We Have Forgotten

We have forgotten!

The New Deal has been destroyed

And we don’t see it.

Social Security and

Medicare under attack.


Cleverly disguised

By the “old standby”…tax cuts

They try to bankrupt;

Forcing the extinction of

Our long beloved safety nets.


When will we wake up!

The middle-class is dying,

While privilege thrives.

When we are homeless and sick

Maybe then we’ll remember.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

So Many Aches and Pains

So many aches and pains

Never use to be this way

I could go for hours

Suddenly the years take toll

And the body does rebel

Very strange indeed

These natural frailties

That affect us all

One can cosmetically fight

But in the end…aging wins


~~ Dominic R DiFrancesco ~~


Ravaged By Years

Embed from Getty Images


Ravaged by the years

Bodies surrender to time

Winter of our lives


~~ Dominic R. DIFrancesco ~~


Forgotten (Acrostic)

Forced into uselessness

Our society deems them a nuisance

Retiring them to the annals of history

Gone are the days they were revered

Only a culture of arrogance would discard their wisdom

Trusting instead in the coldness of technology

This is our way, leaving them out in the cold

Entombing them before their time

Never seeing beyond the length of their years


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Peace, Goodwill Towards Men

Peace, goodwill towards men–

I believed this once,

A long, long time ago it seems.

I can still remember her smile,

The love of my life,


Not a care in our perfect little world.

And the kids–

Oh how they loved Christmas.

Not just the presents,

The paper, the bows,

But the time we spent together.

We were a family,

A perfect design by Hallmark.

Now she’s gone,

The years were not kind to her;

And the kids–,

Grown, families of their own–

Don’t come around much anymore.

Hell, I don’t remember the last time.

The gesture of a card would be nice

Just to let me know they cared,

That they remembered me,

But no…

It was not meant to be,

Alone I sit, stranded for the holidays.

This wasn’t how I saw my later years,

Aged, lonely,

Awaiting the ghost of Christmas past.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Prompt Word: Stranded

 Writing Prompt: Tuesday’s Thinking 17 December – By Jeremy Farmer – The Boi Poet



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 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 ~~

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.