Sunday, 21 February 2010

The Poetry Bus.

Yes, i know I am early at the bus stop this week - and it is pretty cold standing here in the snow - but today and tomorrow are busy days with folk to lunch and hospital visiting, so I am posting it early so that it is one less job to do.

This week's challenge was to write a poem about ourselves - TFE even suggested that if all else failed we were to tip out our handbags and describe ourselves from their contents. Obviously he knows a thing or two about the inside of ladies' hanbags, doesn't he?

Here is my contribution, and it doesn't involve handbags at all.

Reflections.

Where has she gone, that slender girl
with shining hair and pale, clear skin?
I look in the glass and see no trace
of that young girl; although within
my head, she's just the same.

The thickened waist, the greying hair,
the creaking joints and wrinkled face;
all tell me tales of passing time.
Yet in my head they have no place
In this life's ageing game.

Inside December still gives way to June.
I sing the same song, dance to the same tune.
Some cultures cover mirrors when you die,
but 'til that time, my mirror does not lie.

27 comments:

ChrisJ said...

This is SO good. It captures what most of we who are growing old-er feel. Great job!

Rachel Fox said...

Thickened waist...yes, mine is coming on nicely...
x

Heather said...

Beautiful Pat - so many of us can relate to this poem - it says it all. I've a feeling I might miss the bus this week.

steven said...

weaver you've nailed what so many of your visitors almost certainly can relate to. (oh i see heather thought that as well!) lovely and well-written. steven

Gramma Ann said...

I love it! It describes me, especially the part about the 'thickened waist.' LOL... and other parts also...

Pondside said...

That's a keeper - you've obviously struck a chord with many of us. Beautifully put together.

Leenie said...

Thoroughly enjoyed the thoughts and the way you put your words together. You can dance and sing better than a youth on the page.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

We always remain the same inside.

maggi said...

I am sure that so many of us feel just like you. How did the outside become so different?

Poet in Residence said...

Love it. What more can I say?

Michael said...

A wonderful poem Weaver...I still wonder what I'm going to be when I grow up.
The photos have a definate air of the North Riding about them...(don't ask me to explain this...smiling).

kameleonquilt said...

This could have been me too ;-)
You hit the nail on the head, very well.

Gretta said...

i'm often tempted just to cover up the mirror ...

Karen said...

First, I love the message here, but I also like the form. Your rhythm and rhyme are appealing and fit the subject of the poem well.

Pam said...

I've just started wearing my new glasses. The mirror was being much too kind in the soft-focus department. With these new ones, there's been no easing into the truth gradually, it's been KAPOW! Loved your poem Weaver.

dinesh chandra said...

Good Poetry .

Regards

Dinesh Chandra

Titus said...

I like this very much Weaver, especially,
"In this life's ageing game."
I enjoyed the notes of wistfulness mixed with defiance.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thank you for the comments - glad we all seem to feel the same - growing old does not seem so bad when we all do it, does it?

crazyfieldmouse said...

I had just this conversation with my grandmother-in-law, saying how she couldn't understand why, when she was 18 inside her head and yet her knees didn't work the way they used to.
very evocative
thanks for sharing
crazy field mouse

Argent said...

Oh yes! I can relate to this! In my head im still only 21! Very nively done with the rhymes too!

Pure Fiction said...

Yup, this is really nice. I love the second line of the last verse.

Connie T. said...

This is a great poem. It is true, you feel young on the inside and if you didn't look in a mirror, you would not know you were older, except for your hands.

Studio Sylvia said...

Sentiments that we all seem to share.

jinksy said...

In a nutshell, dear Weaver, in a nutshell!

the watercats said...

this is such a worrying little poem.. and beautifully written. As a thirty something, I keep losing good bits and gaining bad bits every day.. mornings seem to be worse :-).. luckily we can't see our own behind's easily, but i know by the weight of it, it's not what it used to be! :-)
lovely writing, cheers!

Domestic Oub said...

Weaver, sums it all up so well! Great poem :)

BT said...

What an excellent poem Weaver. I feel just the same. I remember my mother saying she felt 20 inside when she was 60, and I now know what she meant.