Poems About Aging Seeking Friendly Advice
#aging
The Other Is A Sleep
why am i here i ask
denied of a reply
making money the only task
taxed until the day i die
what is the meaning?
in the simplest terms
i keep on dreaming
without significant returns
i’m not surprised to find
that the world was rigged
open doors in my mind
it was my heart i gigged
numbed in the pale silence
current demons are encrypted
we kindly invite violence
while coming off as fake or scripted
another random, Tuesday
visiting the familiar voices
reminded of the role i play
the weight...
denied of a reply
making money the only task
taxed until the day i die
what is the meaning?
in the simplest terms
i keep on dreaming
without significant returns
i’m not surprised to find
that the world was rigged
open doors in my mind
it was my heart i gigged
numbed in the pale silence
current demons are encrypted
we kindly invite violence
while coming off as fake or scripted
another random, Tuesday
visiting the familiar voices
reminded of the role i play
the weight...
#childhood
#death
#LifeCycle #aging
#LifeCycle #aging
76 reads
2 Comments
A Windswept Butterfly
I'm like a butterfly
Often blown askew
In a fluttering wind
As i flap amongst the morning dew
Caught on the breezes
Swaying to, and fo
I have nowhere to hide
And nowhere to go
My flourescent blue wings
Collide with a bower
I thus fall to the ground
Upon a fine flower
I sup upon its nectar
So divinely sweet
Restoring my strength
For every wing beat
But my wings begin to fray
Tattered, and torn, in complete disarray
And i know one day soon
That i'll sinply be blown away
As i weaken further ...
Often blown askew
In a fluttering wind
As i flap amongst the morning dew
Caught on the breezes
Swaying to, and fo
I have nowhere to hide
And nowhere to go
My flourescent blue wings
Collide with a bower
I thus fall to the ground
Upon a fine flower
I sup upon its nectar
So divinely sweet
Restoring my strength
For every wing beat
But my wings begin to fray
Tattered, and torn, in complete disarray
And i know one day soon
That i'll sinply be blown away
As i weaken further ...
#butterfly
#wind
#LifeAsAWriter #aging
#LifeAsAWriter #aging
38 reads
0 Comments
One More Night
I drink deeply of the silence
Of starry late winter skies
My old friend Orion marches in step
With Gemini and his companions;
A new moon hides behind the dark veil,
leaving distant suns sparkling with rare brilliance.
A teenager I once knew
Yearned painfully to reach those stars;
Eighteen to eighty serves up
A disheartening dose of reality
Year by year, day by day,
Moment by soul-crushing moment.
Yet dreams dead and buried
Slowly but surely give way
To clarity that cuts through the noise
Of...
Of starry late winter skies
My old friend Orion marches in step
With Gemini and his companions;
A new moon hides behind the dark veil,
leaving distant suns sparkling with rare brilliance.
A teenager I once knew
Yearned painfully to reach those stars;
Eighteen to eighty serves up
A disheartening dose of reality
Year by year, day by day,
Moment by soul-crushing moment.
Yet dreams dead and buried
Slowly but surely give way
To clarity that cuts through the noise
Of...
#inspirational
#LifeCycle
#aging
#gratitude
#nostalgia
67 reads
1 Comment
the last time
i held
her hands,
so fragile
and filled
with age,
experiences,
how gentle
she touched
me back,
her smile
defining her,
not heavy
but seeming
sincere,
and through
her orchid
scent,
i noticed
her eyes
watching me,
they had
that caring,
and that
was
the last time
i remember
talking
and being
with
my grandmother.
her hands,
so fragile
and filled
with age,
experiences,
how gentle
she touched
me back,
her smile
defining her,
not heavy
but seeming
sincere,
and through
her orchid
scent,
i noticed
her eyes
watching me,
they had
that caring,
and that
was
the last time
i remember
talking
and being
with
my grandmother.
#family
#memories
#aging
104 reads
10 Comments
voices of ancestors
i heard
the sound
of flutes
playing in
the garden,
the fields,
leaves
alive now
with spirits,
no one
is asleep
in the far off
graveyard,
ancestors
wait,
their voices
come from
the
moist soil,
they
let me know
dreams
still exist.
the sound
of flutes
playing in
the garden,
the fields,
leaves
alive now
with spirits,
no one
is asleep
in the far off
graveyard,
ancestors
wait,
their voices
come from
the
moist soil,
they
let me know
dreams
still exist.
#death
#LifeCycle
#aging
#admiration
#emotions
86 reads
6 Comments
Old Age
I saw him staring at me
and I wondered what he saw.
Was it the days of long ago
or was he seeing what he saw.
Was he staring at my hair
turning a lovely shade of dull brown gray.
Or maybe it was my eyes of faded green
that weep from severe dry eye all damn day.
Or could it be that small spare tire
I proudly wear around my waist
never disappearing
just adding to my lovely rectangle shape.
Or possibly he's wondering
why I am looking back at him.
Are the same unappealing thoughts
running through his hairless head? ...
and I wondered what he saw.
Was it the days of long ago
or was he seeing what he saw.
Was he staring at my hair
turning a lovely shade of dull brown gray.
Or maybe it was my eyes of faded green
that weep from severe dry eye all damn day.
Or could it be that small spare tire
I proudly wear around my waist
never disappearing
just adding to my lovely rectangle shape.
Or possibly he's wondering
why I am looking back at him.
Are the same unappealing thoughts
running through his hairless head? ...
#wife
#husband
#WritingPoetry #aging
#WritingPoetry #aging
193 reads
5 Comments
the execution
the night of the executions
On the roof of his loft room, there was a half-open window
by climbing up on a chair, he could see over
the rim and eye
the camp for Russian prisoners of war.
on clear nights, especially when the moon was almost full
he was fascinated by the details and could see the upland
and the village bathed in blue and silver.
it was in the middle of a war,
the boy was five years old
and had been sent to a farm to be safe from nightly sirens
that had frightened him
it was on a night like this,...
On the roof of his loft room, there was a half-open window
by climbing up on a chair, he could see over
the rim and eye
the camp for Russian prisoners of war.
on clear nights, especially when the moon was almost full
he was fascinated by the details and could see the upland
and the village bathed in blue and silver.
it was in the middle of a war,
the boy was five years old
and had been sent to a farm to be safe from nightly sirens
that had frightened him
it was on a night like this,...
#birth
#motherhood
#aging
#nostalgia
#dating
42 reads
0 Comments
Fade To Umber
I
Calculus in detritus;
sediment under waning tide,
cavernous and void of light --
upward eyes these still ride.
I am sunk within your deep
rivulets of sentiment steeped;
swirling around a constant murmur,
fomenting in this rudiment.
Ever furthur into clay
sublimate of irony loam;
every fibre pulls me close
untoward your centre comb.
II
Photos dry around the edges,
memories of earliest home;
caught within the many layers
fading with its Kodachrome.
Now gone I wither furthur; ...
Calculus in detritus;
sediment under waning tide,
cavernous and void of light --
upward eyes these still ride.
I am sunk within your deep
rivulets of sentiment steeped;
swirling around a constant murmur,
fomenting in this rudiment.
Ever furthur into clay
sublimate of irony loam;
every fibre pulls me close
untoward your centre comb.
II
Photos dry around the edges,
memories of earliest home;
caught within the many layers
fading with its Kodachrome.
Now gone I wither furthur; ...
#forgiveness
#death
#LifeCycle
#aging
#MovingOn
98 reads
4 Comments
If only she could remember when ...
An old women on her knees
scrubbing floors and dreaming
remembering men
and being free
always fighting the good fight
in endless need to wield the sword
and a yearning in the ache of her bones
to change the world
If only she could remember when
this, the purpose of her life
with erudite rants against
capitalism, communism, chauvinism
and all the the other isms
until one day
she was just too old to care
only wanting to be warm
with old age her only company
If only she could remember when
she...
scrubbing floors and dreaming
remembering men
and being free
always fighting the good fight
in endless need to wield the sword
and a yearning in the ache of her bones
to change the world
If only she could remember when
this, the purpose of her life
with erudite rants against
capitalism, communism, chauvinism
and all the the other isms
until one day
she was just too old to care
only wanting to be warm
with old age her only company
If only she could remember when
she...
#loneliness
#aging
#bittersweet
55 reads
2 Comments
i want to know, really
who am i really?
i want to know!
i’m begging to find out,
on the edge of my seat, really.
it feels like a riddle, one that you’re asked on a long road trip,
but the answer remains on the tip of your tongue for 7 hours
a phenomenon, really.
i crave individualism and conformity at the same time,
a paradoxical odyssey (if you will),
who am i when not smothered by the people in the seats next to me?
and i’m always stuck in the middle seat, really.
maybe i’ll find out when the car stops.
i fear it won’t ever...
i want to know!
i’m begging to find out,
on the edge of my seat, really.
it feels like a riddle, one that you’re asked on a long road trip,
but the answer remains on the tip of your tongue for 7 hours
a phenomenon, really.
i crave individualism and conformity at the same time,
a paradoxical odyssey (if you will),
who am i when not smothered by the people in the seats next to me?
and i’m always stuck in the middle seat, really.
maybe i’ll find out when the car stops.
i fear it won’t ever...
#teens
#identity
#myself
#aging
#SelfDiscovery
110 reads
1 Comment
On My Mother Turning 30 in 1957
My mother ended
her 29th year tra-la-la-ing
on feckless gams
smack dab into the brick wall
of the big three-oh--
old at thirty? What fool
told her that?
Each night the laying on of hands,
the transsubstantiation
of Pond's Beauty Cream:
Hail, Lois, full of grease,
the lard is with you
backed by a money-back guarantee.
I remember how she wept
gathering...
her 29th year tra-la-la-ing
on feckless gams
smack dab into the brick wall
of the big three-oh--
old at thirty? What fool
told her that?
Each night the laying on of hands,
the transsubstantiation
of Pond's Beauty Cream:
Hail, Lois, full of grease,
the lard is with you
backed by a money-back guarantee.
I remember how she wept
gathering...
#motherhood
#childhood
#aging
88 reads
8 Comments
I'm broken and that's okay
I'm broken and that's okay
Not everyone needs to be whole
I don't need to spend my existence seeking to be fixed
I'd like to just exist right now... In this moment
I wish people would stop arguing with me
They don't like the word broken the way I use it
It's negative and they love me... They do
I'm special, unique and irreplaceable
They want to help me so much to get better
But I'm tired of being a project to myself... To everyone
Someone to pity and love in the way
That Pound dogs and Foster kids are loved
Love laced with with...
Not everyone needs to be whole
I don't need to spend my existence seeking to be fixed
I'd like to just exist right now... In this moment
I wish people would stop arguing with me
They don't like the word broken the way I use it
It's negative and they love me... They do
I'm special, unique and irreplaceable
They want to help me so much to get better
But I'm tired of being a project to myself... To everyone
Someone to pity and love in the way
That Pound dogs and Foster kids are loved
Love laced with with...
#strength
#MentalHealth
#TimeHeals
#aging
#PopCulture
186 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Aging Seeking Friendly Advice