Growing old

Minutes bloom
hours flower
seconds vine
through the hands
of time —
days hustle
weeks speed
decades scatter
in confetti’d years

—Terri Guillemets

End’s edge

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, pages 92–93

Raindrop days, lightning moments

We all have those moments in our lives that transform us — something small or big happens and we’re never the same.

Sometimes we remember these moments in our personal histories as leaps, or falls — or just serendipitous wanderings — from one life segment to the next.

Or we mark them like stars on a map of self — constellations of life-changing moments. Some seem crazy small and wouldn’t even register as stars in others’ systems. But in our own they blaze bright.

Or maybe our days are raindrops and our lives rolling clouds and these moments are lightning strikes.

Raindrop days, lightning-strike moments.

These maps and moments imprint our souls, our minds, our memorious hearts. Our stories of self are made from them.

—Terri Guillemets

Iridescent

The years sprint, sail, drift, fly —
Days melt into sleep
Decades we no longer know —
By taste or smell, yes — but
Hard, fast memories tend not to keep
Youth lives on — yet, is long gone
Birds chirp each Spring anew
But our hearts sing the same shades
Of childhood colors we once knew

—Terri Guillemets