TO A POET I KNOW

Every bit of me is still 17,

full of raging hormones,

eyes either wide open,

or squeezed tight shut,

on the hunt for some

new thought,

some new insight,

another great love.

I dive into Renoir

like his oeuvre is a

pool for drowning 

in carmine.

Here I am, trapped

in this old body,

recovering from cancer,

and back surgery, too.

I have no desire to calm down,

to rest, or to give in and go gently.

Not me, not when I have brilliant

friends always peeling the onion,

digging deeper, holding my spirit

hand through troubled times,

and smiling at this old-age angst!

It is worse this time than in my youth

when everything was new and I had no

idea how bad it really is out there,

or how I I would miss my chance

at love when you came in through

the window when I was not looking.

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

“I dive into Renoir
like his oeuvre is a
pool for drowning
in carmine.”
How I wish I could have written that amazing verse Vol! I applaud your sensitive, profound and beautiful poem. I feel the emotion, metaphor, regret, humanity in it. I empathize with your theme and I applaud your strength. Take care and God bless.

[Ken Simm.]

If only we knew then. A common refrain but seldom put so sucinctly and dare I say it wondefully.
I empathise completely. But some parts of us still care. The journey is not over until it is over and there is no destination.

[Vol]

Hahaha!
Like I told Lorry earlier... it ain't the fall, it's the sudden stop...

[John the Baptist]

The desire to calm down is optional. It's the command that is such a b***h.