There are no dreams like this:
old man learning to go slow
without coming to a stop—

                    hand let run the smooth flesh
                    of a time and weather-worn
                    corral-board table top, sanded
                    and shellacked, splinters sealed
                    beneath to become functional.

                    Scars and crooked fingers trace
                    the deep grain without calloused
                    insulation, a new sensation saved
                    for thin skin that bruises easily.

There are no dreams like this
for whip and spur youth, wide loops
and inflated heroics—yahoo mugs
raised to the wild, to the heavens
howling late into black night
when once I was among them.


11 responses to “INTO BLACK NIGHT

  1. M Timothy Nolting

    Ahhhh… don’t I know it! That one hits The heart of an aging man.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. By degrees, the way of things, right or wrong, with uneven distribution of each. Foolishness and wisdom share the road.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ubi sunt….

    Nicely done, John.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, George, for reminding that there’s nothing new under the sun. I didn’t want to be whiney because this new landscape has its high points.


  4. I have a few images of four old men ‘learning to go slow without stopping’. I’ll send them to you soon. Hugs.


    • …sorry for the misquote, make that ‘without coming to a stop’. Information retention; another phenomenon for ‘whip and spur youth’…it WAS over five minutes ago that I read you splendid verse. Be well, my old friend.


  5. Okay, last comment: Terry tells me I’ve already sent them…well, ‘Bob’s your uncle’. Now, how do I go about cleaning up this mess I’ve made on your lovely drycrikjournal page?

    Liked by 1 person

  6. My dad says getting old isn’t for sissies. You caught the bittersweetness wonderfully.


    Liked by 1 person

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