One moment I stare at the screen
as blank & empty as a zen void,
then watch an impossible poem
emerge & crawl across the page.
Old Age & Wonder
A wonder it is to grow old,
given my suffered alternative
expectation of passing early
in a cloud of addictive anxiety,
still alive with ancient wonder
despite vulture wakes above
& rumors of death deep down.
Versed in getting on with days
one timeworn dawn at a time
makes for being a faceted relic
in the lens of every last mirror,
my aged face a flesh menagerie
with a very slight patina of gray
over creased & bearded skin.
With wonder I pulse & breathe
imagining worlds more than ever,
almost patiently waiting for God
among love’s intense intimations,
walking into the next labyrinth,
a pouch of my unread poems
over my slouched shoulder &
a cracked beggar’s bowl in hand,
fully empty with angels’ echoes
& wonder at my disappearance
into a moment’s gutsy eternity.
A Wondrous Desk
A proletariat, presswood desk
(sitting in a creaking, black chair)
as a daily time & place machine,
I wander an instantaneous world
on my almost mystical laptop,
riding its memory & my imagination
past the threshold for amazement.
One moment I stare at the screen
as blank & empty as a zen void,
then watch an impossible poem
emerge & crawl across the page.
And I can visit today’s India or
1st century Jerusalem in no time,
all from this enchanting desk
in a common enough villa in Ocala.
Whether reading intriguing books
or writing by pen in my 50+ years
old personal journals, my golden
Zeke, the dog of my old age,
is always nearby for the trip.
Chair grating, I wonder worlds,
inner & outer, from this dusty desk
& write a contemplative poem
to any extraterrestrials living
in other galactic sanctuaries
with exotic & divine possibilities
& enthralling desks of their own.
The Strangest Time
“It is the business of the artist to uncover the strangeness of truth.”
– Flannery O’Connor
Being this old & being aware
of being old is a strange truth,
so deeply strange that every
time I know I am old, its truth
reflects a new & different facet
keeping the surprise of aging
surprising, to say the most.
In a peculiar way old age
includes all earlier stages,
phases & mystifying passages,
making it a de facto eccentric
time for fantastic imaginings
by artists of aging with their
beautifully wrinkled, wizened
faces of such suffered love.
Old age is the mysticism of life
as bizarre as God’s obvious grace
hidden in idiosyncratic moments
as common as varicose veins,
as absurd as fearing death,
as unique as all eternities.
© Alan Altany
Alan Altany has BA & MA degrees in Catholic theology, and a Ph. D. in religious studies (University of Pittsburgh). After an academic career, he is a semi-retired professor of Comparative Religions at a small college in Florida. In the past he has also been the founder & editor of a small magazine of poetry (The Beggar’s Bowl), a high school teacher, factory and lawn maintenance worker, hotel clerk, novelist, truck driver, etc. He has self-published two books of poetry: A Beautiful Absurdity (2022) & The Greatest Longing (2023). His poetry has been published by Tipton Poetry Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Valley Voices, Sand Hill Literary Magazine, The Hong Kong Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and others. He writes with the steadfast support of his golden retriever, Zeke.
Find out more on his website www.alanaltany.com.
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