Awake!

To Awaken an Old Lady
                   William Carlos Williams


Old age is
a flight of small birds
skimming bare trees
above a snow glaze.
Gaining and failing
they are buffeted
by a dark wind –
But what?
On harsh weedstalks
the flock has rested,
the snow
is covered with broken
seedhusks
and the wind tempered
by a shrill
piping of plenty.


If I should ever be asked to name my favorite poet it would be William Carlos Williams.  Certainly, no one will ever name me, and I finally accept that although I have loved poetry all my life - but only latently written it. What did I expect?  I accept the rich rewards of loving poetry without standing on the stage with those poets who enriched my life.  Actually, I am there, all of us who love poetry are there. Millions of us.  Blessed by poetry, but invisible.


Life is poetry (poetry is life), and its layered priorities might make us invisible.  I never thought about being an old person when I was young. I could die young, of course, or just go on being young in spirit forever.  Fortunately, I could choose the latter.


And it worked fine well into my seventies.   But lately I've noticed I seem to be deconstructing into invisibility in the grand scheme of things: at my job (yes, still working, loving it), in church, in family. Nope - invisibility is not gonna be for me.  I'm not going gently into that dark night.


This blog is about piping the plenty we have, no matter how "old" we might be!  I would welcome any comments, examples, suggestions.