Forty Something

A woman's reaction to aging

Is as diversified as there are women who celebrate them.

For me, my forties is turning out to be

A wonderful developmental stage,

It is a time where I am no longer awkward,

I am finally comfortable inside,

And it is a time when I have never felt more confident.

For the women of today,

It is particularly a good time to be forty something,

Never before have women been so healthy,

Educated, independent, and fully vested in life,

Our mothers would have never dreamed

Of taking self-defense classes,

Or bumping her head on a corporate ceiling,

Or traveling the world or feeling fulfilled from within, on her own.

We have come a long way, and it is a just reward well earned.

Experience is meant to count for something and it finally does,

As we age, the realization that we will not live forever,

It jolts us into living completely.

I have listened to women approaching their forties and fifties,

Speaking of playing the piano,

Quitting their job, and getting a degree,

All means to better themselves,

My advice is you better get started.

Without doubt, the most significant advantage

To growing older is the achievement of perspective,

Positioned somewhere between our past and our future,

Between experiences and possibilities,

We are centered in a way that we can be at this time in our life,

We can see life more clearly than ever before,

Even if it is through our bifocals.

Perspective leads to wisdom,

While the young think more quickly, older women are better,

At seeing the big picture, appreciating and dealing with life.

These are the best years of our life, sane, confident, and happy,

So go ahead, live it up, there is nothing to loose.

It is bad enough that youth is wasted on the young,

Let not age be wasted on the aging.

So from me to you…

How much time will we allow to pass us by?

Before we finally realize that time waits for no one?

A Lady Forever 

 Gale Hernandez
   © Copyright 2002      

Writers

There are writers

Who write the past,

Wrapping themselves,

As they scribe the words of the past into the pages of history.

There are writers

Who write the future,

Spinning themselves,

As they scribe the words of fantasies into words of the future.

There are writers

Who write from the heart,

Pouring out the beauty of their souls,

As they bare their heart upon their sleeve.

For those who wish to write,

They often question their own ability,

They struggle with grammatical and theory,

They struggle with its message.

Like anything in life,

You have to tackle those moments head on,

Writers write,

Even if the words refuse to inspire or make sense.

As I read through the mountains of paper,

They lie in stacks before me,

I see my failures,

And I see my victories.

For some of those pages will no longer have a place,

Or worthy of a second read,

I will linger over more than I should,

And some will simply shine as they did from the beginning.

What matters most is that I love to write,

It nurtures my soul in ways I never knew,

Sometimes by simply writing about it,

It solves the moment’s dilemma or its utter confusion.

At times I feel that loving creator of mine,

Take my hand,

And it is like the gates of heaven,

Begin to open up.

I can feel the vibrancy in the air,

Swirling around the mountains of vocabulary,

Reaching into the depths of my soul,

As it grasps a message, I can pen the words ever so freely.

I look forward to making the time,

To let my mind wander out among the unknown,

I make time to sit and whimsically dream,

Knowing my strength is only a stone’s throw away.

What works is simply up to you,

Whether it is a walk on that path of nature,

Or the soothing sounds from a sax in front of the fire,

Give yourself those moments to relax in and wander.

Alone or together,

A writer will always find the words,

To describe the past,

To dream about their future.

Most importantly they will define,

The beauty that exists in today,

It is a gift,

Therefore, behold,

It is called “the present.”

A Lady Forever

Gale Hernandez

© February 2004

Memories at 421 N. Perry

The sitting room was colored in sweet magnolia,

It spoke volumes of the past Victorian era

It was rich in history,

It displayed the adornments on the walls to its furnishings.

As a child, the magic could be felt in that room,

Floral prints provided springtime year round,

It was the perfect room to hold the magical piano,

The hidden closet was home to the library of magical musical rolls.

We would sit for hours in that parlor and simply listen,

Fascinated by the keys that moved themselves,

In awe of the music that floated magically through the room,

It would fill the air with anxiety as we awaited our grandpa to change the rolls.

Cinnamon lingered in the air,

Homemade applesauce simmered next to the whistling tea kettle,

The dining room table was always dressed in its fine linen,

The china cabinets reflected the glow of family.

Laughter would carry through 421 N. Perry for many years to come,

So when the grandchildren would come to visit,

There were no moments of sheer boredom,

There were countless hours of love and stories of family history.

It was a home built with love, dignity and values,

Grandma's garden flourished,

And the strength of the numerous fruit trees,

They would bare the weight of many a visiting child.

I remember the spiral staircase that led to the second level,

I could sit for hours and daydream,

Watching a summer storm pass right by,

And watch the sky light up with the moments flashing strike.

I remember the porch my grandparents slept in,

Unheated year round, yet amazingly warm,

The mounds of handmade quilts that adorned their bed,

It was the perfect quiet place to nap as a child.

Off the kitchen, one could retreat to the amazing room below ground,

It was where we as children gathered to play on storming days,

Megaphones were the favorite toy of many cousins,

And each of us was equally fascinated

by the thought that a toilet actually flushed up.

No matter the room,

One could feel the love that exudes from within,

Yet my favorite place to spend time was on the many porches,

They simply wrapped clear around the house.

My grandfather and I would sit for hours,

I would listen to the many stories of his life and adventures,

Together we would crack the walnuts for baking and snacking,

All gathered from his trees.

We would listen to the sweet sounds float in the air,

Lifting my grandmothers voice throughout the house,

Singing her sweet melodies,

Her soul was filled with joy and happiness in every living day.

As a child I was amazed,

By the vast amount of room there was to roam,

As an adult,

I wondered where the massive room had disappeared.

One thing that remains,

Are the loving memories of the Newman family,

Who grew up at 421 N. Perry.

A Lady Forever

Gale Hernandez

© December 2003

Divine Words of the Past

He sat in a dive on fifty-second street,

The lady sat parked in the portal's terminal,

Together they had taken the same journey,

He at the beginning of a new century,

Her stroll began in a world reborn.

Today the lady carried the past to its final resting place,

They have left their own calling cards of wisdom for the new future

Blossoms of daffodils bloom in the garden of today.

The loves of yesterday adorn an apathetic grave

The soul has wept its tears of shame, taking responsibility for the blame.

Our children still bleed from the same wars of night,

Afraid, lonely, out of touch, out of reach,

They leave the day hungry.

They look at those same dying stars,

Looking into unfulfilled wishes,

Ashamed of having golden painted dreams in a suffering world racked

And raped by incurable disease.

Weaned from the breast of habit forming pain,

Life is still the same,

A walk from the conservative dark resuming their same compulsory game,

The sensual men and women still grope the skies.

Authority and others still stretch the truth,

The plaintiff has rested, the judgment is in.

You were right though, no one exists alone.

Hunger still has no choice,

Deprivation of identity is still unkind to the adoptive child,

The message is still clear, "to the citizen and police,

We must love one another or die."

Now prepared for the journey into tomorrow, ashamed by the past,

It is time to move into the future finally at last.

As I bury yesterday may it be known,

She like he, was composed like them

A spirit of Eros, a spirit of dust,

Bewildered by the same,

Among negativity and despair,

The lady continues to light hope in the aspiring flame.

Out of the darken graves of yesterday

May the message travel safely upon those rocky seas,

May I always remember how I forgave them for yesterday,

May my future forgive me for our delay in taking care of today.

From the same depths of hell,

The message has traveled, poet to poet,

Mr. Auden, "The future has arrived."

A Lady Forever

Gale Hernandez

© 2001

Winter in the West

To capture an evening's sunset with your eyes,

Is like a daily stroll in God's art gallery,

The sighs bring comfort in color,

It slowly paints enjoyment to the soul.

The orchestras began at dawn with a rustling among the trees,

Their sweet melodies of morning begin to fill the air,

Drifting upon that soft swaying breeze,

In that moment I can feel the presence of God.

Life scurries along the old neighborhood street,

The aging man struggles to manage each slow step,

So unlikely that he will ever match their pace,

For the ladies and their canines keep perfect time.

The western afternoon is lazy,

Most likely tired from the rising heat,

I wait for that afternoon moment,

Where the day begins to cool and simply slip away.

Golden rays begin to stack upon one another,

Releasing the colors of the palette into the spectrum,

The strands of oranges spill from the glowing sun,

It creates the illusion of an amazing sun burst.

As the colors swirl and soften into one another,

The shades of sunset make love to the twilight,

The passionate dusk of blue seeps into a darkened sigh,

It awaits the sparks of white to explode and pop.

Tonight I will thank God for his display of beauty,

Sharing his artistry with the west,

That slight nip in the evening’s air,

Gently reminds me, that it is, after all,

Still winter in the west...

A Lady Forever

Gale Hernandez

© January 2004

Writer's Vision

 Love is a powerful sensation;

It wraps you in a tight embrace.

Romance is the aphrodisiac that fills

the dark sky full of glistening stars.


Stars twinkling against a backdrop of night,

The evening air sends a tickling sensation through my soul,

A painted world full of exhilarated passion.

The evening star propels the imaginary mind.


The spirit of the mind sends shock waves through the air,

electrifying my senses,

igniting my spirit into immense creativity,

Coloring my world with a vibrant Crayola crayon.


The mind is as complex as technology, it transcends in time,

motionless when focused,

weaving the emotions of life,

bringing forth a new prism of discovery.


The tools of today are like an untamed heart,

full of desire,

seeking perfection,

from a world reborn.

Gale Hernandez

Copyright ©2003