©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

Photo by Dingzeyu Li on Unsplash

I never felt strong stirrings
about angels in the past.
Their role for me was limited
and, by me, rashly cast.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

To grow old is indignity and privilege, all in one.
The exercise is riddled with confusion.
Age lends a certain gravitas, when all is said and done.
And yet, how much is real…how much illusion?

Youth greets life with a blank slate and a hardy constitution,
eager for every trip around the sun.
Years fill the slate but oversee the body’s dissolution,
and all the wisdom garnered is hard-won.

Given the choice, would old folks take life on another run…
in search, perhaps, of greater resolution?
Or does knowing how it all might end before it has begun
make do-overs a dubious solution?

It seem the best course is straight-on, toward a bright conclusion.
Look gently on the tale your life has spun.
Don’t yield the field to wounds or worn-out chassis. That’s collusion.
To-finish-well may well be to-have-won.
∞§∞

If this poem resonated with you, you might also enjoy reading
Growing Old Gracefully.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

I fill up notebooks with my pen
to mourn you, son…again…again.
The lasting loss, the hollow heart,
the ache of living far apart.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

We came here every year
for years and years.
It was our jam.
We’re gathered here again
at last, but now
you’re on the lam.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by John Salvino on Unsplash

Gray waves, pounding on the shore,
give shelter to this mother’s roar
of anguish. You are here no more.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Fey Marin on Unsplash

Small white crosses dot green grasses,
children who will play no more.
Bright-eyed boys and lively lasses,
robbed of all life held in store.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Hannah Olinger on Unsplash

I chart my course in life with words
that rise up like the northern star
and lead me, yet my words fall short
of lifting me to where you are.

©2022 Susan Noyes Anderson

Photo by Lucas George Wendt on Unsplash

Life leaves its mark on everyone:
a bruise, a scrape, a scar.
But none of these define us.
There is more to who we are.
We cannot alter circumstance;
God only holds that power.
We cannot stop or start the rain
that falls on every flower.
It is not ours to shift the winds
of fortune, foul or fair.
Nor can we pick the troubles
we find easiest to bear.