Today is the first day of fall. How quickly the summer sped by! The changing of the season along with the recent passing of Queen Elizabeth and others among my family and acquaintances is on my mind as I post today’s blog of two poems from the archives.
It is a day that is sweet
and a sense of shutting down
as if the grass no longer feels guilty
for being brown
and the trees are at peace
having grown the catkins
sprouted the leaves
added another ring and are now ready
to undress for sleep.
© 2004 by Violet Nesdoly (first published in Calendar).
On reading How We Die
“..whether it is the anarchy of disturbed biochemistry or the direct result of its opposite—a carefully orchestrated genetic ride to death—we die of old age because we have been worn and torn and programmed to cave in.” – Sherwin B. Nuland in How We Die.
Suddenly the pain in my toe
and the intermittent twinge
from my sciatic nerve
are more sinister than a mere
squeak in the brakes.
Sputter of forgotten
while I search for the right word,
sentence may indicate
there really is a problem with my computer,
Though my burgeoning girth would say
gas mileage is improving
which, they tell me
is not untypical for us vintage models.
We are not unattractive
with our custom-painted exteriors
mag-wheel stilettos and Gucci-shaded headlights,
though the gray rust
keeps coming through
no matter how often we L’Oreal it away
and the age spots and dents
even though we change
the Oil of Olay.
My odometer remains hopeful,
though I have heard of models my age
going up in a blue cloud of cancer
or grinding to a halt mid-trip
with a seized-up heart.
© 2007 by Violet Nesdoly (first published in Family Reunion)