Now that I’m over the hill
I can see it’s just made of
skeletons of dead monsters
that were never really there.
But that past is no less high
and no less there, and I am
no less on the other side of it.
—Terri Guillemets
Now that I’m over the hill
I can see it’s just made of
skeletons of dead monsters
that were never really there.
But that past is no less high
and no less there, and I am
no less on the other side of it.
—Terri Guillemets
My eyes can’t see as well anymore,
but my heart sees all the better.
My ears have begun to fail me,
but I hear the quiet budding of success.
I move more slowly now
but have learned to be still with myself.
I ache and hurt, I’m stiff and sore,
but my spirit’s never felt so fine.
My memory is slipping,
but I’ve got a firm grip on what it is to live.
My head is going gray,
but I’ve found all my true colors.
I get out of bed earlier,
but still I have plenty of dreams.
I live more softly
but don’t back down from doing hard things.
My teeth are artificially getting replaced,
but my soul is real and all my own.
My bones are brittle,
but my resolve is strong.
I no longer bounce back,
but I still look forward.
I tell the same stories over and again,
but still I’m new every day.
I’m nearer to the end,
yet I’ve only just begun.
—Terri Guillemets
Damnit! I binged
again II day
IV life was hard
and so I
VIII my stress away.
O why do I so of X gorge?
Since turning XL
I’ve been extra large.
—Terri Guillemets
At a certain point, some of us just sit down and watch the rest of our lives
Don’t let it happen to you!
—Terri Guillemets
Her smiling girl-heart danced
behind the grey, grey hair.
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from Enid Bagnold, National Velvet, 1935,
Old age —
gazing into the night
with half-closed eyes —
Life had become
a shadow of Time
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from Rafe Martin, Birdwing, 2005,
Eating a lot of garbage and dessert-obsessive
for several months, I put on a few pounds,
— and more.
Waddling is hell, and fat is a problem for the heart;
— I’m hungry & in pain.
Waist weight is a cruel joke, and age is no help.
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day, 2000,
Aging is millions of moments
stacked upon tumbling years.
—Terri Guillemets
How like a lovely autumn morning,
serene middle age —
a sanctuary of mind, a chapel;
the age of faith on a deep foundation,
and the age of reason;
silver fellowships, libraries and deep reflection,
wine, liberty, a milder manifestation of the soul;
brilliance upon our lips, more profound, subtle;
the rich flame of the good life, how sweet —
listening to the murmur of change.
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 1929, Grafton paperback, 1977,
Middle age — a stealthy, crafty nemesis.
—Terri Guillemets
With each passing year, the body turns more prison than shelter.
—Terri Guillemets
Keep playing, young one —
keep playing
Keep playing, mother —
keep playing
Keep playing, grandmother —
keep playing
Keep playing, white-haired youth-at-heart —
skip off into death
with a giggling heart.
—Terri Guillemets
At night, her age landed hard
like the fall of wasted time.
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Danielle Steel, Fairy Tale, 2017, Delacorte Press,