Rictameters Again

TV

TV:
Guilty pleasure,
Waste of time, yet often,
When the day seems dull, I watch too
Many news shows, same old stories, Cubs games,
But still I lack the strength to break
Away and turn it off
For other things.
TV.


Breakfast

Breakfast:
Favorite meal
To start the day, to wake
Energy, imagination,
Prelude to a day of actiity
Or maybe just relaxation,
Anyway the only
way to begin,
breakfast.

More Rictameters

It's been three years since my little, mostly-unread book of poetry was published (Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters is still available on Amazon.com), but from time to time I still write poems in my favorite format, the rictameter: nine unrhymed lines with two, four, six, eight, ten, eight, six, four, two lines, the first and last lines the same. At least one of my fellow Clare residents has become hooked on this form. It's amazing how much can be said in how few words.

For some reason, I've begun to think of new rictameters. They truly are addictive, so I've decided to include some here from time to time. Here are two for today:

I'm Old

I'm old.
Funny things have
Happened: gray hair, wrinkles,
Halting gait, early fatigue, to
Prove the inevitable: my time is
Running out, my future not so
Endless, bright, promising
As once I thought.
I'm old.


Bright Days

Bright days
Of golden sun
Viewed from highrise heaven,
Everything takes on a golden
Glow that makes the world seem better than on
Grayer days, when troubles, problems
Take the foreground, make me
Long for sunshine,
Bright days.

A Rictameter: Time Flies

Time flies:

An old cliche,

Yet oh so true these days

With meetings, puzzles, TV shows

All designed to keep us busy, content.

In youth, time seemed to crawl along:

Plans were made, lessons learned.

Now, not enough.

Time flies.

Baseball: Sign of Spring

Baseball: Sign of Spring: A Rictameter


Cubs play

At Wrigley, first

Home game, exciting day.

They often fail and make us wait

Until it's time to say, "Wait 'til next year."

But still we watch and hope "Cubs Win!"

Will echo through the stands.

A sign of spring?

Cubs play.

Copyright 2010 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Honors and Awards--Again!

Spring seems to be honors and awards time for many organizaations, associations, and volunteer groups. At least four of us here at The Clare have received awards this spring, and there may be more.

This year, I was again surprised and honored to receive awards in the Illinois Woman's Press Association's Mate E. Palmer Communications Contest. Multiple awards were presented at a luncheon yesterday at the Union League Club. I had been notified that I was a winner, but I was expecting not much more than honorable mention this year; I did less writing than usual in 2008.

I was pleasantly surprised to receive two firsts and one second on my three entrees. Lightening struck a third time when my third book, Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters won first in the "Creative Verse: Book or Chapbook of Poetry" category. The other two won firsts in other categories in 2007 and 2008. So now I'm not only a writer; I'm a poet! Now if the literary world would only take note. This book has sold even less well than Reinventing Myself and Seniorwriting. I know of only one person outside my family who has read all three of my books: The Clare's Dining Room Manager. Thanks, Carl. I'm glad I donated a copy of each book to The Clare Library.

Here are the anonymous judge's comments:

"Poet Styne ably summarizes the strengths and joys of her work in the final poem of the tome. Lovely!" (I'm not sure that a 50-some page book qualifies as a tome, but then I am a woman of few words.)

Of course you're not likely to have read or remembered that final poem, so here it is:

My Rictameters

Great art?
No, not these poems
Of mine, and yet if they
Just make you ponder, wonder, think
Or dream, consider your own life or write
A story, draw or paint the truth,
Learn who or what you are,
These poems inspire
Great art.

My other first place award was for "In Defense of Self-Publishing"--Parts I & II" published in my other blog, "Write Your Life!" The category was "Writing for the Web: For Hobby or Special Interest Sites."

The comments on this:

"The author uses the platform well to successfully create an easy-to-read explanation of self-publishing. With clear and focused writing the author put forth good effort in content styling for emphasis, scannability for reading and linking to provide context and additional resources. Excellent potential for more interacftivity through chats or issue focused discussions boards."

You can find these entries here:

http://seniormemoirs.blogspot.com/2008/08/priorities-choices-and-opportunities-in.html
http://seniormemoirs.blogspot.com/2008/08/matter-of-choices-in-defense-of-self.html

Finally, my second place award was for two book reviews here on "Never too Late!": "Aging, Life, and Death: A Book Review" (on Where River Turns to Sky, by Gregg Kleiner (Avon 1996; Perennial paperback 2002) and "Realities of Alzheimer's: A Book Review" (on Measure of the Heart: a Father's Alzheimer's, a Daughter's Return, by Mary Ellen Geist (Springboard 2008). Find these reviews by clicking on the "Book Reviews" label toward the bottom of the sidebar. The category was "Writing for the Web: Commentary (reviews)."

These may be small-time awards, but they make me feel good. Never underestimate the power of honors and awards to make people--especially elders--feel appreciated.

Copyright 2009 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Rictameter from Rehab

This is the second rictameter I wrote while I was recovering in a nursing home. "Kindness" was the first; see it in my other blog, Write Your Life!

Rictamer from Rehab

Painful?
Yes, it's painful
Bending legs so stiff, sore,
Knees expected to support me.
Heavy body, weak muscles rebelling.
Still, I need to walk, rejoin the
Outside world, go home to
Live where life's not
Painful.

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Literary Impressions of Aging: A Book Review

To delve into The Art of Growing Older: Writers on Living and Aging, by Wayne Booth (U. of Chicago Press 1992) is to discover, or rediscover, that the world’s literary greats have had a lot to say through the centuries on the topic of aging. This book, which I recently discovered, is a journey through the literary world by respected University of Chicago literature scholar Wayne Booth (1921-2005), author of The Rhetoric of Fiction and many other books.

From Sophocles to Euripides to Milton to Wordsworth, Byron, Browning, T.S. Eliot, and far beyond, writers have dealt, as we all do, with the challenges of aging and/or the contemplation of it. Toward the end of his introduction, Wayne Booth quotes Cicero, who wrote this in his early sixties: “For me, writing this book has been so delightful that it has not only erased all the petty annoyances of old age but has also made old age soft and pleasant.” As he wrote this book, Wayne Booth added, “At seventy one, which doesn’t feel at all to me like old age, I can say the same to you: Join me, friends, in this distinctively modern adventure, the almost certain journey into old age.”

Beautifully tied together by Booth’s incisive commentary, the poems and prose excerpts in this book are divided into an introduction, “Feeling Older,” and three parts: “Facing the Facts: Losses, Fears, and Lamentations,” “Cures, Consolations, Celebrations,” and “A Further Harvest.” I find it interesting that the “Cures, Consolations, Celebrations” section is by far the longest, indicating Booth’s own positive view of aging. I hope that’s a universal trend.

W. B. Yeats, in “Sailing to Byzantium,” laments in the first stanza, “That is no country for old men. The young / In one another’s arms, birds in the trees / . . . Caught in that sensual music all neglect / Monuments of unageing intellect.” However, he finds solace in his hope to escape, in artistic, non-human form, to a golden bough from which to sing of “What is past, or passing, or to come.”

Lighter and more humorous views of aging are included as well. In “Life Begins at 80,” Frank C. Laubach wrote, “If you survive until you are 80, everybody is surprised that you are still alive. They treat you with respect just for having lived so long. Actually they seem surprised that you can walk and talk sensibly. So please, folks, try to make it to 80. If you ask me, life begins at 80.”

I like that fact that Booth democratically includes some less-than-famous writers: Minnie Hodapp, at the age of 92, wrote in “I Haven’t Lost My Marbles Yet!” “I sometimes feel a bit bereft / Of youthful eyes and ears-- / But when I think of all that’s left / My trouble disappears. / So life goes on without upset / ‘Cause I ain’t lost no marbles yet.” Great poetry? No, but I like Hodapp’s spirit.

With an index and pages of notes and sources, this is a scholarly book, but its appeal should extend beyond literature majors. As Booth says, “You can make a good start on a reading program that can well last for the rest of your life by consulting first the books I praise as I go along and then the booklists provided by the ten works I list following the endnotes. . . . Spend a year on those lists, and first thing you know you’ll have become an expert and people will begin calling you a gerontologist.” However, if you’re just looking for inspiration and interesting quotes about growing older, this book is the ultimate source.

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

A New Review of "Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters" is just out. Find it here:

http://www.storycirclebookreviews.org/reviews/expectations.shtml

Another Press Release: "Elder Expectations"

To see the new press release for my poetry book, Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters, go to my other blog, "Write Your Life!"



http://seniormemoirs.blogspot.com/2008/07/another-press-release-elder.html

Link to the release on PRweb:
http://www.prweb.com/releases/2008/07/prweb1077614.htm

An Elder Discovers a Passion for Writing--And a Will to Live

I've written about Wayne before (see my other blog, "Write Your Life!," http://seniormemoirs.blogspot.com/2008/06/power-of-senior-writing-perhaps-ive.html ).

Yesterday, he sent me this poem, inspired by my rictameters. His poem is not technically a rictameter (it lacks the prescribed syllable count), but I think its nine lines provide a wonderful example of short, simple free-form poetry that conveys an elder's thoughts very effectively. What do you think?

ELDERVERSITY, by Wayne Winters (used by permission)

ELDERVERSTIY
IS A WORD THAT
BEST DECRIBES ME AND
MY PHYSICAL CONDITION
AS I APPROACH MY EIGHTY-SECOND
AND RELINQUISH MORE CONTROL
OF LIFE'S DESIRES, WANTS,
AND WISHES.
ELDERVERSITY.

This poem illustrates a previous statement of Wayne's about his discovery, or rediscovery, of writing after age 80: "I think I have started writing out of frustration and confusion. I am frustrated because I cannot do what I always did and I'm confused because I don't remember why. Writing of any kind seems to help put facts and figures in place, in order, while otherwise they are just bouncing around in my mostly dried-out gourd of a head. In some of us, God forgot to include the zerk fitting, and so we were never properly maintained."

(I had no idea what a "zerk fitting" is, so I looked it up. It seems that it's a fitting providing a way for grease to be forced into mechanical joints that need grease to prevent wear and make movement easy. What an appropriate image for some of the problems of aging!)

Today, Wayne wrote me as part of his permission to reproduce his work, "I have started to think that I should stay longer and write more." That's great news from someone who had been depressed and ready to give up on living.

Thanks, Wayne, for helping me show that it's never too late to discover a passion, especially a passion for writing!

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Poetry Especially for Seniors? A Book Review

When I first encountered Ed L. Dorsey’s book Real Poetry for Seniors ((Noble House, 2007), I wondered why seniors would need “special” poetry. Most of us are certainly alert and intelligent enough to read and appreciate poetry of all types on all subjects, although perhaps few of us do.

When I read the book, I discovered that Dorsey believes poetry needs meter and rhyme. I don’t necessarily agree, but I understand his point. In his short poem “Books Out of Balance” he writes, “Our books are out of balance at present time / and we’re much poorer than we might suppose; / Missing from all accounts are metre and rhyme / and the only measure left to poetry or prose, / Alas, is simply the length the line goes!” Elsewhere he says that poems lacking verse and rhyme “are like a song with the music gone, there’s just no place for the words to belong.”

My own poems (mainly rictameters) do not rhyme, but they have a regular syllable pattern and a shape. I’ve always preferred to write (not necessarily to read) poems that do not too closely resemble prose. A senior reader of one of my poems commented, “I thought poems had to rhyme.” So perhaps seniors relate better to poems with rhyme (and/or pattern) to find some sense of order in this rapidly-changing, often confusing world. It’s an idea worth thinking about: I believe that seniors should read poetry and feel confident enough to write some themselves. It’s a great way to express one’s thoughts and describe one’s life.

Real Poetry for Seniors should appeal to anyone dealing with aging or the aged. As a fellow senior, I found myself enjoying retired trial lawyer Dorsey’s many insights into common fears, his reflections on growing older, and his thoughts on the present state of society.

Dorsey has a wry sense of humor. In the first stanza of “Sausage and Eggs” he writes, “Some doctors say it’s cholesterol in foods we eat / that robs the heart and head of blood’s supply; / Others claim it’s caffeine in coffee or sugar in sweets, / or smoke or booze that causes us to die.” The poem ends with “Throughout this trek our doctor gladly bills us-- / when probably it’s just the living that actually kills us.”

Many aspects of life, especially senior life, appear among Dorsey’s poems: appreciation of nature (“That Soothes my Soul”), a transition to more realistic expectations (“I Wanted To Be”), “Growing Old,” a poem that begins “It’s the fear of growing old and small / that seniors make such fuss; / But it’s only when we stop growing at all / that old catches up with us.”

In one of his few longer poems, “To the People of Jerusalem,” Ed L. Dorsey dreams that God is speaking to all current residents of the city. “All who pray to Yahweh, Allah, or by name / Lord, Most High, The Creator or God, pray to Me the same!” God has some strong warnings for the warring factions: “How can your tongue say: I am the One True God, / that you put no other god or idol before Me, / When with your heart you covet the idols of war and revenge?” There’s more.

This is not “great” poetry, but I heartily recommend it to everyone, especially the senior who likes rhyming poems and personal insights from a voice of experience. In “True Poetry” Dorsey laughs at the kind of poetry that is “Written for only the intellectual / With a Princeton dictionary at their bed; / Appeal reserved for the highly sophisticated, / The ivy-clad, elegant, the well read, / Who claim to know that never meant nor said!” He asks that his readers “Hold high the saintly poet prized, / who writes for the common casual read, / And freely reveals to the lean learned head-- / the gist of what he really said.”

When you have a spare moment, pick up this book and read a poem or two. Rhyme or the lack thereof is not the main issue here. Real Poetry for Seniors is well worth reading.

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Poetry as Punishment?

Can young vandals be reformed by exposure to poetry? Poetic justice? I'd like to think so, but I have my doubts. According to a short AP story in this morning's Chicago Tribune, "More than two dozen young people who broke into Robert Frost's former home for a beer party and trashed the place are being required to take classes in his poetry as part of their punishment."

The incident happened at the Homer Noble Farm in Ripton, VT, where Frost spent more than 20 summers. It is now owned by Middlebury College. Up to 50 people broke windows and antique furniture and china. They also discharged fire extinguishers and left the carpet soiled with vomit and urine.

The poetry class was apparently the idea of either prosecutor John Quinn or Frost biographer Jay Parini, who is the teacher. I'm a great believer in the therapeutic effects of poetry (see my other blog, "Write your Life!") but I'm cynical enough to hope that the other parts of the young people's punishment are a bit more draconian.

My experience as a teacher taught me that it's hard to get young people, or any people, for the matter, engrossed in poetry or poets, especially dead poets. And poetry as punishment? That doesn't strike me as a way to encourage a love of the art. Still, since the road those students took led to trouble, they may profit from reading "The Road Not Taken."

I'd like to hear from some of those young students after the class is over.

Elder Expectations is Now Available!

My new book, Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters (Lulu, 2008), is now available at Lulu.com. It has not reached Amazon.com yet, but it will. Here is a brief description: "T.S. Eliot's J. Alfred Prufrock measured out his life with coffee spoons. I've measured mine, or at least part of it, with rictameters. These brief poems tell a bit about what it's like to be old, widowed, and retired in Chicago."

Why a little poetry book? I had fun with this, and it helped to brighten the past winter. You can see a preview and/or order the book from the link on this blog's sidebar (to the right).

The Beauty of Snow

As snow buries Chicago, I'm glad to have a warm, comfortable, computer-equipped place of refuge. Here is a poem I posted some time ago on my other blog, "Write Your Life!" It seems especially appropriate right now. It's amazing how much one can say in just nine lines.

Northern Winter

Snowfall:
White, beautiful,
Silent, soft, inviting
Snow angels, snowmen, sleds and skis.
Time for warm mittens, scarves, parkas, tall boots.
Drivers' challenge: shovel, plow, clear.
Parents' work, children's joy,
Winter's wonder:
Snowfall.

[The Rictameter is a nine-line verse form with identical first and last lines and syllable counts of 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 8, 6, 4, 2.]


Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Puzzle Mania

It's a holiday tradition in my niece's home to work jigsaw puzzles during the holiday season. This year, there were two: the scene from Zion National Park seemed hard, but the family completed it (with limited help from me) fairly quickly.

I am not very good at these things, so I was amazed when my brother bought another puzzle: Springbok Flowers and Fruit, 1,500 pieces, measuring 28 3/4 by 36 inches, or so the box said. My first impression was "impossible," so of course I reacted by writing a poem, as follows:


About A Puzzle


Puzzle

Small-piece, jigsaw.

Colorful, challenging,

Time-consuming, far from easy.

Lovely picture on the box, but can we

Make it work, or will we lose our

Patience and our minds as

Valiantly we

Puzzle?


It wasn't finished until Christmas night at 12:30 (by which time I was long asleep), but I admired it the following morning. The number of hours this project took was astounding, but there's a competitive spirit alive and well in my extended family. So what if we had to eat Christmas dinner in the kitchen? The dining room table was puzzle land. I helped a bit, but very little.

The top photo (my own) shows the unfinished version; the lower photo (taken by my brother) shows the final product.

Congratulations, John, Scott, Cindy, and Lauren! More puzzles next year? Smaller, perhaps?

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

A Video -- and a Book --Worth Noticing!

On September 30, I reviewed Donna G. Humphrey's book of poetry, I Speak of Simple Things (Ampersand, Inc., 2007) on my other blog, "Write your Life!" Donna Humphrey, the 89-year-old mother of a federal judge in Chicago, is sometimes remembered as the victim, along with the judge's husband, of a horrible murder in 2005. Mrs. Humphrey's daughters Joan Humphrey Lefkow and Judith Humphrey Smith discovered her poetry in drawers and closets after her death and published this book as a tribute to her.

My "Write your Life!" is a blog designed to promote the writing of life stories, and reading this book made me realize that poetry is a very useful medium for telling such stories, as it obviousy was in Donna Humphrey's case.

On yesterday's Today Show, Matt Lauer interviewed Joan Lefkow and Judy Smith about the book, and the interview underscores the importance of leaving one's thoughts, experiences, and memories behind. The family had realized that Mrs. Humphrey wrote frequently during her later years, even feeling guilty when she didn't take time to write, but they were surprised at the extensiveness of her poems and by all the things they revealed: her enjoyment of nature, her concerns about aging, her feelings about family. These poems present a picture of a real person, well worth remembering.

For a video of the Today Show interview, go to http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/21297994/

To read my review, go to http://seniormemoirs.blogspot.com/2007/09/telling-life-stories-through-poetry.html

Robert Browning Lives! Some Retirement Nostalgia

Last night I ate dinner at a long table at Emilio’s with a group from the Two-Year College English Association-Midwest’s annual conference. Eight years retired, I was there at the invitation of my old friend and colleague, Jane Wagoner, who was ably running this year’s conference sponsored by my former employer, the City Colleges of Chicago. I had done the interior layout for the printed conference program, so I had a connection to the event.

I was an outsider among this young group, and yet, as an observer of people, I regained an appreciation for my old profession. In a pop culture world, English teachers are often the repositories and promoters not only of good writing, but of the literary classics as well.

A few of us actually discussed, briefly, the soliloquies and dramatic monologues of nineteenth-century English poet Robert Browning (1812-1889), a favorite of mine. It’s been years since I’ve encountered anyone who recognized that name–my late husband connected the name "Browning" only to weapons until he endured a lecture I gave in the early 1970's.

Why Robert Browning? I can’t explain why he’s a favorite of mine, but there’s something about his soliloquies and dramatic monologues, especially, that intrigues me. "My Last Duchess," "Porphyria’s Lover," "Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister," "The Bishop Orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church"–I still remember them all. One of my young table companions last night referred to these poems as Browning’s "crazy poems." Well, yes, but I think what fascinated me most was Browning’s ability to explore the gap between the way people see themselves and the way others see them. The poems deal with life’s insane obsessions and misguided self images, the same foibles that often lead to murder and other crimes today. That’s their timeless quality.

My fascination with poetry in general revolves around the great poets’ ability to express profound thoughts briefly. What I would need at least a chapter to explain in prose comes through more clearly in the pictures Browning created.

After strangling the object of his obsessive love by winding her hair into "one long yellow string," Porphyria’s Lover is able to prop up her head and sit quietly with her body. "And all night long we have not stirred, / And yet God has not said a word!" The Duke is able to say of his less-than-haughty former Duchess, "I gave commands, / Then all smiles stopped together," as he goes on to point out his lovely home’s magnificent art work to a representative of his future Duchess’ father.

Browning portrays an envious monk fixated on the rituals of religion rather that its principles in "The Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister." There, the speaker destroys Brother Lawrence’s carefully-tended garden and plots his damnation. Brother Lawrence’s "sins"? He does not properly cross his knife and fork after dining, "As do I, in Jesu’s praise," and "I the Trinity illustrate, / Drinking watered orange pulp– / In three sips the Arian frustrate; / While he drains his at one gulp."

Yes, I realize that this may seem old-fashioned, and perhaps crazy, but unfortunately, obsessive love, arrogance, jealousy, and extreme religious zealotry have not disappeared from our world. A glance at nearly any newspaper or TV news broadcast will prove that.

I was inspired to read Robert Browning’s poems again. Why don’t you explore your own nostalgic memories from your reading–and your jobs–of the past? Who wrote, "Everything old is new again"? How true.

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Program cover design by Allison Wagoner

Senior Poet Discovered!

Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune columnist, wrote a fascinating story published on Sunday, July 29. It presents Donna Humphrey, heretofore known to the media and the public only as the mother of Chicago Judge Joan Lefkow and the victim of a horrendous murder in 2005, at the age of 89. The judge's husband, too, was killed.

Now we know that Mrs. Humphrey was also a poet. One of her later poems, entitled "Widows," begins as follows:

"We are everywhere
We with our little perms
Our little purses,
Our careful steps
Supported by our walkers
Or our canes.
Years ago we laid our men away
And though
We did not know it then
Our own significance
As well."

Even though I am a widow myself, I don't quite fit that mold, at least not yet. Still, I've known many, including my own late mother (1911-2007), who did or do. I find the poem enthralling, and I believe it applies to a broad spectrum of "elderly women."

How happy I am that Judge Lefkow and Suzanne Isaacs, of Ampersand Inc., plan to publish Humphrey's poems in September. I will be in line to buy a copy!

Read Mary Schmich's column in the Tribune or at chicagotribune.com. And fellow seniors, be sure to write about your lives, your memories, and your thoughts, whether in prose or in poetry. Preserve your writing! Donna Humphrey's children discovered her poems in boxes, folders, and desk drawers, and how lucky they--and we--are!

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Farewell to the Holidays and 2006

T'was the day after Christmas,
and inside the house,
stockings were empty,
no sign of a mouse.

The pool fountain bubbled,
The sun sparkled bright,
and yesterday's revelers
rejoiced in the light.

T'was time to put presents
and goodies away,
To throw out the wrappings
and greet a new day.

And now, five days later,
I greet a new year,
in good old Chicago,
with Texas good cheer!

Copyright 2006 by Marlys Marshall Styne
Photos by the author

New Year's Eve, Old Town Condo Style

'Tis the night before New Year's,
and all through the halls,
the young folk are leaving
for their New Year's Eve balls.

For some, dress is casual:
freshly-pressed jeans.
For others, their finery
a sight to be seen!

The ball gowns, the tuxes,
so seldom worn now,
are pressed and accessorized:
Beautiful! Wow!

The orchestra leader
from the very top floor
looks great in tuxedo,
starched shirt, and more.

His society orchestra,
known far and wide,
will play at a ballroom,
Chicago's own pride.

The snowbirds are probably
away where it's warm,
or surrounded by family
at cottage or farm.

A few will give parties,
right here in town.
The food gets delivered.
The costs make some frown.

The liquor will flow,
the music will play.
In the very wee hours,
they'll greet a new day.

Tucked in my recliner,
no parties for me.
I flick the remote
seeking something to see.

Parades on tomorrow?
Football galore.
I'm not a great sports fan--
I like reading more.

I may fall asleep
ere the New Year arrives.
My memories have kept
many New Years alive.

I'm contented and warm
and glad to be here.
I'll post on my blog
my wish for next year:

Have fun and success,
peace, sharing, and love.
(I'm a senior, a writer
who's had the above).

And give me no pity,
my life is quite fine!
I'll toast the New Year with
a good glass of wine.


Disclaimer: I am not a poet and never have been. I wrote this tongue-in-cheek for a Chicago Writers Association holiday contest (which, as expected, I did not win). Still, my New Years wishes are sincere, and I want to share them.

Copyright 2006 by Marlys Marshall Styne