A Boomer sonnet about aging complications, cosmological creations, and musical elations.
“Antiquitas saeculi, Juventus mundi. The old age of the world…is the attribute of our own times, not of that earlier age in which the ancients lived; and which, though in respect of us it was the elder, yet in respect of the world it was younger.”
—Aphorism 84, Novum Organum, Francis Bacon
English philosopher, scientist (b.1561- d.1626)
Well at sixty-eight I’m not growing bolder
my knees prevent a lot of get up and boogie
I don’t need a cold beer to be any colder
gotta slow down on just one more cookie.
However, knowing about certain older things is great
learning about particle physics and quantum theory
no problem if I forget the years since Big Bang’s date
about distant stars and light years I constantly query.
Older music, European Renaissance through to Baroque
older musical instruments: strings, woodwinds, and brass
relax, tranquillize, sedate and prevent me having a stroke
provide daily and nightly company with my parting glass.
My short-term memory is increasing, seems to never fail
but I don’t remember that as through new knowing I sail.
Sophomoric Sass About our Time to Pass
I was washing the early evening pots and dinner dishes
not thinking about anything special or bucket list wishes
and I got to thinking about what in life comes next
what do I need to know about those next tomorrows
could I find some answers to that in any given text
why not just accept all the joys and upcoming sorrows
what about all the other more problematic personal stuff
how to deal with and face it whatever you want to call it
how much false bravado, who wants to hear my guff
death is on the horizon coming closer you can’t stall it
not many seasons longer not too many summers left
winter snows color white my beard and hairs on my head
Grandfather Time is always successful with life theft
no way to deny it sooner or later we will all be dead.