Coming of Age*
by C. Jenny Walbridge ©2021
Dedicated to Sister Earth and Her Method: Bare Feet.
*An echo of Baha’u’llah’s wisdom (he was a Baha’i prophet), including poem title
Here we are in Middle Ages,
Bodies bent from mankind’s stages
Ready to move on together,
Weathering the blue world’s tether…
The Planet Earth is art for all,
HumanKind’s task to manage, call
In virtue, create future’s rope
To catch peace with. Work too much? Nope!
“Don’t insult me,” says our big rock.
“I give you pears, not just one sock!
All about meals and safety, I’m
A pleasant place to stay and dine.
“My humans will learn from their try
To interact with a clear eye,
Active from passive, zero/one—
Learning the difference, they’ll have fun.
“God, Goddess created the folks
Living here—some like eggs, some yolks.
Transcending their differences
They’ll work together, the fences
“Only scalable when they play,
However! A conundrum, hey!
Being authority: people
Above the dome, mosque and steeple.
“And, also, starvation just ain’t
Right—I prefer a brighter paint,
And in my world there should be no
Rapine—things seized—to spoil the show.”
Metaphorically, we’re teething:
Virus-tainted, share our breathing;
We’re babies, just learning to stand
Can’t walk, too, in many a land.
Return us to a time when just
All things were dark or light, we’d trust.
Technology, blended gender
Are ours now—but don’t surrender!
I see a pathway in the wood,
A method for ascending—good!
‘Cause progress still sounds great, I know;
All little youngsters want to grow.
I hold that there are stages, too,
Of human psyche—this girl knew,
Could perceive a form, full throttle,
Based upon a female model.
An age of adolescence, true
We can’t do peace, not me and you!*
Immature, we’re not prospering.
How to change the clothes we’re wearing?
Do we need some tool, like a knife
Just for to pass along in life?
I’m almost post-metapausal
Can all, too, is it unlawful?
Menopause means ceasing cycling
(Ask yourself: you’re done, so why cling?)
Ready to look around, see out—
Try to get connected—and shout!
“Meta” is self-referential,
“Pause it” seems to have potential.
After that stage, in the “post-“,
What can we do to heal the most?
I cannot be fully evolved,
Until my friends and family—y’all—
Are with me on this journey here—
To coming of age, with no fear.
As a group we’ve never acted.
All connected, too, contacted
Each at once—experiment—
Who knows? There could be angels sent!
Post-menopause has for myself
Been Heaven—take play off the shelf
And worry not about babies;
Delightful partner who to tease.
We’ve been through Big Bang, from the womb.
Evolved in Second Age, not soon
Enough, and then learned writing down—
Third Age detoured us with its sound;
We spoke tomorrow, and had kids.
Third Age—Trinity—forbids
Contraception. World revolved,
Communication lots. Got solved
Problems of all sorts. But today,
Metaphors are holding sway:
“Health care;” “food;” “school;” and “work,” too.
Not what they were. What can we do?
The peopling of the world has proved
That Earth’s creatures can be quite moved,
So out of Metafour let’s grow—
Or do we want to stay here? No!
Fake realities—us poor.
“Forth” Age a pun, let’s use that door.
“Metapausal” sees folks suffer;
Would “post-“, in Fifth Age, be tougher?
How can we procure some fine balm
For the confused threatening of calm?
I suggest we reset at “ten”
With five and two sides, shake—amen!
You know, digital uses all
Ones and zeros. We could not fall
In days of yore, when we grew up:
All things like either plate or cup.
A shoe was maybe black, or white—
Easy to lace up for flight.
Inventions, now—even new folks—
Are more complex—we need new jokes!
See, we got stuck in Three and Four—
The language thing. Not any more.
The human species needs to fly
Out of its cocoons—we can try!
It’s shaking hands, athletics, too—
The medicine for this big zoo.
Using features, growth continues;
Your hands and feet show what’s within yous.
The goal’s not just to find one dear—
One heart to break, with to drink beer.
It’s better! Now we live so long—
Sing one, plus at least one more song!
Men and gals, there’s more to do here
Not only making homes, a mere
And cruel prospect for those lots
Whose dalmation dogs have no spots.
People have come far—we know it.
An Age for every finger—show it!
Walking, typing sums, ovations,
We’ve got the chance: of art creations.
For future, body symbols use.
Let’s do it—simple, not a ruse.
Let’s let those ones and zeros speak
Quintessence, for both strong and meek!
We’ll make some prints of our fine hands—
Feet, too, on Moon and other lands!
First, we start with decorations—
That’s the way to greet the nations.
Then, to get inspired, we must
Continue with “In fun, we trust!”
Use mental math: from two times two,
Go on to one and oh—each shoe
Houses a five, the number of
Quintessence, the Fifth Age, of Love!
With computer numbers, we’ll know—
How to knit world peace—be it! Sew!
In our heads we clearly can hold
An Earth Who Is Alive—be bold,
Inspiring in planning events—
Celebrations of what?—Good sense!
Some ways to play we can invent!
Around the globe, we’ll have a tent
For learning self-growth tools like craft,
And performance—to let us laugh.
Each color is necessary
To sound a rainbow, you will see.
All people—one voice can’t be gone—
Can play “To-get-her”—that’s our song!
Recall Grauman’s Chinese Theatre,
Prints of hands, and some feet, there were.
Why not do this on all streets, roads,
Cement and brick, green, for the toads?
To waste our folks, and starve our land,
Well, I ask, Why? That’s where I stand.
Benign, not be competitive,
Unless you play repetitive
Games that enrich and grow our world—
To nutrify, just use this pearl!
For globally we need to be,
Without destroying them—us—me.
We’ll dance the universal tune
On Earth, and maybe on the Moon,
Yang and yin in lovely rhythm,
In harmony—all drum with ‘em.
Our body does include our brain,
So penalty we’ll get for plain
Ignorance of the presence of
Earth’s power—to manifest love!