This one, for reasons that escape me, means a lot to me, it’s special. Perhaps age is influencing my thoughts.



Merlin, palsied, rutted with age
wrinkles as dark as his deepest spells,
shuffles in worn slippers,
in a gray bathrobe

as tattered as his mind,
over city sidewalks,
mumbling about quests and grails,
twirling his fingers,

turning pigeons into kittens.
When it rains, he stands
in the streets, on the shores of potholes,
traffic swerving about him

tangling his thoughts with horns and vulgarity;
still, peering into black water,
he calls to a lady, for her hand
to reach from that abyss

and touch him once again,
to still his quiver, his shake
and lead him home,
where sweet air rushes

through tree limbs pushing sprites
from their perch,
where trumpets blare
from the battlements of Camelot,

and gentle seas embrace
Avalon’s shore.



5 thoughts on “Nostalgia

  1. This may sound rather morbid, but this would be a very fitting eulogy, or maybe that’s not the right word, when the time has come for you move on from this phase of your life. Or perhaps the word is elegy? It truly is you!

    Liked by 1 person

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