AGING DISGRACEFULLY (and proud of it)
Old age ain’t for sissies, said Bette Davis
and she was doggone right
Boobs hanging so low I have to
set ’em in rollers at night
and shoved into “woman-friendly” bras daily
The way they swing wouldn’t make Frank
Took up yoga to get flexible
advice courtesy of my physician
(not “Physical,” thanks anyway, Olivia)
Noticed that, in the Down Dog position
my skin of my thighs draped off my legs
like a curtain valance, but at least
I kept my balance.
That is, until the Salutes to the Sun,
when I grandly and loudly fell on my face,
laughing so hard I snorted at my own contortions.
This got other 50+ women chortling and
soon we were all flat on our mats doing
what older girls do best: Sharing a laugh
about ourselves, on our own behalf.
We finished class and Betsy blurted:
“A latte! Who’s with me?”
Soon around a table filled with decadent desserts
(which we dutifully split, counting calories somewhat)
we decided: Stay with yoga class, stretch at night,
walk in pairs or groups, eat (almost) right.
But never skip dessert: Old age ain’t for sissies,
nor for grumps, nor frumps. Just real women,
having our say and doing it (cue Nelson Riddle):
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Sunday Scribblings, the call was for the theme “manifesto.” This seems apropos as we approach the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am killer-diller of all manifesto proclamation days… you know what I’m talking about: NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS!
No matter what the resolution
I always messed it up
I confess, I’m mistress of the
revolution against New Year’s promises
all broken by Valentine’s Day
That year of the grapefruit diet
I fainted in the street
Lack of protein, said the doctor
Thus began the evolution of my desire
to quash sad manifestos
Friends who “will quit smoking on January first”
Suck ‘em up Dec. 31
Like a junkie determined to
wrench the monkey from his back
but keeps the tourniquet as a memento
Gyms are packed that first week of the year
Then one by one, they peel off
petals of a fading rose
that shrivels for lack of water
or that packet of crap you’re supposed to dissolve in the vase
Let’s face it.
New Year’s resolutions are
Setting yourself up for failure
before the hangover even kicks in
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This came from a “wordle,” a group of words you can form into a block of art; to create one yourself, click HERE.
Thanks to whichever poet’s blog contained the block (and I apologize that you remain anonymous, I was all over the place today). I can’t reproduce it here, but all the words from the block are in bold. Enjoy! Amy
FIRST TIME (wordle)
Smoldering like an ash-pit and
lush with promise, but
clunky teenage moves
His one hand, awake, cupped my breast
The other was passed out under my back
then resurfaced to hold my head for
a quick nibble at that well-hung boy
The First Time
At Poetic Asides, we were asked to write about stacks. Stacking, unstacking, stacked decks, stacked (you can guess), unstacking, dismantling. Click on the Poetic Asides blue link to read them all! Here’s one of mine, attempting to form a poetic pyramid!
Never picked for
basketball or soccer.
Short, uncoordinated, shy.
The leftover, default choice.
I excelled in this singular activity:
The Pyramid. I was so little and so light
they proclaimed me The Ultimate Top Block.
(For just one class a year, they found me of use)
Sturdier girls lined up below like so many
Dawg House cheerleaders, and proudly
bearing the brunt to come… five rows
I had to carefully ascent to claim my
place as “Cleopatra’s Crown” (hey,
this was gym class, not history!)
A sudden sniff from Row Two.
Sue sneezes and CRASH!
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil