Soaring Song

(For Everybody in the 50 + Club)

A sliver of fear
Chilly-weirdly zingle-winged me
Upty-down me spine,
A-setting me afraid.
Gooshy-wooshy bumptied outside-in,
Me's body inside-out a-frightly cold,
Naked, on the way to bedly,
I skipped and hopped as
Quick as quickly couldly.

And passed a mirror,
Seeing myself for
The first time since —
And, why, I marvelled,
Would chilly-weirds be
Dingle-winging one like me?
Look here — 50 +,
And yet the fleshly goodlies ripple nicely still,
Shoulders solid, muscles gleeping weetly-smiles,
Trim hips, thighs and calves;
Between the legs
The fine one's finely, yes —

Then fear, more fear:
When will it fade?
A suddenly wrinkly prunelike vision —
Ouch!. . .Oh! . . .and Kleeple-squeech! —
Instantly back to now and flexing once
The wheetly-tweeples left me,
Dashing under covers.

Age is not the fear, I thought —
I'm modestly blessed and pleased —
But there it is,
Lurking in the shadows,
Darkly gleaming fearsome furry,
Rustling, snuffling, pacing, stoofly gloaming,
Softly, yes,
But louder and more oftly,
Insisting it be noticed,
Forcing the feelie-weely bingle-jings
To kleemble up me spine and down again,
Making me feel and taste and touch him,
Everything but see and understand him.

Fuzzy, hazy, misty, cloudy, smoky,
Ambiguous, nebulous, mysterious, enigmatic,
Slippery, shifty, bobbily, snobbily
And otherwise generally and specifically
This gleeple-weepy fear
Keeps on keepin' on,
Suggesting all manner of
Bobble-i-zations —
Skeery in the first degree!
     — Fantasies amokly steepling
One after two after threedle-doo,
Cleeple-zinging all me staggered wit,
Stripling youth and money, hope,
And wiggley-laughing,
Harshly and smarshly
Courage and creativity
To silly-sadly tweeples.

Well, boo-hoo and chaos, too!
Who do we screw to
Out this bangle-clanging mazoid?
Escape, where are thy names?
TV, cocaine, roaring engines, work?
How sweet the numb of alcohol;
Sweeter still, the vampy outlaw kiss;
Both at once, of course,
The sweetest sweepling's thrill of all.
Escape and ease the pain —
A sip, a toke, a snort, a shot, a touch —
Transgressions in the night —
All so fine to ease the moment's terrors.

But then a wakling's moment,
A clear mind but for a single instant,
And lo and alack and
Leap ye heartily into the trees,
Me fairly feathered friends,
That streeply fear returns again —
This time, quiver quick,
With sharper teeth
And blood in its eyes.
'Scape's not 'scape at all —
It's bondage.

Well, hoopy-do and hearty too!
I see, I say, I saw, I said,
So, the journey leads not out and away,
But in,
Where Creation's fountains
Spout in swaying fans and arcs,
And further still,
Toward the center,
Where intergalactic cosmic winds
Sail and swoosh themselves
Among the spiraled galaxies
Into the most profoundly blissful silence
You have ever never heard.

And that's when I came to see
And understand,
A fearful gleeple's gloomy
Only when we sneeple from it.
Go the other way,
That's in,
And we're out again,
Dreeple-painting wordsongs
In the air,
Just like these
And laughing summer breezes.