Golden Years? (A day in the life of seniors)
When you are old and gray and full of sleep-
And the morning light breaks upon the hill-
Your weary bones creak with the havoc of arising-
Breaking the absolute of earlys morns still;
The stillness breaks the world awake-
As our gray fights to overcome infirmity-
Morning eggs stir yellow upon this stove of life-
And saves our sinews from utter calamity;
We move our sleepy bodies ever slowly-
Tired bones but awaiting the noontime sun-
Gray and old we manage our steps in frail paces-
As we do when day has finally begun;
A heaviness envelopes in late afternoon-
Four P.M. announces many a fragile yawn-
Heart beats struggle to flow the blood-
Congested from damage thats been done;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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The Clinic
I was sitting upon your knee--
When i was all of twenty-three--
And i can still remember you speaking so softly...
On that Friday that seems like an eternity;
You told me that i was your lady--
Why you even called me your baby---
Out in the open-never shady...
Even though everyone knows your rather cagey;
You told of your feelings to your best friend Bob...
Who was just outside about to turn the knob...
But with no intention to wrongfully rob---
Or even act like a nosey slob;
He came inside to see you and me---
And i was still upon your steady knee----
Bob said that we looked 'happy as can be'----
He said that 'The truth shall set us free'! ;
For so long our love song had been outta tune---
And of course you blamed it on the waning moon----
But we rekindled by the end of June...
And married we would be real soon;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Carla Cravens.Com
Do you wanna trip the light fantastic?
Or dance 'til the early morn?
How 'bout cruisin' the streets of Manhatten?
For it is here that a Design Goddess 'tis born;
Raising her star in New York City-
Carla 'tis Texas born and bred-
She is my very own Soul Daughter...!
With her creativity-to Park Avenue she is led;
Her most divine design 'tis splendiferous-
Her set design-a movie directors dream-
A Fashionista and Interior Maven-
I call her Manhattens reigning Queen;
Her name is Carla Cravens-
She has her hands in most every theme-
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Design-(The Fabric Of Our Life?
Carnegie Hall has nothing on you...
Your design 'tis quite divine-?
Vice president of fabric-a velvet King...?
A Grand Master of Interior Design;
New York-it 'surely' loves you...
Michigan gave you your B.A. degree-
Chicago taught your interior- very well...
While you pulled the Wool over my eyes that now see;
A designer of pretence and scamming?
Caught up in your textile most divine?
Selling New York or 'tis it Newark?
You know longer fool these green eyes of mine;
Too used to people befriending me...
Now- too used to all of their lies...
Trust? whats that? lying to me flat...
You really take the the prize;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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False Prophet?
You have humbled me-
Groveling for any stone
To throw;
Pebbles of yesteredays-
Paleolithic Era-
Sit silent-
In a copious-
Summer sun;
And you-
Drowning in such-
Circumstance...
The waters using you up-
Your energy dissolved-
In a mere flash-
One rip tide;
Gone in the glory-
And the deeps-
Unfathomnable-
Becomes the reality-
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poem by Theodora Onken
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I Am Not Your (Capital) 'Y'! ! !
Sick is sick! ! !
And plans are plans
Laying here in the warmth of my husband
Trying very hard to understand! ! !
Where do you come off, anyway?
Your schemes-delusions of a manic mind!
I love my husband in bed and out...
Do you need it-any better defined? !
And if i wasn't married
I wouldn't be looking for someone rude & crude
Besides, know about your devious plans
W & B and you know-the whole darn crew! ! !
So 'Y' not just dropp the 'Y'?
Because it does not represent me! ! !
Have no interest in manic-criminal pornographers
Is that so difficult to see?
Your mental illness and greed has taken its toll
You make me and my heart so very sick
You and your groups con games are the lowest of the low! ! ! !
Do not understand what makes you all tick!
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Broken Heart Road
Well-its down the road of broken dreams-
Ima' travelin' on my way...
Goin' down the backroads of emptiness...
Past the street corners of yesterday;
Memberin' your sweet smile...
And your oh so gentle touch...
Missin' all of you and words once true-
Missin' you-oh so much;
Its down the road of broken dreams -
Ima' travelin' on my way...
Goin' down the back roads of emptiness...
Past the street corners of yesterday;
Lost and so alone ima' travelin'...
On a journey longer than forever-
Memberin' you and i and wonderin' why...
Our together ended in stormy weather;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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April Showers
It is the season of new beginnings...
Spring removes her winter robe
And fades into rainbows of hope;
The sun shines its headlights into April-
And in the garden the effluent scent
Of multiple blooms delights the nose;
The naked trees are no longer bare
Clothed in egg shell, pink and green.
Now entertaining the sometime visit
Of the butterfly and bee;
Showers are but a necessity
Splashed to chase the thirst away
They are never maudlin weeping tears
But always fall on purpose
For they help to bring
Even more blossoms to May;
Dedicated To: 'Betty'...AKA- - - - - - -
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poem by Theodora Onken
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My Legacy Part I
I remember a shirtless child
And shredded jeans
A pony tail as long as forever
And Mexican Jumping Beans
Newspapers wadded and blowing
Into direction's where we did not play
Headlines that were blown in the wind
Across the vast expanse of yesterday
I remember The Tag and The Hide And Seek
Even in puddles and puddles of rain
Seattle gave us little choice back then
Entertainment could be a drenching pain
The apple tree and my swing
Skinned knees and all the happy grins
Mom's cherry pie and occasional blue sky
And the yesterdays of you and i
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Fable Or FairyTale?
It t'was the first day of make believe-
A day when stories and plans were made...
Character actors were auditioned and hired-
And in the days ahead put on parade;
It was the second day of make believe-
The sun was buried in a purple haze...
The Big Apple Trees were growing lemons...
And the blackest nights replaced sunniest days;
Spring t'was more as the Fall...
And Summer t'was clad in snow...
Leading us into the third day of make believe-
Where the moon had all but lost its glow;
The majestic mountains had grown to be more like valleys...
While the lakes were more liked dried solid ground...
Devoid of any water whatsover...
And the birds had lost their most melodic sound;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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