"16 Going On 75..."

There's a lot of nights in our days...

“16 Going On 75…”

 

Hand on-the-knob

slowly, slowly-turning…

Is it snow-layered vision,

Ice speckled and sparkling ‘scape, or

Rain-swept and harried-puddled view…

that awaits

beyond…

the ever-so-slowly opening eyes?

 

…Edge-to-edge… barren ‘scape

…a nothingness.

 

It’s still winter’s aerie.

I know…

I KNOW…

 

But - no prominence… no draw.

 

Slo-cold-chill insinuates

lovingly-caresses

moves …crawls… Inveigles into

my conscious thoughts.

 

I hear - but do I?

or is it time’s echoes of a distant night’s train

and emptiness

coupled to asphalt whispers from wheels

…turning… meandering…

 

Remembering?

…forgetting…

 

Palpable dark…

sitting up… am I?

or not…

 

Feeling - not feeling,

…I don’t know.

 

Hearing my breath

Hearing

my… is it MY

IS IT…

 

Move …move - can’t…CAN’T…

Am, am…

Light-on!

 

Soaked in sweat,

blanket, sheet tightly wrapping half my body.

Deep, deep breaths

 

“…I miss you…”

 

Chris

 

 

Author's Note

Feel free...

Reviews

[Grace Lee]

Funny how time flies and whisp into the air unknown

[Chris]

Perceptions abound... and frame our existence

[Stephany]

You paint 2 pictures for the reader. The one of half waking from a dream state that is the reality our conscious uncontrollably seeks. It nature to miss what we once had and cruel to be denied it. I also felt that it could be a searching of oneself. When life was filled with more certainty than uncertainty. When we were our best self- best changing regularly as we age. Wondering where did it go and how can I keep myself.
Either way the perspective is everything

[Chris]

Chuckling here... quite the conundrum, huh?

[Stephany]

It always is… smiling herd

[Chris]

Hope you are having a grand Sunday... coffee's GOOD this morning.

[Stephany]

My comments disappear from here. Hmm
Yes coffee was very good this morning

[RomaJ]

Hi Chris. It's been awhile. This poem beautifully captures the disorientation of waking in the night. The blurred space between dream and memory. Dreamy and haunting. It feels like waking up in the middle of the night, caught between memory, grief, and breath. That last line, “…I miss you…,” lingers like a whisper.

[Chris]

It WAS whispered...

[Betty Hermelee]

I think that this lovely poem is to kind of like stream of consciousness ; seem like part memory and part reality...either way I like your style and it gives me much to think about...
Lovely writing " remembering or forgetting'?
Warmly, B

[Chris]

perhaps both...and soft wishes too

[Betty Hermelee]

You are very welcome Chris!
Warmly, B

[emmajoygreen]

'or
Rain-swept and harried-puddled view…
that awaits
beyond…
the ever-so-slowly opening eyes?'

You have always paused at the right moment or somehow, known when to stop. Your writing is timeless; it must be wonderful to hear.

[Chris]

I'll send you a zoom link to the next "Live" reading...

[emmajoygreen]

Many thank yous, Chris. It's been a long, long time since I heard your voice.

[emmajoygreen]

Still waiting, sir.

[emmajoygreen]

Your writing lives on, sir.. has a special touch on this one's thoughts.

[Mauricio Montoya]

I'm 65 old school living in Oakland, O G is what the kids say to me but Times have change and I feel what you say, we're old glasses falling off my face can't find my other leg because I'm short of breath, no respect when one gets old.
Thank you up sharing.

[Chris]

We do the best we can as only we can and must. So many are tied up in their own issues that they pay no attention because we are no longer as relevant.

[Mauricio Montoya]

Okay, okay.

[Muse]

I miss you too…

Like a butterfly in hibernation. When the snow falls you will find her dreaming.

[Chris]

It was special finding you here again... welcome back Muse!

[Muse]

(Hugs) always a pleasure bumping into you.

[redd Brick Keshner]

It feels like a slow unraveling of consciousness—each line creeping forward with the weight of memory, uncertainty, and an eerie quiet. The pacing, marked by pauses and hesitant movement, mirrors the sensation of waking into a space that feels detached from time, where reality blurs into recollection. Quite a haunting, deeply introspective piece...makes the final "I miss you" land with such profound weight. 🕊️

[Chris]

I appreciate your presence and words. Thank you.

[redd Brick Keshner]

You are most welcome, Chris. 🕊️🙏🏻
Freds.

[FlatDaddy]

I hate reviewing other people's work. I have no right to tell them how good or bad their work is. I don't see the world or anything or anyone the way other people do. Therefore, I have no right to critique anyone else's work. Okay, call it a copout, I don't mind. But I felt I owed you a few words since you have left so many on my pages.
You're good, Chris. You don't need me to say that or you would have stopped writing a long time ago. So why did I choose THIS piece to scribble a few words about yours? Because it sounds so damn much like the stuff that screams in my head every day. How did you know?

[Chris]

Like you, I "listen".

[Belle]

This poem beautifully captures the disorienting stillness of time and memory—where moments slip between states of consciousness and longing. The visceral contrast between frozen isolation and fleeting connection resonates deeply, creating a haunting sense of yearning and introspection.


Wow, some things truly never fade, and you’re one of them, Chris. The way your words resonate over time is a reminder of enduring connections. Thank you for sharing your poetry—it still speaks volumes.

[Chris]

I appreciate your thoughts... nice seeing you.