The creak of the door
Floorboards moan with every step
Like cracking of joints
Worn out from use over time
Only like new when replaced
~A Tanka ~
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~
Tag Archives: aging
The Road Home
Stove burners blue flame
Dangerous heat
Warming frigid trembling hands
Radiator cold
Rent control all he can afford
Children absent and estranged
He’s invisible in this world
Old friends to the old man gone
Passed before his time
Rotary telephone shows its age
Symbiotically keeping pace
Silent and out-of-date
Thoughts of youth flutter
Flashbacks in his fragmenting mind
Remembrances of companions
Lost loves
And a wife
Still 20 to him,
After a lonely decade adrift
Living because he won’t die
He longs to sleep forever
But it is not God’s will
Not his time
Shuffling to the stove
He warms his trembling hands
To wait for meals-on-wheels
Or the Lord to take him home
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~
Greener Grass
This gravel road,
A path oft traveled,
Lane you strode,
As your life unraveled.
~~
Yon horizon so far distant,
Where a better life must lay,
Hurry on forth right this instant,
For the sun will rise on a brighter day.
~~
On yonder side the grass must surely be greener,
As the old time saying goes,
This too passes as ones life becomes leaner,
With far too little to show.
~~
Much too often we chase exaggerated expectations,
When they seem right within our grasp,
‘Til euphoria fades to urgent consternation,
And your prospects they dwindle and lapse.
~~
Life lessons learned are the hardest its true,
As the scars and bruises do prove,
Out of the rubble and ash will rise a new you,
In spirit and nature behoove.
~~
We greet you back home as a most beloved son,
For you needed to find your own way,
This is only the beginning of the journey you’ve begun,
Welcome home for as long as you will stay.
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~
Fountain of Youth – A Tanka
A fountain of youth
An attempt to hold off age
Its only fools gold
Precious to the uninformed
Worthless when not conceited
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~
Ravaged By Nature
Sullied winds chatter chimes lashed to greyed beams
Warped and splitting with age, appear none too long for this world
With each ring an angel must surely get their wings
As remuneration for a melody so heavenly revealed
~~
Steps crippled, squeal as mice in traps are bound to do
Bowing under the burden of the weary traveler
Fortitude ingrained, revives the weakened conscripts
Whose preparation has made them cordial adversaries
~~
Tawny hinges weathered by sun, beaten by the wind cry in pain
Remorse etched into their hammered finish confesses their age
Chagrined by subjugation, the door slams
Announcing defeat to it’s audience of none
~~
Dark but for dust pirouetting through muted shafts of light
Stirred by shuffling boots, tattered and worn thin by extended employ
Creaking under foot, floorboards rebel in unison with their owner
Shrunken and contorted from the weight of existence
~~
Ping of coils break the stagnant silence of the vessel
Sagging lumpy seat replaces a once firm cushion
A quiet ah, escapes from the lungs in expiration
Sense of relief but for the strain of fabric
~~
Cracking joints echo of broken glass in freefall
Legs wobble by exhausted mortise and tenon
Laden with rings, table balances precariously in an uncomfortable dance
Unsteady and unsure, time has reaped it’s revenge
~~
Tired well beyond youth, mortality returns from holiday
Waiting to reveal what lay interred beyond these walls
Neither refinish nor repair prolong to eternity
Only temporary and finite are the workings of men
~~
Man conspires with the dwelling in cosmic ways
Each subject to the ravages of the lifetime moment
Materially morphing into a shell of the original creation
Inevitably conceding to nature’s crowing fate
~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~
Elder Embrace
By D. R. DiFrancesco
~~~~~~
Black hair gone thin and gray
Creases like dry riverbeds map the landscape
Winding effortlessly south
Either due to age or gravity or both
Dark olive skin, soft tautness lost to the years
Tired eyes struggle to catch the light of day
Once clear as crystals now foggy and uncertain
Reminiscent of the mist that envelops San Diego Bay
Memories of youthful virility invoked smiles and stories
Tales etched with vivid language
Language and reference not correct in todays world
Friends and acquaintances identified by race, creed and color
Shocked and amazed erupting in uncomfortable laughter
A likely product of the prejudice thrown at your feet
First breath drawn at the turn of the last century
Born of a race not so easily accepted
Unkind names and slurs labeling an entire lineage
Times had changed leaving you behind
Floundering as if in seizure
Living in an era that was foreign
Still there was no shame, no offense or ill intention
No defense levied for your words and actions
None was needed, none was desired
Age and time granted societal clemency
Few were left who lived the history
Fewer still survive to remember
Relegation to the page is approaching with haste
Embrace them while the opportunity affords
Cherish the time shared and knowledge imparted
Passing it down to the generations that follow
The Minds Eye
By D. R. DiFrancesco
Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder,
As does love when souls grow older,
Doth the mind play tricks on the aging eye,
Maybe so, it most surely try.
Portraying the look of younger days,
We overlook the changing grays,
Projecting on the freshness of youth,
Beliefs most surely are the truth.
With utmost certainty a gift this must be,
For lovely today as the first are thee,
Is this a trick or are we but blind,
Left to the mercy of a hopeful mind.
Doth this make us mere fools to our memory,
Would have it no other way if it let me,
Hiding away the ravages of time,
Leaving in life a love most sublime.
The Walk
Meandering as if in a dream I pondered..,
Cracks in sidewalks,
Separated like so many loves,
Askew from the tempestuousness of life,
Weeds poisoning their once sturdy frames,
Concrete strewn about like Mayan ruins,
Overgrown and forgotten, buried over time,
Crabgrass claiming their souls,
Once virginal, pristine, blinding in their starkness,
Now greyed and weathered, crumbling with age,
Discarded as trash,
The pieces left for someone else to pick up.
Awakened, with tears in my eyes I realized…,
We are not so unlike the lowly sidewalk.
We have left our elders trampled, aging and broken,
Put in the care of strangers,
Forgotten and buried in time.
Be it the mason or our maker,
This is not what they envisioned,
Abandonment and neglect of their masterpiece.
To Dine Alone
Coffee black and strong,
Gripped between cigarette stained fingers,
Making small talk,
How ’bout the weather?
Did ya see the news?
Filler to pass the time.
Old men hunched over cold eggs and bacon,
Swilling bottomless cups of mud,
Chain smoking Lucky’s,
Melancholy in the swirling cloud of second-hand smoke.
Each one has a story,
Exaggerated tales of loves lost,
Fables of misfortune and triumph,
White lies cast as bait to a sympathetic crowd.
“Sweetie”, a patron’s cry,
Barking for a check, menu, or refill,
Significant in this sea of anonymity,
Otherwise silently ignored.
The revolving door,
Room for one more lonely transient,
One more cup of thick black coffee,
Held between nicotine stained fingers,
Another tall tale wrapped in white lies,
Told to another friend,
Scarcely more than a stranger,
Just another forlorn castaway,
Adrift on a sea of tribulation.
Old Man in the Mirror – (A Poem)
Time humbles the man,
Back arching under the weight of a lifetime,
Old photographs,
A reminder of good friends and loves that long ago passed.
The mind drifts,
Not as sharp or quick witted as it once was,
Long gone memories much fresher than today,
Then again, yesterday fits me much better.
Hair gone white,
Deep creases travel like dry river beds across my face,
Skin soft and sagging,
Looking in the mirror I can scarcely recognize myself.
Who is that old man staring back at me?
Drawn and tired,
Teeth yellowed, eyelids hanging like cheap suits,
I know it’s me inside this costume.
The crumbling exterior,
A vessel for a lifetime of wisdom and experience.
Earned through pain, suffering, love, and joy,
A gift wasted on the young.
None of this would I trade for the impetuousness of youth,
Born of blood sweat, and tears,
Etched in my face as a reminder,
A badge to be worn with honor.
Dom DiFrancesco 