~complete and unabridged~ by Jeanne René

i am relatively old

this i surmised today
due to waking with pain across my back
accompanied by well versed groans
when reaching for toes
and stretching mournful extremities

deep into my morning revelry
a fanciful thought creeps into my over-taxed genius
that i would like to slip into shakespeare’s works
complete and unabridged

be written boldly into his pages
to puff my chest and billow my skirts
rant and rave and wallow
and allow
my venerable bones speak to me
in brittle soliloquy
of some memory waiting
absolution
and stubborn prayers
whispered in endless revolution

a silly wandering
to take my days
in tempest or merriment
and play them against the centuries
quoting my very own “adieu, adieu”
and placing one more virgin kiss
wildly upon my romeo
to be of one parchment penned
with quill that embellishes youth and age
and all senses embroiled
on earth and hell and heaven

but as i curl my lip against the spasm of my weary ways
and manage at last to stand straight and light
i laugh at my dramatic musing
and in truth know that i would simply settle
to set myself
once more
as in
former days
upon a nicely rounded derriere



jeanne rené 4/05

Upon Consideration of Hourglass and Spectrumby Jeanne René

~
I touch the reflection in my mirror,
trying to find the supple texture of my lips,
but stopped by my own fingertips.
Studying a false immortality,
unable to marry that which I see to that which I feel.
The eyes of this solitary figure
do not discern my rainbow pigmentation.
This delusive guise does not display the saturation
of youth and lover,
of mother and daughter,
of teacher.
Of time and every tear,
countless portraits and poses that I, clearly, still can see.
~

I find it best to walk away, leave my reflection
and harmonize with my humble mortality.
Simply to take my colors
and distribute them in kindness
along the remainder of the way.
So I consider;
What lasting word can I give my children
that they will draw upon in the depths of their misery?
Which passionate kiss
will forever be akin to ecstasy on the mouth of my lover?
With which words of gratitude do I bury my mother?
... which grape and grain be mine to feast in kinship
at the table of a stranger.
~

I will find . . . all that I am,
all that I have never ceased to be,
all that I have left behind, but always take along with me,
and bestow my gifts to precious time,
no trace of my reflection, except in memory.
~

copyright jeanne rene 8/04