Summer

Summer is with it,
she's wild,
she likes
bare legs and cutoffs
and camping
and hikes;
she dives in deep water,
she wades in a stream,
she guzzles cold drinks
and she drowns in ice cream;
she runs barefoot,
she picnics,
she fishes,
digs bait,
she pitches a tent
and she stays up too late
while she counts out the stars,
swats mosquitoes and flies,
hears crickets,
smells pine trees,
spies night-creature eyes;
she rides bareback,
goes sailing,
plays tennis,
climbs trees;
she soaks in the sunshine;
she gulps in a breeze;
she tastes the warm air
on the end of her tongue,
and she falls asleep
reading
alone
in the sun.
~ Myra Cohn Livingston

Just once...

Soon I will begin to live-
But today I must prepare for tomorrow,
And tomorrow I’ll solve the problems of the world.
Perhaps I’ll have to wait till I’m old, but just once, I’ll live.

I’ll rock my rocker to the bone, as I watch the boys dropping their girls off after a night out,
And I’ll spend summer nights camped on the trampoline.
I’ll splatter-paint the walls,
And throw pottery in the barn;
I’ll hog the swings at the park,
Wear two spots of rouge, one on the apple of each cheek,
And just once I’ll chase the children off the grass- just to experience being a crotchety old woman-
Just to experience life.

Perhaps I’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s tomorrow,
But just once, I’ll live.

I’ll feign deafness, and holler into the telephone,
And go wading in the river with my dress hiked well above my knees.
I’ll sit on my roof to gaze at the stars above, or the cars filing past below;
I'll drive a paint-stripped, old Chevy,
And chase little dogs with my umbrella.
And just once I’ll whistle at the boys playing basketball in the park without their shirts on.
Just once, because it’s a part of life.

Perhaps I’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s tomorrow,
But just once, I’ll live.

I’ll wiggle my toes in the mud,
And perch in the trees, singing with the birds.
Art will fill the kitchen cupboards,
And coffee will be brewed, whether it is drunk or not, simply for that pungent, earthy smell.
I’ll walk under the trees, holding my husband’s hand- slowing down traffic together.
I'll sneak candy to the children sitting in pews in front of me at church.
And just once I’ll hollow out the center of a pie- and leave the crust behind.
Just once, so that I can glory in life.

Soon I will begin to live-
But today I must prepare for tomorrow,
And tomorrow I’ll solve the problems of the world.
Perhaps I’ll have to wait till I’m old, but just once, I’ll live



As seen a couple posts below, Jenny Joseph's "Warning," inspired me to rant about what I dream old age contains. Well a list very easily translates into a poem, and here you have it. I can't recall ever having written a poem just for the sake of doing it, so don't be too critical! I don't want to fear old age, so instead I dream dreams: and these are them.