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The Prospect of Ageing

Time heals,
time mends,
time lets you
comprehend…

That grey hair
wasn’t there
yesterday!

Don’t fight
with nature,
you are it;
ever sure –

Indestructible,
unbreakable –
intertwined with nature
you will endure…

But that wrinkle –
too early…
Isn’t fair!

But YOU, you can relax;
you are not me,
so I am free
to tell you all is well –

I say to you;
embrace the cycles
nature binds us to –

And just ignore me
quietly
dyeing my hair
over here –

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Golden Leaf

Those golden autumn leaves –
I think of you –
your life a leaf of time itself
and sharing hue –

Your golden skin, angular bones –
a withered leaf –
the dewdrops on the leafs; your tears
that’s bound to cease

Your eyes that glitter amber-brown –
vitality is here –
development still going on;
there’s beauty there

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Ageing

The changing features of your ageing face,
a 1000-year old oak could have for bark,
that natural, innate and rhythmic grace
that leaves my words of poem in the dark

The life that thrives in your dark, simmering eyes,
the radiance that shines out of your mind,
that flow; continuity of time that lies
beneath the changing forms of our kind

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When You Smile

Those wonderful, curious ridges
and valleys adorning your face
that speak simultaneously to me
of agelessness and bygone age;

Those shadows and highlights; treasures
of wisdom both old and new
contained in your smile and your wrinkles
ceaselessly draw me to you;

What good is simple beauty
that knows very little of time?
No, tempered by time and struggles,
such polished it’s made sublime;

And through your beautiful wisdom,
which smiles bring to your face,
I sense an ocean of vital strength
transgressing the passage of time, and age.

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Iconostasis 2.

The touch of your hand and the sound of your voice –
the smile and the movement of lips and of tongue –
the flicker of eyes and of eyelids, your breath,
the turn of your head and your shoulders, your warmth –

The tightening of sinews, your delicate fingers,
the ironic glimpse in your flicker of smiles –
the picturesque shape of your bones and your features,
the dignified shyness of poise and of gait –

The worries that furrowed your brow and your cheeks,
the wisdom that rests behind smiles, behind tears –
the knowledge you’ve gained, the illusions you’ve lost,
the marks left behind by your loves, hopes and fears –

The distant remoteness you try to preserve,
the closeness you need and the substitutes for it;
leave that in the past, and let’s see for the future
if not my embrace could prove much better fit.

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Fremtiden skrumper

Engang var fremtiden stor.
Engang var fremtiden.

Nu varer den højst en time
og så får vi se…
Jeg kan se frem til det næste
tik fra urets visere –
men ikke meget videre.
Engang var fremtiden
planer –
store, smukke planer
om at forbedre og perfektere
hele verden
eller i det mindste
personlige planer
om jobs og bolig og
den størrelse de voksen kaldte
kærlighed –
nu er fremtiden
at se frem til at elkedlen koger
eller at vækkeuret ringer
efter en søvnløs nat;
den er at planlægge hvornår
man skal betale regninger
og vaske tøj
og vande blomster.

Engang var fremtiden –

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A Crooked Tree – I

A lonely being, standing at the crossroad,
abandoned by your family and friends –
the healthy, youthful lot who once stood by you,
now long gone – used as firewood by humans,
made into planks, tools, ornaments of unknown use to you –
and here you stand alone, grown old in years,
long having outgrown all the youthful fears
of feeling the steel-blade which all the others felt –
you know now that your shape protects therefrom,
you’re useless – and therefore you have been left alone,
have long since into full potential grown –
but rather than feel blessed, you ask, in all your solitude:
“Why live; when lonely, miserable – bereft of friends and youth?”

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Ghost From My Childhood

Memories I’d forgotten
surge forward
to beleaguer my brain
when I see your face again

Forever ago we lay in the grass
in my parents yard after class
looking up into the branches
of the old beech tree,
wondering how to achieve
reaching its top
and what we would see
if we managed getting up

It makes me feel
so old today to see
your face in front of me;
this mirror image I can’t deny
you’ve grown – and so have I

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Birdsong

Warble birds your sweet, sweet song.
Never stop. Go on. Go on.
My heart’s heavy, my song’s spent.
My head’s heavy, earthward bent.

Sing a song of sweet delight,
send it upwards to the light
while I wander in the shade
waiting for my song to fade.

Warble birds – it’s soothing balm,
warble and instill some calm
to the evening I pass by
from your hiding in the sky.

But don’t ask for sing-along,
I have lost all joy in song;
My song’s spent, my head hangs low –
My love went; where did she go?