a point in your life
This was written for yesterday's NaPoWriMo, at my other blog, i write too.
I wrote this during a lunch break in the office, did some minor reworkings at home, in time for NaPoWriMo. And I wasn't sure why my mood was so dark that day.
photo by YunPing, ©
a point in your life
so you come to a point in your life,
you feel cold, you feel old, booze
no longer excites, instead it plays punk
with your sphincters, the doctor sees you
and no longer asks what is bugging you
but tells you to keep off the oily stuff.
you watch weeds grow and wonder who
or which is more unwanted, the streets
growl at you and fumes and dust gets into
your eyes and coffee, children look at you
in fright and not merely because of your stubble,
and you don't rage anymore.
and so the best exercise you had in days
is to turn your head to watch that woman
in the short shorts walks by in the sidewalk
her full hips moving with a beat that stops
your heart.
you watch the sun sets over the highrises
at the quay, someone mentions a drunk had
walked into the river and drowned a couple of days back,
just a few paces where you sat, the day gets more
unsettling as a crow caws and tugs at a roadkill and
you fear your number may be up.
06/04/2013
**********
I have always paid income tax. I object only when it reaches a stage when I am threatened with having nothing left for my old age - which is due to start next Tuesday or Wednesday.
-- Noel Coward
Shared on Poetry Pantry #145 at Poets United.
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013
I wrote this during a lunch break in the office, did some minor reworkings at home, in time for NaPoWriMo. And I wasn't sure why my mood was so dark that day.
photo by YunPing, ©
a point in your life
so you come to a point in your life,
you feel cold, you feel old, booze
no longer excites, instead it plays punk
with your sphincters, the doctor sees you
and no longer asks what is bugging you
but tells you to keep off the oily stuff.
you watch weeds grow and wonder who
or which is more unwanted, the streets
growl at you and fumes and dust gets into
your eyes and coffee, children look at you
in fright and not merely because of your stubble,
and you don't rage anymore.
and so the best exercise you had in days
is to turn your head to watch that woman
in the short shorts walks by in the sidewalk
her full hips moving with a beat that stops
your heart.
you watch the sun sets over the highrises
at the quay, someone mentions a drunk had
walked into the river and drowned a couple of days back,
just a few paces where you sat, the day gets more
unsettling as a crow caws and tugs at a roadkill and
you fear your number may be up.
06/04/2013
**********
I have always paid income tax. I object only when it reaches a stage when I am threatened with having nothing left for my old age - which is due to start next Tuesday or Wednesday.
-- Noel Coward
Shared on Poetry Pantry #145 at Poets United.
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013
Labels: landscape, life, mindscape, NaPoWriMo, old age, Poetry, Poets United
posted by dsnake1 at 11:51 PM
11 Comments:
Lots of reflectiveness in this poem. It's a good one. Filled with honest emotion, and I think perhaps there are many who could empathize with these feelings at times.
Thanks, Mary.
I see many elderly people passing their time at the coffeeshops, perhaps doing nothing and i wondered if i would be like that too one day.
Deep, edgy and emotion-filled. Great write.
That,s tough
That point pricks us all, unless we're one of the good who dies young (and then what's the point?)
dang...nice bit of grit in this..and you allow us to feel through the surroundings as well...like the crow picking at the roadkill....we all get there you know...when the end seems closer than the beginning...
Anthony,
thank you!
Libby,
yes, it does. even some of the young ones do think of death.
Brian,
"we all get there". thanks for reminding. :)
This made me a bit sad. I haven't hit that point yet. I suppose in one's 80s or 90s this must be so.
Kim, i think it all depends on the individual, and the environment he is in.
thanks for the comment. :)
I write my way through the dark times too. Poetry is about the only thing that keeps me going then. This poem gets me feeling that the author is working some angst.
Thank you, Stormcat. :)
poetry helps me through the dark times too.
when you reached an age like mine's, you will write something like that too. but no, it was the bad day in the office. :)
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