I dig old books. ™
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Terri Guillemets
Archives — 2024
This is the archive of my publicly published writings, and outtakes, from 2024.
i don't care how rough a day i had
when i see the golden hour sunset
painting the trees with happy light
and feel a cool breeze on my face—
all is suddenly and magically reset
heart and mind cleared of burdens
so the gratitude has a place to be
TITLE: Golden moments
DATE: 2024 Jan 12
when you live too hard
forty is a warning
fifty, penalty
TITLE: Self-conviction
DATE: 2024 Apr 28
Dear Middle Age,
you fair-weather brute! —
Oh, why don't you love me
the way I was loved by Youth?
TITLE: Breakup
DATE: 2024 Jan 20
Dear Yesterday,
You begged to talk with me
but I am too busy with Today —
maybe we can catch up later —
if Tomorrow doesn't treat me well
I will call to cry on your shoulder.
DATE: 2024 Dec 12
i can muster up
some pretty good
grace & elegance
if need be — but
when it comes to
chocolate, crayons
or playful animals
i always become a
bumbling giggling
messy little girl —
TITLE: Play-grounding
DATE: 2024 Jan 2
my heart is dying
for this gambel's quail crying
lovesick for a mate
TITLE: Alone in the city
DATE: 2024 Mar 26
Spring doesn't know
how to spring anymore
because it thinks it's summer
Autumn can't fall in line
with seasonal time anymore
because the heat's still rising
Winter won't wait
to leaf the trees anymore
because spring too early spirals
TITLE: Hustled
DATE: 2024 Dec 2
I used to love leaves changing
falling off the trees, being blown away
to wherever leaves go — but now
after fifty gorgeous autumns and winters
in anthropomorphized fears I wonder:
What if they don’t come back?
what if they’re not strong enough
or reborn or determined enough
what if the tree has just had enough
of storms and harsh seasons
and it’s ready to leave things be
comfortable now baring itself always
without even bothering anymore
maybe it’s too tired to keep blooming
or perhaps green suddenly annoys it
the burgeoning whippersnappers
flaunting verdant youth and beauty.
What if this has been the final fall
because what if I can’t spring back up
and what if I’m a bare branch forever?—
TITLE: Changing
DATE: 2024 Jan 4
AGE: fifty
NOTES: revised
as inevitable as
aging and taxes —
death is no longer
the surety it was
TITLE: Forever…
DATE: 2024 Jan 20
Death is now a driverless carriage
that forgets to make its stops —
No longer does it pick people up
but carelessly runs them down.
TITLE: Hit & Run
DATE: 2024 Jan 20
If you don't know anyone who has it worse than you, trust this — you do. You just don't know you do.
TITLE: Suffering in silence
DATE: 2024 Mar 19
Empty-nesting is exponentially more painful
when all you've ever had is eggs, no chicks —
and now, even the eggs are gone.
TITLE: Sticks & stones
DATE: 2024 Apr 15
I know a guy.
Angry. Festering
in disappointment
of the world
and of himself.
A little depressed.
Sick of doing
the same. freaking.
thing. every day.
Wondering where
his lost youth went.
Hungering to replace
the comfort and
all the good things
in his life that
have gone away.
But resolutely
continuing on
doing his duty.
Living with the pain.
Loving while he can.
Taking any little
laugh he can find.
Then doing it all
over again. Perhaps
you know him too.
Perhaps we all do
— inside.
POEM TITLE: 2024
DATE: 2024 Oct 8
Terri Guillemets
Archives — 2024
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