“The isolated Model T truck bears the weight and pride of a hundred years of rust, becoming prairie art and sentinel.” – Glenn Buttkus

Rusty old truck

“Blind in one eye

can’t see out of the other”

Hasn’t moved in many years

Unlike us, it still has its shape

Sitting in the desert

sandblasted by high winds

Undaunted by freezing cold

Reflecting a time of revolution

Industrial revolution

When steel was king

and horse drawn buggies

were becoming obsolete.

Growing old alone

Just like us…

Today at d’Verse, Sanaa asked us to consider minimalist photography. She share some photos from fellow blogger Glenn Buttkus, and asked us to pick one and write an Ekphrastic poem about it. I chose the old Model T truck sitting in the field.

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Friends in Low Places

Today I walked through the cemetery of my childhood


of all life stories encapsulated there.

Friends and neighbors

inscribed on theses stones;

A card catalog

of stories one can no longer check out.

Ancestries long buried in dust

some lost in time;

Yet the stones live on

calling for recognition from the living.

Today, as I walked

I remembered friends and neighbors

who shaped my life

with their smiles…

their words….

love shared…

I think to myself

“I’ve got friends in low places…”

I must be getting old!

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Peter asked us to consider beginnings and endings in poetry. We are looking at how the lines flow and how endings are used to punctuate what we are trying to say. He gave us five things to choose from as we write our poems. I tried to incorporate some of these in my poem today.

  1. how and where to end that line 
  2. endings as quotations like The Golden Shovel form – where one poem quotes another 
  3. endings and beginnings – verse forms that loop and repeat
  4. underlining your endings, and
  5. surprise ending

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This was inspired by reading Derrick Knight’s post: Return To Brompton Cemetery – derrickjknight

Making a Difference

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Her gray hair that once flowed around her shoulders
Now pulled back tightly held with a stretch band;
There she sat in her wheelchair // her gaunt body fading
Wrapped in her shawl // holding her little doll on her lap.
As I read stories to the group of elderly residents
She sat with her head down // eyes closed as though asleep;
Yet somehow, I knew she is still listening to me.
I finished, and got out my twelve-string ovation guitar;
They enjoyed singing my old classics from the sixties…
A time when we all were young, and words sung told stories.
As I began to sing, “You are my sunshine…” her head began to move
Others joined in letting the song take them to another place and time.
Thought her body remained motionless, her feet now began to move;
Her soft pink slippers began a rhythmic pattern as she relived the days
When she danced, carefree to the music, with the one she loved.
Clutching her dolly, her eyes went from open to closed and open again
She rode the rhythms of each song in her mind, as feet danced
Pushing her wheelchair back to her unit she quietly said to me,
“I really enjoy that.”
It was then I knew I was making a difference!

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Anmol, at d’Verse, asked us to write a poem that uses description of a person that paints a picture of that person for the reader. I decided to write about one of the elderly persons who comes to hear my stories and songs at the local nursing home.

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Old model A rusting away - Marc Andrew (4)

Aging rusts the soul
Life scattered like lights and doors
Falling leaves hide rust


Autumn Contemplation shows

Nature reclaims everything

Photo: Marc Andrew

Frank Tassone asked us to consider Autumn Contemplation, as we come to the end of this long hot summer. There are many ways autumn makes us stop and think about life. Nature, aging, and the combination of both remind me I am not invincible. When I was young, aging seemed far off, but now I am in the autumn of my life and realize in time I too will be like the car in the photo above. When gone, I will be remembered in bits and pieces, but soon, those too will fall by the wayside and the leaves of time will cover all. I decided to use this great photo again and write from a little different perspective.  I am using it with permission from my nephew, Marc Andrew.

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Check out my previous post for another perspective!



Growing Older

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I thought since I turned another year older last week, perhaps it was a good time to remember what growing older entails. There are so many scenarios for growing old that it is too bad we can’t pick and choose our fate. But I guess we are stuck with the roll of the dice. The following are some of the ways old age is catching up with me.

Pulling Pranks
Jokester Old Age moved in
Bringing Rock and Roll bands
Playing shrill heavy metal
Unending concerts in my ears

Or // maybe it’s seventeen-year locust
Emerging just below my gray loam
Springing forth in continual halleluiahs
Attaching themselves to brain stem and canals

In addition // miners of decay
Carve caverns in my bituminous teeth
Great profit for dental barons
Depleting my piggy bank

Old Age seems to have made himself
Right at home pulling painful pranks
Not minding the misery, he is causing
Laughing as I drain my account


photo: Dwight L. Roth

The Unknown

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You might think ignorance and self-confidence are a strange combination, but when it comes to life, they are sometimes the secret to success. When we are young and invincible, we are ready to try anything. As we get older we are less and less inclined. We are fortunate not to know what the future holds.

Ignorance and self-confidence
Take us places where
Rational thinking might slam the door.
Telling us it is too hard
…too much
…too complicated
…beyond our abilities.
Getting married // having a baby
Being a parent // growing old
All come without instructions.
Still // we step into the unknown
Thankfully ignorant of what the future holds
Knowing that somehow // we will make it
To the end //mistakes and all


Photo: Jim Bowman

Nothing Lasts Forever

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Being a celebrity is like building a house on the beach

Knowing that, like life, it will not last…

Enjoying fame and fortune // living on the edge of disaster

Each sunrise more beautiful than then last…

Putting pilings into the sand thinking they will stand

Against the wind // the rain //and raging hurricanes.

But // everything gets old // foundations crumble

In time all will be buried in the sand dunes

Along with the misfortune of shipwrecks…

Skeletons of past glory that sometimes wash to the surface

Revealing what we all knew all along

Nothing lasts for ever


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Photo of Shipwreck at Nags Head, NC: Dwight L. Roth

Trinity of Boxes


Trinity of message boxes // flags waving in the air

Words in an envelope // pictures on a card

Eagerly awaited from loved ones near and far

Post straight and tall // boxes shiny and new

Mailman comes by  daily dropping off the news

Just like me the times have changed…

Very few messages of love or concern

Mostly junk mail playing on what we yearn

Post out of plumb // boxes rusting // now resting on the wall

It’s a different world of bites and bits

Sailing through glass on fiber optics

No need for writing // printing is just fine

Messages in an instant in that virtual mailbox

That never falls and never rusts

Saved on a cloud for a rainy day

Imaginary mail // perhaps a printout

Only memories now of the glory days // left to rust

In that trinity of boxes // on a post // leaning on the wall

Only a matter of time till they meet their demise


Photo: Dwight L. Roth


Living to be 94

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My father-in-law always said he hoped he could live to be a hundred. He is now 89 and still in fairly good health. The only problem is that a couple of years ago he developed Alzheimer’s and is now confined to a care facility. As I think about him and others I find myself wondering whether growing old is really all that great. If you are one who is in good health perhaps it would be a good thing, but I believe the odds are stacked against that happening.  I have always said I don’t want to live to be real old. This poem expresses some of my sentiments.

Living to be 94

If I live to be 94

What friend would come knocking at my door

Being that they’d all gone before

Or maybe they came and I remember no more

Since those memories seem to go right out the door

Why would I want to be that old

Why would one want to be so bold

To out-live all my friends of old


And spend my last doing what I’m told

Not a great option for me…

When death comes passing at 84

I just might hitch a ride while I am sure

That growing old appeals no more

When my only friend left is Arthur Itis

The world can surely do without us

Death, come grab me before 94

For I won’t want to be here anymore!



Photos: Dwight L.