the ticking of a clock

the ticking of a clock
somehow melodiously
reminds me of
the plucking of grass
on a field not too long ago
or was that
20 years
gone by already fast
and
steady bye
is the tire swing that
used to hang and sway
in the island wind
and the creaking trees
blown down by storms
long past forgotten
scars never healed
yet somehow
integrated into a new
memory of a body
now wrinkled, soft
and warm.


Just took a break from studying and I somehow managed to concentrate on my course material despite the constant ticking of my watch. I’ve always found comfort in the tick and tock of a clock – and I don’t think it’s any coincidence that I took note of my watch while reading my course text: Adulthood and Aging.

This poem is about the immediacy of our memories and how we can experience something long passed as recently as the afternoon wind blowing on our face. I tried to capture the beauty of aging and the joy and pleasure of feeling old in old bones. There is something comforting in the fact that our bodies continue to grow and lose youth. In the absence of that vitality is a patience, a love, and a kind of peace that mirrors life. “Death is the easy part” is a quote that comes to mind, and the acceptance of an aging body somehow reconciles the gradual loss of ephemeral youth. I live with my grandparents and they are a constant reminder that life is meant for every age, and that aging is beautiful. I hope this gives you the same feeling.

my cat is young beyond her years (she gazes at the stars)

Though
Young she appears
My cat knows time beyond her years:
She’s an elephant
without the ears.

She’s got nine lives and’s
lived them all in mine
she chases mice
and hates wine.

Out from the porch
eyes like a torch
she strolls into the den.

She climbs onto my legs,

becoming long and lean
and in between
a hard cover book
and a bean

curving and bending
pleasure neverending
with a scratch, with a purr,
she starts to stir

and i’ve only just begun.

Graceful bound and she’s
back on the ground, sashaying

to the deck (where)
she gazes at the stars.

the perfect bending

underneath this shale, frail
exoskeleton of paper and glass
glows a happiness (a contentment)
that when the wander of these days
and the wonder of this space
have all but fizzled out into the
far off disparate reaches of time
imploded into desolate dissipation
from dust bended into fume, floating
vapourously lonely and lean,
there in the galaxies of tender and new
births a fantasy, reality born
two sparked phantasmagorias
glorious bodies of red magic purple
unseen,

there

gliding into your gravity
shower a million, trillion
cries of ecstasy; your eyes
(the perfect bending)
behold my ending.

love is a fire

they said love is a lamp
hot to the touch, but burning
with a fire that lights the way
for all
to see in night, flight,
fear and fright
then is when you came into
my life

i was a fool a newborn a virgin
full of spring and youth and truth
i sang all day and eyes wide
dreaming i could not fall asleep
until the very last minute

you left me a man broken
but i am a man nonetheless

i had known my power, my voice
and had you given me a choice
i’d have taken your flower
loved you hour by hour
and who’s to say i didn’t?

never is clever only we were forever
and the stars never shone so bright

now when i remember the days that
we spent, the places we went

my heart glows
to the
memory of you