How Septuagenarian’s Cope
Past seventy. Age does prevail.
_The day is growing dim.
I’ve managed through life’s calms and gales—
I still can trapse through woodland trails
_And work out at a gym.
Past seventy. Age does assail.
_Our grandkids prove time zooms!
Their one-track minds never derail:
Just tell then “No” and hear them wail!
_Worse than a sonic boom!
Past seventy. Where’s the handrail?
_I’m ready to collapse.
After the grandkid’s roaring gale,
It’s time to chug some Golden Ale
_and then a p.m. nap.
They Shall Still Bear Fruit in Old Age
—Psalm 92:14
For those who live some three-score-years plus ten:
On backyard deck or front porch chair we sit
As rosy dawn beams light into the glen…
And twilight fades and all the yard’s moonlit.
We muse about our past regrets and joys—
The passions and the follies of our youth.
The attic trunk once filled with games and toys…
Once stored inside a chest, the first lost tooth.
We wonder what the next sunrise will bring?
We know the time will come when life will end.
We’ve had deep loss… life hangs but from a string.
Adjust. Clean house. Take stock. Complete amends.
How shall we end? With faith or in despair?
In you, O Lord, we hope and lift our prayers.
Light
Light above me
Light below me
Light beside me
Light behind me
Light before me
Light beyond me
Light outside me
Light inside me?
Peter Venable has been writing poetry for fifty years and his poems have appeared in The Lyric, The Merton Seasonal, The Christian Century, and other publications. More of his work can be found at petercvenable.wordpress.com. His “Roofless Church” merited an Honorable Mention in The Best Poems of 2024 in the SCP’s International Poetry Competition.
honest, hope and challenge – great triad for a Saturday morning. Thanks Mr Venable.
Apparently, you have lived to what is called a ripe old age with the ability to cope. I, myself, have boxes of stuff such as that to which you alluded. One does not reach such an age without experience the loss of other friends and relatives. You have shown us a vibrant picture of life after seventy with hope for what is to come in eternity.
Two poems that although not revelling in being seventy, put the big 7-oh in perspective in a positive light.
Thanks for the reads, Peter.
I empathize, but I don’t necessarily sympathize. As someone once said, growing old sucks, but it’s better than the alternative. For the moment I am still able to keep up with my grandkids. We’ll see how that goes.