You

Old age used to happen to old people. Now it's happening to you.
You always thought you knew the difference between what's hype
   and what's true.
You thought you understood what was really going on;
   turns out you didn't have a clue.
Sure, they told you time goes by, but you had no idea how fast it flew.
Now it seems Father Time doesn't scream, he just hums.
He doesn't hold press conferences, there's no trumpet blasts,
   no roll of the drums.
Old age sneaks up on you, comes real quiet. But it comes.
How many years now of hearing loss and height loss,
teeth loss, libido loss, hair loss and sight loss?
Without all these losses, in a month or two,
there ain't gonna be nothing left of "you".
That coat you wore forever no longer fits ya.
Suddenly you remember you have memory loss. And that really gits ya.
And you say: "hmmm. Old father Time's scythe is getting fairly close",
   just as it slits ya.
And that really gives you a scare
'cause the realization hits ya:
you're not getting old, you're there.
You bought into that hype. They had you sold
on botox and tummy tucks. You've been cajoled
by that Forever Young Club you always extolled.
But they're cutting you loose, babe, kicking you out of the fold,
leaving you your golden years after taking all the gold.
I don't know how many times you've got to be told.
Take a deep breath. Grab onto something to hold:
You're not "a respected elder" who's "aging gracefully". You're old!
No ifs, ands, buts or maybes.
Getting old is as much fun as getting rabies.
I tell you my friends, they ought to put warning labels on babies.

II

Yeah, it's hard to keep copin'
when you lose all hope an'
find yourself mopin'
'cause you hear Death's Door start to creak open.
And sweat starts to pour,
your throat gets sore
'cause you don't know what's in store
beyond that door.
It's a major mystery
that frightened plenty of people throughout history,
froze the hearts of those priests and kings
who settled for the slings outrageous fortune often brings,
who saw us all as separate things,
sealed off the Sacred Springs,
slammed the door on Saint Peter's wings,
prevailed as they veiled the many splendored thing.
Soured on spirit, deaf to dreams,
blind to the Veda's Tat Tvam Asim,
they sold us a stuff-or-nothing scheme
expressed in treatise instead of song,
locked in a paradigm so strong,
peddled it as Truth for so long
it's hard to even fathom they might have had it wrong.
What if our sense of the real is a collusion?
What if we've been sold a consensus delusion
that squeezed our sense of self into isolation and confusion?
What if our whole take on time, on death, is an illusion?
What if the Big River doesn't end
At the horizon, but just takes another bend?
If you can get past their hype and your fears,
Past the limit of your skin and the "passing of years",
you might just find that place too deep for tears.
But it's time to kick the Time Habit,
to smash the Idol of Youth,
get busy peeling layers off the pungent
Onion of Truth,
till you get to the core where it's always now,
penetrate the veil, find a way how.
Some pray to Jesus, face Mecca and bow,
some read the Gita or read I And Thou,
or be with "The Force" or embrace the Tao.
Call it whatever, Nirvana or God,
as long as it gets you beyond the façade.
Then you can be as old as a star.
Just don't let 'em confuse you about who you are.

You

New Poems

From By Heart

Some Earlier Poems

Audio Recordings