Many there be who seek power
to gird them up when old age
takes them down.
But, contrarily, I wish to be
an old man singing with God,
who feels the starlight on his upturned
face at night,
who touches the souls of trees
with his mind
and knows that the ancient wind
still plays and is young.
An old man, I say,
who ponders well these things:
a woman’s opening eyes and bird wings
while sitting on a stone unmoved
by any power but that of love.
Old, I say… but still in thought—wild!
and innocent in the youth
of his inward child.
*A poem simply about my soul wishes. This is a picture of me taken by my daughter Amber
It actually doesn’t look like me at all. The sharp shadow makes me look like I have a hooked nose, like an old Jew or Arab. I liked it because of that.
Americans tend to worship youth and not think about or mention getting old. As a poet, my instinct is to look at what is repressed in myself and society. Beneath the fears are the jewels. It is good to dream how you want to be as you live your values, grow up into your heart-felt, soul dreams.*