Monologue at 49

I'm turning fifty in about nine weeks.
I've spent the last year-plus attending wakes
of relatives and friends and more-than-friends.
Sometimes, an old love-song suddenly ends
with a loud scratch of the 45's vinyl,
then, silence, both perpetual and final.

I can't breathe easy when I sleep. I weigh
more than I should. My aging heart

reels from the pain of a decades-old hurt.

I tread thorned pathways every bloody day.

Statistics of the moment: five months dry,
irremediably single. Shall I try
to shed some pounds or run three-mile races,
be thankful for the hard-fought modest graces
of late midlife, or early latterlife:
the battered green of the late August leaf?





Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2019-04-14 at 08:39

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Members of Coo & Co agree with otp. This has a wonderful fluency about it, Tommo; lately we've been reading poems that make us feel rather 'shut out' (not here), and we really appreciate the openness of the poem :>)

Our FT once copyedited a book that featured 'The Poetry of the Real', there in relation to song lyrics but applicable to poetry too, we think. It is an admirable way of writing. And we also appreciate the metaphors (we hope that's the right word!), being the 'thorned pathways' and 'battered green of the late August leaf'. These are memorable indeedy :>)
2019-04-23


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
As in so many of your poems the seeming ease of writing belies the structure beneath. It's a pleasure to read, though the subject is what it is.
2019-04-15