The passage of one life is like a poem,
the end an echo of the start; a solitary
fight to enter this world, darkness
to light. The bloodying of white
sheets observed by strangers in a room
with thin curtains, mirrored in the final
stanza only without felicitations.
You hope you die before you get old.
The romance, the action, the clues lie
in the middle section of your poem,
an exposition on your main theme;
a search for happiness, love, money,
acceptance, fluffy cats, fame, red hair,
a good shag or prize-winning dahlias.
You hope you die before you get old.
Whatever floats your boat, baby!
By stanza seven you learn you are not
a boat but a desert island, unexplored.
You hope you die before you get old.
You sit on the shore watching the murky
tide of water and wait for the Ferry. Angel
whispers in your ear. It is the jade game,
the sky is not the same blue, the sun holds
no heat and no one will ever truly get you.
In stanza nine the diminishing begins.
Your body shrinks (except for your nose).
You shape-shift, spend more time looking
down and back. Chins multiply but hair
and friendships fall away. Downsizing.
You hope you die before you get old.
You can’t piss in a pot no more.
You can’t recall names no more.
You hope you die before you get old.
The passage of your life is like a poem
structured by repetition, rhythm, rhyme,
recurring motifs and metaphors exploring
a theme (same shit different day). The arc,
the meaning of your story remains hidden
to you (although strangers see) until
the moment God turns over your page.
The Purple Hermit 
Thought provoking as ever. Your blog/poems are moments of light and often insight in a pandemic
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Thank you so much Alastair. I adapted the repeated line ‘I hope I die before I get old’ from The Who – My Generation.
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Powerfull !!
I keep reading it and get it more each time. I agree with you about the nose!!
Look forward to talking more about it when you read it to me at the weekend.
Go safely
Irenee XX
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Thanks Irenee.
x
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I don’t ordinarily like poetry, but this doesn’t make me gag so much. Especially since it’s like you are talking right to me about something I have been thinking about. I am a real hermit, and so much not talking to anybody is starting to wear me out. Isolation and self-discipline can get boring to a man who’s lived his life programmed by American (or any other I suppose) culture. But then, I just turn off the computer, and go back to meditation and random desert wandering. Only it is going to get to at least 105 degrees today, so I decided to bother you instead! (I searched for the word “hermit” in Reader).
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Hi, glad you got something out of my poem. There are so many different kinds of poetry and it’s not for everyone. I don’t like the flowery, romantic stuff and try to write about real life in an accessible way. Interesting that you are in the desert. I can’t imagine 105 degrees! It’s usually cold wet and windy here even in summer. I wear woolly jumpers all year round! I also like my solitude but it’s got a bit much recently with the Pandemic and only my cat to talk to! Thanks for commenting on my blog.
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Nice blog
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Thanks!
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A very definitive poem on the passing of life… a philosophical, exceptionally written piece!
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Thank you Lance. I appreciate your feedback.
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It’s my very sincere pleasure!
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