Old Embers Smoldering

I may be old
But my still blood flows
Flowing with hot desire
Old embers smoldering
With you and me holding
As our sparks
With sparks ready to ignite
Ready to light a steamy fire
As I draw you ever so close
So I can hold you tight

Growling from the Jungle Within

It is almost like being in the jungle
With sounds of wild beasts growling
Lurking in the shadows
But unlike the jungle
The growls are coming from deep within me
Sounding as though I have consumed a wild beast
And it is kind of unnerving to say the least
Plus, embarrassing . . .

Body Language

The term Body Language is taking on new meaning
As my body now talks to me with great regularity
In a language I can both feel and distinctly hear
With my bones and joints each creaking
My every move making a sound of squeaking
Often followed by accompanying sounds of popping
And those sounds are just from the bones and joints
My bowels offer their own distinct accompaniment
Of embarrassingly noisy gurgling and popping
As my body talks to me and to anyone else close enough to be listening

It is No Fun Getting Old

It is no fun getting old
And with each passing day
I feel less and less bold
It is getting harder and harder
To just stay warm
And brrrrr . . . .
When it is cold
It really does feel cold!
Then there are the aches and pains
But do we really want to go there?
I certainly don't
But alas, I'm already there
So lets bypass the pain
And talk about hair
Or lets not . . .
My hair is mostly gone
And what I have is mostly white
Plus, what does grow
Grows in the most curious places
And even more so
With each passing day
Oh, and you ask of my fleeting boldness
That too is related to my oldness
The old "kick stand" not standing much
Pretty soon I'll be needing a crutch
Or at least that is how I feel today
As I contemplate my initial refrain
That it is no fun getting old!

Just Beyond the Window

Looking out the window
Copper and crimson mountains
Beckon the nature lovers
And seekers of adventure
To venture into the canyons
And traverse the broad valleys
That the colorful mountains surround
Oh, what beautiful sights abound
Just beyond the window

The Doomed Christmas Letter

Time to write the annual Christmas letter
The one that usually is either too late
Or gets written, but never gets sent
That is just the way it usually goes
When time flies by so very fast
And procrastination takes hold
Which thought causes me to ponder
And just blame it all on just getting old
But, back to writing the Christmas letter
Admittedly, there are things to write about
If indeed anyone is the slightest bit interested
Yet, surely friends and family want to know
Where we've been and what we've done
All about our special events and fun
About our trips and vacations
And of course, all about the family
Even though the kids are all grown
Having moved away to have adventures
With trips, vacations, and fun of their own
And all of a sudden it all hits me
About how sad it is that the kids are gone
All grown, leaving we the parents all alone
And leaving me without much to write about