LUCILLE ROSENBERG is octogenarian in the process of becoming. Born in 1926 to immigrant parents in Fond du Lac, WI, she attended UW-Madison where she received BA and MD degrees. Soon after, she practiced medicine as a Pediatrician, Child Psychiatrist and general Psychiatrist. She married a fellow medical student, Marvin Gllicklich, and together raised five successful children. After 33 years, they divorced and years later, Lucille remarried Jack Rosenberg with whom she traveled the world. They audited classes at UW-Milwaukee for 20 years and after his death in 2005, she has continued to do so. She has been writing poetry for about 30 years.
In a world of chaos and trouble
where News brings worry and woe
is there value in routine, boredom,
mindless tasks that gild our days
duties and chores to be done?
Dishes, laundry, grocery shopping.
walk the dog and change the bed.
Is there is comfort in mundane procedures?
Though we can’t solve world problems,
we can clear shelves and drawers,
create order, neaten and tidy up,
clear streaks from window panes.
When common sense is scant
when people are mean spirited and vengeful
when violence is entertainment
when we feel excluded and helpless
there is comfort in sewing a rent, a tear, an open seam
putting something together and making it whole
There is a smile in painting a wall
In making neat the sloppy and shoddy.
What joy to pair socks that match,
reunite the lone ones.
Perform errands and chores.
Opportunities to set things right
into rhythms of soothing familiar patterns.
Though temporary, a feeling of being in control.
There may be comfort in reliability of uncertainty
Example the weather—who knows?
Not my responsibility I need only to adjust,
Stay home and bake cookies.
Everyday is at least a one-cookie day
when we can meet the challenge and reward the success.
This style at times is over my head
I’d rather hear some jazz instead
Yet I’m intrigued and I can’t spurn
the chance to engage and to learn
a language fast and to the point
about a world that is out of joint.
One that’s fast and quite askew
misinformed, black and blue,
bruised and in a lot of pain,
searching answers that are sane.
Rap may be the very beat
to make sure we don’t repeat
mistakes that history made before.
by those who didn’t know the score.
Maybe Rap’s a way to find some answers
To Hate, Distrust and other Cancers.
It’s worth a try, you can’t lose
Rap and Scat and be amused.
Odes to Aging
Growing Old acquired a bad reputation,
dressed in tales of deterioration and dilapidation,
along with a provocative quotation,
“Growing old is not for sissies.”
Growing old is an aspiration,
a reward for endurance and toleration.
It’s maturation, — worthy of veneration,
admiration and acclimation.
We grew old, we are not Sissies,
We are survivors, achievers– Alivers.
Arrivers at this peak- of- life.
Full of stories and wisdom. Sage.
Aesop knew; he had it right
For each story a moral—gleam of insight
Each scene is a metaphor
Isn’t that what stories are for?
To see life in other shapes
To dress figures in other drapes
To communicate in yet other ways
To pluck the essence of earthly days.
Gather your harvests in huge bouquets.