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New Poetry, by Iris Roberts



Lamenting Age


So few poets lament about age

As if they fear when they reflect

They become aware of the change

And will shed their tears unwept


I can tell that I am growing

As with every waking day

My body keeps on slowing

And my vigour starts to stray


How I hate my changing body

How my limbs are rearranged

And the joy I once embodied

Is being swept away by change


I hope I don’t forget my girlhood

When I’m lamenting all the years

When my speech is misunderstood

And my tales fall onto deaf ears


I hope I don’t forget my girlhood

There is no tragedy quite as sad

As forgetting where you once stood

What kind of life you used to have


Not mourning all the years escaped

This feeling haunts me day and night

I feel violated raped

By the clock hanging out of sight


Counting down the days, my life, my time

Until my final breath I take

And the clock will make its final chime

As I lie there in faux wake


That little girl I miss I mourn

Oh I know she lurks within

She has been with me since I was born

She lives far beneath my skin


She is dressed in tights and wellie boots

A brown dress with polka dots and stripes

Her fingers stained by fresh fruits

Her knees muddied from hikes and bikes


She laughs too loud and talks even louder

Her hair is a startling white

She has this magic running through her

That brings the room some light


And then became a mirror ball

A mere reflection of that girl

And from her pedestal I fell

Down down down in some shy swirl


Until I remerged after years

A very different girl

Not a girl who hid in fear

But one who welcomed in the world


I am that wellie wearing girl once more

With volume and with pride

I am the lively girl from before

I am who I was deep inside


You asked me why poets fear

Age and growing old

I believe it is that they have no idea

Of how to keep a young and childish soul

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