Applying the Thesaurus to a Middle-aged Life
Today’s the day I change
my vocabulary. Instead of dull,
I’ll call my mind matt, a surface
pocked by time, not unlike the stars,
burned out but sending old
messages along the Milky Way.
Reports from the past. Gentle coughs
echoed from back of the room.
There’s no use resenting these changes,
relentless as ocean waves. I’m better
to praise patterns and know the soft
comfort of well-worn blankets
or brittle paper. Finger, gently, seams
and how tenderly they part or tear
to expose a new truth or view.
Admitting wear is no more dangerous
than slowing in dim light, in the gloam
before dark, when moths grow hungry
and huddle to any light, no matter how dim.
* * *
A poem composed of found words, based on Big Tent Poetry’s Wordle prompt this week! Yay, Woooordles! Yay, Sherman Alexie, who unknowingly shared the some of the words he used in his poem, “Dangerous Astronomy.”
I’ve read two of Alexie’s book recently: One Stick Song and Face. I loved them both. Alexie amazes me with his contemporary language and use of formal and modern forms. I have a couple of reviews to write for 20-poetry book challenge at GoodReads — and am a little worried that I’ll end up writing an essay because there is so much that fills my heart and head in his work.
Find other poets’ poems who used some of the same words, here. At Big Tent Poetry!
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Absolutely stunning. Your use of language amazes me here, presenting a vivid and frank reality of thought about the process of growing older. Admirable and honest. Well done.
-Nicole
Wow. Thanks, Nicole!!
Deb there so much I love about this poem!
I simply love the last stanza!
Beautifully written piece!
Pamela
Thank you, Pamela. I’m glad you like it.
Deb this is damn good writing. The image the first stanza paints of the mind as messaging through galaxies is beautiful. The coughs pull the reader somewhere else, and then the second stanza—the sounds of resenting and relentless mirror the moving water of ocean waves. This piece is beautiful, and leaves me with hope.
“Gloam” is one of my favorite words, well done!
Try Alexie’s “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.” It is hysterical. Sherman Alexie is a favorite of mine, in the classroom, and at home.
Thanks for the tip, Brenda. I’ll go order that book from the library right now.
And thank you for the close reading, too. And comments.
Terrific, Deb.
Thank you, Dale.
Deb, this is so beautiful. It should be handed out to all women on the occasion of their 50th birthday. Thank you for making me GLAD to be middle-aged.
Oh, goodness, Maxie. I’m so glad you felt that way! (I’m past 50!)
in addition to “huddle to any light,” this is so great:
” … Instead of dull,
I’ll call my mind matt”
with the title, it’s just fabulous.
Thank you! For once the title was easy to come up with. Actually, it was a very quick draft altogether.
Deb, it’s hard to believe that this was a ‘quick draft’. It has all the quality of a poem long worked on, tweaked and cossetted. I too had fellow-feeling for this poet.
Thank you, Viv. I’m glad it resonates. :-)
I keep finding new things I like in your poem. It’s exquisitely crafted. You’d never know this came from a Wordle.
I’m so glad, Mr. Walker. And thank you for stopping by, reading & commenting.
What a great title! Impressive metaphors (reports from the past ,old messages along the milky way!) and a very astute last stanza. Time is running out and a dim light becomes an object of interest now which it wasn’t before:)Excellent poem Deb!
Thank you, Rall. Means a lot, your kind words.
What a perfectly matt poem about middle age! I love how you develop it from coughs and stars to the blanket and brittle paper and seams tearing to expose new truth and then the third stanza just gives it the perfect touch ending. I offer waffly comments compared to your brilliant lines. Now I’m thinking I should attempt writing a middle age poem.
Oh, not waffly at all. Thank you for reading, for enjoying, for wanting to write your own middle-aged poem. ;-)
This is a wonderfully written piece! Thanks for sharing!
-Weasel
Thank you, Weasel. For reading and for commenting.
This poem is comforting. I love the last stanza.
Thank you, Nan. I’m glad it’s comforting.
love how this starts and ends with dim light. great use of the words. love the sound of resenting… relentless…
Thanks, Beth. I liked the sound of resenting & relentless, too.
Deb, this is an amazing piece of writing! You kept me captivated throughout, and the ending is something that could be read over and over, like a litany….loved it!
Thanks, Cyndie. It’s nice when someone wants to read some of my stuff over. It is a delight.
There are moments when our age catches up with us, and we feel old, a recognition of our aging process, which you have expressed so well in this poem – I particularly like the image of the ‘gloam,’ the moths huddling before a dimming light. I think you wrote just passed the point of resistance because there is a beautiful acceptance here. And yet, I know, this moment is only a moment of reflection before we forget our age again and feel as young as ever. I read of a Gallup Poll on happiness and age and strangely most people get happier and happier as they age, so by 85 really they are in perpetual bliss (or my re-writing of the results of the poll of 340,000 people aged 18-85 :-). A nice thought.
I think you are quite right about the when the point of the poem is. Just past that point of resistance. Yes.
And to support, in a way, your take on that survey is another interesting phenomenon. An end of life nursing friend told be she always asks her patients how old they feel — and inevitably they think they are in their 50s. They just don’t see themselves as elderly!
I like your thinking. :-)
Oh, I love, love, love so much here. It resonates with bits and pieces I’ve been thinking about but didn’t have the words or rhythm for. “Instead of dull, I’ll call my mind matt, a surface pocked by time, not unlike the stars”: beautiful, haunting, and exactly the shift we middle-aged folks need in our imagery. Thank you.
Thank you! Can’t say how happy I am it resonates, with a positive outlook.
I should probably call the planets pocked, though. Oy.
Beautiful. There is no happiness in not taking comfort in the change of ages. This wordle takes on a new life in your poem!
Thank you!! I was surprised so many thought the words dark. I thought there was a mix with the weight on the positive.
I love that image of “gentle coughs echoed” … but some marvelous images throughout. It might even convert me from my “better to burn out than to fade away” mentality.
The older one gets the easier it is to shift the POV. :-)
Glad you liked that cough image.
my grandmother was cherokee and this poem is her to the bone.
so much we push away that we should just embrace, just be happy with what is. love, love this poem.
(and love, love sherman alexie too. my fav — “Grief Calls Us to the Things of This World” –
My mother laughs
At the angels who wait for us to pause
During the most ordinary of days
And sing our praise to forgetfulness
Before they slap our souls with their cold wings.)
That poem of Alexie’s is incredible. It’s in Face and I was moved, too. I plan on reading all his work. YA, too. (One book is waiting for me at the library.)
Your grandmother sounds very cool. I hope for a fraction of that kind of grace.
I like this a lot. Especially that image at the end of the moths approaching light “no matter how dim.”
I’ve read almost all of Alexie’s novels and story collections. I’ve never read any of his poetry, though I did pick up One Stick Song at a used book store a few weeks ago. Haven’t read it yet, in fact until just now I’d forgotten I bought it. Maybe I’ll read it next.
Love when this kind of thing happens. Hope you like it.
It’s a lovely piece, Deb.
Still, if you believe middle-age is matte and dim, you’re going to love cataracts.