Swaying grass in wind
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the hillside waltz
but really not.
It just seems that way.
Rise and fall of waves
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the ocean tango
but really not.
It just seems that way.
Alone, I sit glued to one spot,
cornered in this old folks’ home.
He’s long past it, so they say.
He dribbles in his chair.
He wheezes in his air.
His mind’s not very clear.
His bank account is bare.
Mostly he can’t hear.
He won’t see out the year.
His end must soon be near.
There’s a bloody waiting list as long as your arm for here.
And yet
Swaying grass in wind
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the hillside waltz
but really not.
It just seems that way.
To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.
Weave a Web 
One of the things I see more clearly as I get older and as I have known more older people, is that if you’re lucky, your head doesn’t get old. You’re the same person, but with a bit of wisdom about yourself and the world. So all those perceptions others may have, well, not really…
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A couple of years ago I went to a class reunion and I couldn’t believe the number of old people attending!
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I know. My college roommate is coming in February and we have all kinds of things planned and I realized that although we have known each other since we were girls, someone seeing us might see two 60 year olds yukking it up!
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It’s the bending down to do up the shoe laces that gets to me!
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The two opening stanzas build up to the despondency, restlessness, and the worthlessness of being old and desolate. The iteration of the opening stanza drives the nail of poignancy deeper into the pathetic wasteland.
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Thanks, Uma. I think you expressed what I had hoped to capture! Much appreciated.
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Uma has nailed this really beautiful piece, Bruce
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Many thanks, Derrick.
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This is beautiful.
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Thank you. That is very kind!
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A truly moving poem, Bruce. I spent many years managing sheltered housing for the elderly. And my own dear parents were both in care homes at the end. So I know how the eyes of old age may speak of many things. Swaying grass, tossing waves… Aye, many things, for those with the heart to see.
My very best,
Paul
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Thanks very much, Paul. It is deeply appreciated.
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