A Lifetime of Yesterdays
James C. Coomer
Smashwords ebook edition published by Fideli Publishing Inc.
© Copyright 2011, James C. Coomer
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ISBN: 978-1-60414-436-9
Dedication
To Amanda and Chandler
who are just getting started on the journey.
Preface
The process of aging occurs one day at a time. It is cumulative and at some point, every person becomes aware that they have more of life in retrospect than prospect. Under ordinary circumstances, that awareness comes as a surprise: it is suddenly there; unbidden and unexpected. Suddenly one is forced to face the reality that there are more yesterdays in one’s life than there will be tomorrows. This is a collection of poems for those who have become aware of that reality in their own lives.
Aging
Contrary to what I had always been told,
It was the fingers that were the first to go.
Hers, which were once a source of pride, long and slender,
morphed into arthritic talons: daily reminders of
remorseless change she was powerless to arrest.
She wept; and thought of her grandmother’s white gloves.
Following The Breadcrumbs
In following the breadcrumbs of my life
The trail leads past some things I did not see
When early on this path I chanced to be
While seeking pleasures lured on by life’s fife.
When at last weary of the siren’s song
Of riches always just beyond my grasp
The music of the pipe now heard as rasp
I turned and forced myself against the throng.
As gradually the surging masses thinned
I saw my scattered crumbs along the way
Toward paths I must have seen but did not take.
A wiser traveler now, I comprehend
The signs were always there for me to weigh
But I desired the clear, not the opaque.
1Reflections
Desires do not disintegrate with age
Though prospects for fulfillment often fade
As time’s adjustments form a barricade
Reshaping dreams as though held in a swage.
The young who look upon an outward frame
Have little thought of what is held therein
They cannot see within the sagging skin
The rage against the gutter of the flame.
Yet, as one’s life meanders toward an end
Reality reveals in circumstance
That joy presents itself in different ways.
Less thoughts on what is past does one expend
Engaging what now is in a new dance
Content with fleeting glance toward former days.
1A … mazed
On my cloud perch, I review my life.
From such a height
I can see a life,
as in a
maze,
that is destined to reach a goal
from which there is no
exit.
I must either sit within the womb-like isolation
at center maze,
content with the journey,
or turn toward where
I began, as unsure of a direction now, as then.
I believe that I will sit for a while.
1But A Moment
The calendar presents a Janus face.
One face toward what will come from what was sown
One face toward what is culled from what is known
And both impervious to time and space.
But those of us who measured life by time
Confus’ed were when looking to and fro
Found time ahead inordinately slow
And time behind a shadowed pantomime.
Our fourscore seemed so endless in prospect
That urgency was not a word to choose
When daily life was serendipitous.
When forced by time to view in retrospect
Threescore of four one is about to lose
Tis those three gives the fourth its impetus.
The Long Good-bye
The tragedy is that one can see the fog coming
…
quietly obscuring the past …
relentlessly creeping into the present
…
irrevocably hovering over the future.
It smothers all whom it touches.
When
it lifts it brings, not repose …
but relief.
JANE
You caution me to look against the light
For fear the years have altered what I love
By hiding what I knew behind time’s glove
Thus, shielding her forever from my sight.
But I am blinded by the light that flows
From love that has not limit, knows no bounds
Embracing all my senses and surrounds
The source in mystic aura love bestows.
My sight is neither dimmed nor is beguiled
By natures gentle touch upon your form.
I see not with mine eye but with mine heart.
And seeing thus, I cannot cease to smile
That you are unaware you are transformed
To beauty unforeseen when we did start.
Anticipation
I wonder if Death announces itself?
Does it
glide quietly into view with a smile? Beckoning?
Does it send an old acquaintance as an emissary to
assist in the transition?
If Death is, indeed, a grim reaper of
what one has sown, a friendly face would offer some
hope, wouldn’t
it?
What if one saw a stranger who simply
motioned, follow me?
Would one have to follow? I guess so.
But whether friend or stranger, the awareness of
either would confirm one thing:
Death is just a word.
The Inevitable Process
It is not that which I had been promised when I
was young;
earnest prayers answering my every need
tearful
petitions with memorized creed
bringing earned surcease from pain
and sorrow.
It is not inevitable, unrelenting aging
that surprises.
It is the process of aging, which is
unexpected, unanticipated.