Tag Archives: menopause

All Three of Me

Time is limited.  There isn’t much left of it, he said. Why then, at forty-nine has my life as myself only just started? And will the first year of my new beginning last until the end of time? Or, in the stretching, will it thin out – in the middle – with neither of theContinue reading “All Three of Me”

Foliage in the Middle: A Silly Poem

As woman reaches middle age, her middle bits shed hairs; so why’s it fair that ageing trees, grow leaves fed by her tears?   Copyright of poem and photo owned by Jay Cool, May 2019   If you would prefer to read something sensible about trees, take a read of: Giving Up the Day Job 6:Continue reading “Foliage in the Middle: A Silly Poem”

Is this the time?

Is this the time? I ask myself. Is this the time to write my part? Am I too late to make my mark, to give up work and make a start? And, if I choose to make that start, will I finish before I part? Is there a time? I ask myself. A time toContinue reading “Is this the time?”

Exposure

Sweat clams up my facial pores, drowning my being in a deluge of fast-playing age, like a sweaty-sibling’s palm, it taunts me, blocks my immediate vision and blurs out the splayed-out fingers on its periphery. Its a winter midnight but, even so, I fling off my summer-togged duvet, and sit up – abruptly; willing myContinue reading “Exposure”

Love Thyself

{Inspired by my ancestor William Wycherley’s lust for women of all varieties: ‘For Variety in Love’.} ‘Telephone Pole’ image from Pixabay.com (creative commons) To myself, I am devoted still, I’ll n’er grow bored, or have my fill, ’tis true that in my heart am I, Stuck thick as thieves to my great thigh! My thigh, it’sContinue reading “Love Thyself”

Purple Berry

‘Purple Berry’ photograph by Jay Cool Purple berry’s twisted fate. Dried, dying, dangling, midst cherry pinks. Thirsty channel’s wearied weight Stretched, straining, slipping, t’wards motley greens. Salmon ball-gown’s awkward gait, Flustered, flipping, falling ‘mongst tawny golds. Middling ladies’ tired fate. Dried, dying, dangling midst hoary whites of ageing, ancient, trite old men – the last-chanceContinue reading “Purple Berry”