Some old poetry of mine

Today I wanted to be picked up


carried - if just for a while,

rocked and soothed.

But, to no amount of

crying and raging

could any giant arms find me.



We are the generation of __

(Adults) that live in future tenses:

we will never (to be)

In our youth we are reminded

two decades done, two more to come?



In our middles - a discontent

and emptying of empty

a disconnect:

once whose cheeks were ruddy, round and full.

Now are: sallow, sallowing shallower still.



In our age we are reminded of the loss of our in-ability

our infancy, such tender caresses,

and kisses,

and the endless comfort

in knowing that with just one cry:

racing racing! Mother

will come to hold and to have.



How does one ever fit in his or her age with

Fervor, with

passionate strikes and strokes

with confidence

confident that if by chance

time were to stop



we would be exactly

where we are supposed to be.