A Couple of Kids Grow Old & Other Poetry by Michael H. Brownstein

Carpe Diem Series

What a gift it is to ponder of love and existence surrounding us! Michael H. Brownstein is here to help us do just that. His poetry holds the perfect descriptions to draw our minds to these small luxuries, and encourages us to embrace them for all that they are.

My Favorite Line: ” A lust for love,
not a love of lust.”


They were not a young couple
with a love of lust,
but elderly,
with a lust of love.
Do you know the difference?
I was there once,
and I am older now,
much older,
and I can truthfully say I do not.

At what point did hand holding
become a tangling of tongues,
horizontal made more sense,
and then
somewhere personality exposed itself,
imagination, creativity, intellect–
two talking heads waking together,
snow raining outside,
the temperature falling from 50 to 6 below,
a wraparound wind,
neither one so uncomfortable they need to turn on the furnace.

Whew–that was a long line.

A lust for love,
not a love of lust.
Thirty years of marriage.
It does get better.


All winter the lilies broke through earth,
an easy winter,
splashes of snow now and then,
a few mosaics of frost,
houseflies did not know to die,
ground hogs did not know to hibernate,
everywhere great bald eagles over the Missouri,
the early caw of crows,
a grand scheme of geese,
ponds did not freeze,
and today a worm surfaced,
a robin dropped from a tree
and the wonder of life began its renovations.


This morning I entered
a world of orange rust,
no dreams of the living,
no keepsakes of the dead–
into the graying of snow.

You think this a poem of depression,
a storm of mold and disinterest–
but a songbird sings from her nest,
a cardinal flashes red.

Some mornings the world is a piss storm,
without sound and then a squirrel
runs one branch to another full of glee.


But what do you call the weather that comes off your skin?
The earnest glow of hard work? Soil that sews itself
Into your fingernails? Is there a name for the bent back,
The need to comprehend the inner workings of a garden,
An orange wall, stained glass, the reconfiguration of water,
The simple companionship of a dog resting on your lap?


Michael H. Brownstein

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