,

They are more bone than flesh,

Still their past loveliness remains.

~

Hunched, from the years

And back breaking work

It’s a struggle just to stand up,

Yet there is nary a complaint uttered

Thankful just to have lived.

~

“Come with me”, said in whispered tone,

Taking a frail trembling arm in compliance,

Photographs yellowed, faded show glorious youth,

Beauty, fifty years past gleams brightly in your eyes

Though the blue is less brilliant.

~

“This was me”, as if unrecognizable

Pointing with an arthritic finger

Leading to story upon story.

“You see a face…”, spoken with a smile,

“But I am so much more…”

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Footsteps

Footsteps travel on as far as the eye can see

Side-by-side in lockstep just as straight as straight could be

I followed for a time to see where they would go

After a while only one set remained in the sand it did show

I stopped in amazement as they up and disappeared

What must have happened, something tragic I feared

Turning in circles no steps did depart

They just seemed to stop never returning whence they start

The second set went on at a steady measured pace

Never picking up stride, never seeming to race

I followed for a time the solitary set of prints

Nothing about their direction offered any hints

Where they might be going I hadn’t had a clue

Walking straight and narrow they never veered from true

Feet tired and achy the end it seemed in sight

Time had passed so quickly as day gave in to night

Before the light had faded I saw a chapel up ahead

A tiny cemetery, some benches and a shed

Seated on the bench, a solitary elderly man

With a bouquet of red roses held tightly in his hand

Clearing my throat so not to startle or to scare

I took a seat on his bench and struggled not to stare

Mustering up the courage I asked if he was alone

He responded, no he wasn’t in the gentlest of tones

Looking round and round there was no one else in sight

The story that he told turned me a paler shade of white

He told me that he took this stroll nearly every day

Just he and his loving wife would walk, hold hands and pray

With a smile he continued in a soft and mild tone

That part way through their walk she couldn’t manage alone

He’d pick her up and carry her the rest of their way

Her arms around his neck begging him to stay

Home is where he’d take her and lay her down to rest

Pointing to a tiny grave, he frowned, “I know its not the best”

But I promised her I’d be with her each and every day

We’d been together 60 years I knew no other way

Tonight I told her I’d be home soon never again to leave

The pain was getting far too hard as each evening alone he’d grieve

Patting my hand with trembling legs, hunched over he did stand

Shuffling over to his darling’s grave he placed the roses from his hand

I sat and watched as he walked away ‘til he’d wandered out of sight

Never again did I see the man who endeared me on that night

He’d kept the promise never to leave that he made to his love

His tiny grave, right next to hers, they’re together up above.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

White Noise

Waking to the rhythmic white noise

Television’s twinkling salt and pepper blur

Foil covered rabbit ears like periscopes

Reflect his fractured image…almost blinding

It hurts to sit up straight

Back hunched from decades of labor

Crumbs drop like snow from his cardigan

“What did I eat?”, he mumbles on deaf ears

As gnarled and twisted hands

Brush his remnants to the floor

Feed for roaches and rats that call this home

Day and time are of little concern

What does it matter.

Tormented knees crack

Perched unsteadily beneath him

All he can do is shuffle holding on for balance

The refrigerator fights back as he opens it

The dim light only blackens the mouldy fresco

Decorating the walls and shelves.

Spoiled milk curls the nose

“Been around awhile.” he whispered

Paying it no more mind

Warm beer will have to do

The crack of the tab and the “pusssssh”

Join the metronomic shuffle of his stocking feet

Moaning, he sits

Joints aching from medicine he can’t afford

Alcohol will have to do

Each sip provides little relief

Tired of living his eyes grow heavy

Sleep returns…to the rhythmic white noise

And the televisions salt and pepper blur

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Silly Boys and Girls

Silly boys, they laugh and they giggle,

Silly girls in their skirts they do wiggle.

The girls laugh and point at the giggling boys,

As they make funny noises playing with their toys.

The girls turn away when they see the boys gawk,

The boys chase the girls with the speed of a hawk.

The boys yell and taunt as the girls run away,

The girls round the schoolyard away from them they stay.

Huffing and puffing the boys give up chase,

The girls in their stocking feet ran away with the race.

The boys and the girls in playgrounds and yards,

Laughing and singing, life was not hard.

This innocence squandered to the aging of youth,

Maybe in children we adults can find our lost truth.

Wouldn’t this be such wonderful thing,

Removing from stress, it’s life zapping sting.

There’s much we can learn from our children at play,

Like how to have fun each and every day.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Calls Go Unanswered – A Tanka

Image Credit: telegraph.co.uk

Image Credit: telegraph.co.uk

Calls go unanswered

Are you not at all concerned

Like ships lost at sea

When late to arrive at port

We send out a search party

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~