Some say it’s never too late to learn something new.  Do you agree?  If so, what might you want to learn?  Maybe you disagree.  Whether you agree with the statement or not, use it as your springboard to write your poem.  It’s never too late.  😉 


Say …

“Never say never,”
they say, and it’s clever,
‘cause never is never
forever and ever.

And what of forever?
For that is a never,
for always forever
is never to end.

So amend what life penned,
and just go with your gut
and delight in your dreams.
But don’t ever say, “but.”

© Marie Elena Good, 2022



Old dogs can learn,
but they’re a bitch to teach.
You can reach them
if you’re persistent,
but you know they’ll be
resistant to change.
You might bribe them with treats
but it defeats the purpose.
Nowadays I find myself
pretty set in my ways.
Rest assured you CAN teach
an old dog new tricks,
but leading a horse to water
is a totally different schtick!

(C)  Walter J  Wojtanik - 2022



    It’s never too late to sail in abundant waters set free.
    To surf atop crystal blue waves taming the deep.

    It’s not too late to scale bourbon rimmed skies.
    To take prize the transcendence of hawks skillfully.

    It’s never too late to learn from my faults, my ways—
    to be released, sail free the rest of my days.

    © Benjamin Thomas

  2. Learning Curse
    I sweep the clouds
    in my tai chi,
    my yoga mat’s
    in love with me,

    I learned a new
    cool zumba step
    and I use kale
    in salad prep.

    But each new trick,
    move, trend and turn
    my body does
    NOT want to learn.
    My mind and heart
    both want to learn it.
    My body says,
    “just stop that, durn it!”

    © Damon Dean, 2022

  3. Pentimento

    Zenith of creation, image of perfection,
    mankind made worthy, companion of God,
    to nadir he plummets, from grace to rejection,
    excellence decays into putrefied fraud.

    The canvas is ruined, masterpiece marred,
    worthless condemned to be flicked to the fire,
    But The Artist is savior, the canvas re-easeled,
    His blood on His brush, a skilled purifier.

    Creation made new, pentimento revived,
    man resurrected, new life fixed eternal,
    all things are of God, our canvas redeemed,
    to Himself He has saved us, His Love speaks fraternal.

    2 Corinthians 5:17-18 (NKJV)

  4. Never Too Late

    It’s never too late to start over
    And turn a new page in your life
    Never too late to bury the past
    Dispose of the trash and the strife
    It’s never too late to get right with God
    He’ll forgive you no matter the sin
    Just approach Him with pure sincerity
    And a new life in Him will begin

  5. Learning
    Feeding the brain
    Something new every day
    You can teach an old dog new tricks
    You just need to want to learn

  6. The Older I Get

    The older I get
    The more I learn
    The more I see
    The more I hear
    The more I feel

    The older I get
    The wiser I get
    The stronger my mind
    The softer my heart
    The more I forgive

    The older I get
    The more I realize
    That God is real
    Right here by my side
    Holding my life

    The older I get
    The more I pray
    For those I love
    Even those I don’t
    For I love them all
    As does My Lord

  7. This goes with PAD prompt super heros


    They say learning something new
    helps prevent memory loss,
    so as I age, teachers
    are my new super heroes.
    So hats off to my uke teacher,
    my Spanish teacher,
    my French history teacher
    my body language teacher,
    my cell phone photography teacher,
    my art teacher,
    my nonfiction writing teacher,
    my hip hop dancing teacher,
    my body composition teacher,
    and my business teacher.
    All on video, all my super heroes.
    Hopefully they’ll help rescue me
    from cerebral plaques and tangles.

  8. Something New

    So more than ever in pursuit
    of plants to support bees
    and birds and butterflies

    this year I will plant for the first time
    astillbe (mountain saxifrage)
    in blazing red for hummingbirds

    onion like alliums in dense circles
    for cinnamon honeybees
    the fat black and yellow bumblers

    this year I will upcycle
    an old battered cylinder planter
    long empty from an old house

    with bright caladium and tuberous begonia
    colorful calla lily a trailing wisp of vinca
    watch what comes to visit

    this year I will cold sow petunia
    and coleus for the first time with
    seeds gifted from a distant niece

    this year I will move to improve
    soil shift rocks to new borders
    try new varieties of zinnias

    and if, like the first planting of
    lettuce and spinach that failed
    and had to be resown,

    I will celebrate eventual success
    relegating ‘fail’ to opportunity
    trying something new:
    letting myself be joyful.

  9. all ages

    in all endings a beginning found
    in all endings a beginning found

    in every dream another life
    in all endings a beginning found

    in every night the promise of dawn
    in all endings a beginning found

    in all ages lessons to be learned
    in all endings a beginning found

    in every goodbye another hello
    in all endings a beginning found

  10. Never Too Late

    This poem has taken up a new hobby,
    to lobby for better conditions, safer positions

    in which to poem. It is signing petitions to end
    inhibitions when penning love poems. It is appealing

    to magicians to conjure apparitions with lofty missions
    of peace. It is looking for omissions to requisitions for

    moonlight and old ponds, and it posts admonitions in
    favor of frogs, in 5-7-5. It’s dispelling superstitions

    and suspicions relating to crows, while appealing to musicians
    to turn down commissions that do not rhyme. This poem

    finds conditions are lacking traditions and perfect for
    trying out new compositions.


  11. Life Lessons

    We are all
    just passing through.
    What’s now so old
    was once quite new.
    Things rise and fall,
    they come and go.
    Such impermanence
    is just what’s so.
    This is a happy thing,
    not one of futility.
    It can bring joy to one
    practicing radical humility.
    So pleased now to awaken,
    discovering the right stuff,
    content in learning
    how much is enough.

  12. I learned this early in life, but it make ask questions correctly….

    A lesson on asking the right question…

    Da was fishing.
    I was with some friends
    On the other side of Greenbriar,
    And I wanted to ask him a question.

    I asked a simple one first…
    I hollered across the river,
    “Is the water over my head?”
    It wasn’t the question
    I wanted to ask,
    But I had to cross the river
    To ask that one.

    He smiled slightly
    Almost missed the slightly-
    Actually, I didn’t think that smile
    Meant anything.
    He said, “No it is not over your head.”

    The three of us waded
    Into the cold mountain river,
    And I felt my friends beginning to chill,
    But I am mountain born and bred…
    A little cold water isn’t going stop me.

    Soon we were waist deep,
    And lifted our shorter friend
    So, she would not drown.
    The water got deeper,
    And I was on my tiptoes
    To keep the water below
    My mouth and nose.

    I came out of that water
    On the verge of a conniption fit.
    My father was smiling….
    I marched over to him,
    And said, “It was over my head!”
    He was laughing,
    “No, it wasn’t, your head was above the water.”
    My face crinkled and crunched up
    Not wanting to say he was right.

    He got serious, and said,
    “You asked the wrong question.
    The right question would have been
    Is it over my chin?”
    It was one of those teachable moments…
    He said, “It is important to form
    Your questions to get the answer
    That you are seeking.”

    I never forgot that lesson.
    It takes a bit of thinking
    To ask the question
    To garner the info, you want.

    Oh, the question I wanted to ask…
    Well, that was simple
    Would he take us up to the flint rock swimming hole?
    He took us there and came for us later…much later…

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 25, 2022

  13. The Next Day

    I listen, I learn
    something new. I watch
    the Great Courses DVDs,
    enthralled to discover
    mysteries of the brain,
    life of Vincent Van Gogh,
    and how to look at
    masterpieces of art.
    Part that frustrates me
    is that next day my newly
    acquired knowledge is gone.
    Retaining is learning. My
    mind is yearning, but brain
    cells keep slipping away.

  14. Learning how to move on….

    I had been lonely in my youth.
    The names I was called crushed me.
    The ugliest girl, and was asked was I a fool?
    As I walked the halls of school,
    I looked down to avoid the eyes of others.
    I apologized for being alive.
    Looking down I hid my tears,
    But they saw and called me a name for crying.

    I survived and they didn’t break my spirit.
    I was once their victim, but I would be a victor
    In the life I now live.

    But grief brought a weight of a stone
    Tied in my heart, and I have endured the burden
    Near thirteen years.

    The loneliness of grief
    Is me standing on a beach,
    Watching the waves of days
    Coming towards me.
    I am the shore,
    And those waves sometimes easy
    When the tide is low,
    But when the tide is high…
    I am lost waiting
    For the days to end.

    For memories are one sided
    When the person who shared them
    Are gone beyond your reach.
    I tell my stories…
    But those who listen
    Sometimes are impatient
    And other times they just pretend
    While they listen to themselves think.
    I know when people actually hear me.
    Even that does not help
    For as I tell the story, no one laughs
    And tells what happened next…
    They never tell what to do with memories
    When the voices of those who were there
    Has been silenced.
    It all seems hollow.

    That first night after the funeral
    And everyone has gone home…
    I was so weary…
    I wanted to sleep for days,
    But the house was so silent
    For the sound of your snore was gone,
    And I balled up tight to block out the silence,
    But the tears of loneliness
    Warped my heart and I was broke.

    I have moved from houses
    In the days of my youth.
    I miss those houses.

    But as I began to live alone…
    The house I knew became a stranger.
    The walls were the same,
    The furniture had not changed,
    But the silence was crushing
    The tick of clock speaking loudly.
    I filled my house with noise
    Not to hear the ticking of silent clock.

    I heard an echo of a voice speaking
    Words I often heard,
    “You have to accept it, and
    Move on.”
    But you never to told me
    How I was to move on-
    Just that I had to do it.

    Grief breaks you down.
    That stone it brings to your heart.
    Each day a bit of it is chiseled away,
    Or so you thought…
    Life seems normal,
    Then someone says a phrase,
    Or asks how you are doing…
    And that weight it is still there…
    Heavy deep inside you…
    But you keep on.

    Grief is like a muzzle
    For after the funeral,
    I was expected not to speak
    Or allow anyone to see my tears,
    But none of them
    Were there at suppertime
    And the seat that should be filled
    Was empty, and the food had no flavor.

    It became simple
    Each day I took a step
    To move onward,
    And I looked back,
    And the path
    I was walking
    Had disappeared.
    I understood
    Why you couldn’t
    Tell me how to keep on,
    For how you got
    Beyond such grief
    Was erased
    As you kept on.

    In the nights
    There is such a darkness,
    And I spoke stories
    Much as I did as a youth…
    Of a life much better than I had.
    There would not be loneliness.
    Sorrow would be like a vapor
    And disappear into the atmosphere.
    But even my storytelling
    Could not block out the silence
    Of all those lost voices
    Clanging within my skull
    Reminding me of all those lost voices.
    Some nights I cried…
    Some nights my sleep evaded me…
    Some nights there was a stillness,
    And wrapped me within
    The wings like a fledgling
    In the shadow of its mother’s wings.
    That stillness spoke in whispers
    As quiet as the flutter of butterfly wings
    Or the sound the stars make
    As they dance across the skies…
    The morning would come
    And in that rising sun was joy…
    With no hidden despair.

    It was in those days
    I learned the strength
    That was within me.
    I had walked through fire
    And my dross was burned away.
    I am an old warrior,
    But like any other warrior
    As the sun rises
    After nights of battles
    And days that were lost…
    I knew
    Grief will not hold me back,
    For I am moving on to wherever.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 26, 2022

    Ma died the morning of April 29, 2008, and as I am getting closer to that anniversary…. I am finding myself reflective.

  15. Courage, a hard lesson to learn

    It isn’t that I have no fears…
    Those I face each day.
    Each time I testified in court…
    My heart would thump hard against my ribs,
    And as they told me raise my right hand…
    I looked down at my hands to see two rings…
    That was my right hand,
    And was there until the Judge said,
    I could step down.
    The verbal battles began.
    Sometimes when I stepped down…
    I felt my eyes tear…
    From the first to the last hearing…
    It never did change.

    I walked into dangerous situations…
    I had knives pulled on me, put to my neck.
    One said to me, “Do you believe if I tell him
    To cut your neck that he will do it?
    I looked steady into eyes filled with rage,
    And said, “I don’t doubt that he would.”
    Over and over, I walked into places
    No sane person would go…
    People said I was brave and reckless,
    And I knew I was afraid…
    But it took courage to face my fears.

    It is a lesson I am still learning.
    I believe in being vulnerable
    Creates a deeper bond, and
    Here I stand feeling that fear
    Creep into me…
    Caused by many
    Who created a person vulnerable to pain,
    And who is vigilant to protect against anguish-
    For my heart is fragile
    And I am not sure I can put the pieces back
    Into place…but my heart is beautiful
    Like a stain glass window
    Shards and pieces of beauty
    I have collected along the way.

    I am here… not afraid
    That I will be rejected…
    But afraid I will disappoint, and
    Now I face down this fear
    And it is time that
    I am vulnerable
    In facing who I am,
    And believing
    I am a woman
    Complete with courage
    Who can do whatever
    I need to do
    In this life I live.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 27, 2022

  16. “To be accessible to God and People,
    To be vulnerable to God and People”
    From the Northumbrian Community….Rules of Life…

    Learning to be….

    Having an open smile,
    An open heart,
    And just being there…
    When needed…
    Am I that?
    Sometimes I am.
    Most times I am not.

    I am guilty
    Of setting myself apart…
    I learned this
    When I built a stone wall
    To protect me.

    You can’t access someone
    When they live locked away.

    Tearing down the walls
    Was just part of the learning…
    But I am still working
    On the part about being accessible.

    But being vulnerable
    Sounds out warnings
    Danger, Danger, watch out, watch out…
    The alarms are loud,
    How do I quieten them?
    I pray.
    I become still.
    For God will bring me peace…
    And the walls I built
    That I thought kept me safe
    Instead kept me imprisoned.

    In one tiny step after another
    I opened the doors to others.
    I let them see who I was…
    Sometimes their words stung…
    And I retreated,
    But I did not give up.

    Each day I start off
    With opening that inner door…
    Each day I am weary…
    Sweeping the wall builders away…
    Each night I rest
    In the freedom
    Of being who I am.
    One day those wall builders
    Will not come back.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 27, 2022


    Aloft over land, away from the lake,
    they catch the bubbles in the air
    and ride them high, up to where
    my straining eye no longer sees
    the forms their soaring bodies take.

    Aloft, the birds exploit the breeze.
    Wheeling in their element
    they know no end to their ascent,
    content to let their resting wings
    lift them onward, without surcease.

    Watching them circle always brings
    a peculiar loneliness to me.
    I sense I’m less than I could be;
    that the only the hawks know how to make
    of life an experience that sings.

    Perhaps if I watch I might discern
    some lesson here that I must learn.

    Maybe next spring.

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