A New Poem This Morning

This morning was a poet’s dream for me. Two poem subjects bubbled to the surface. Within a span of an hour and a half, I had completed two new poems. One came from a childhood memory and the other came from seeing a puzzle carved into a tombstone in Ontario Canada.

Steven King once observed that poems are written with the unconscious mind. I read that quote after writing the poems. I felt as though lightning had struck the ground in front of me. Those two poem subjects kept returning to my mind. I kept saying, How, and they found a way.

I’ll share my childhood memory poem.

Padding My Resume


I can remember

Being flight captain

Of my own rocket

At the early age

Of eight years

Five months


I had few problems

Visiting other worlds

With a limitless supply

Of special rocket fuel


And maintenance free

Rock knobs and stick levers

On my Navigator Control Panel


Seating was primitive

On my scaffolding

Support beam



Over a ditch


Of a forever

Dismantled outhouse

New Writing Project

Most of the poems that I wrote in April have aging as the organizing theme. I could have 25-30 poems that I ‘ll publish as a Chapbook this year, or see if a larger book becomes possible.

A larger book seems inevitable. Aging is more than the diminishing of our physical abilities. Aging is a natural process involving loss. And boy, do I know about that loss.

I’m just about one week into having my water pipes re-plumbed. I had to do it to avert kidney failure. I’m fresh into learning about dealing with the new plumbing. I just bought tickets to see a movie with my grandsons this Thursday. I have to practice with a new bag to see if I can make it through the movie without getting up during it.

We can’t ignore the inevitable. Aging challenges our belief system. Aging well should be a time when we come together, not a time to be the Lone Ranger. We come into this life needing the help of others to survive. We leave the same way. We need help to live well, and we need help to exit well. I learned that from the Tibetan Book of the Living and the Dead.

That’s poetry–finding the unexpected in everything rather than the obvious. My life is poetry. So is yours.

What observations do you have about aging? Leave a comment. I’d welcome your insight. What surprises you? What makes you laugh? Or cry? Or makes you want to ignore the whole thing?

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