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Age Introspection Poems | Age Poems About Introspection

These Age Introspection poems are examples of Age poems about Introspection. These are the best examples of Age Introspection poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Pantoum | |

Wayward Child

Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.

Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.

Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.

We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Dandilion

In Your Youth..... Watch this girl... she has her eyes on a rising dandelion sprouted in high grass, a pensive girl, weaving her way through the fields, looking past weeds to her future, making her way through a maze of thistle solitude, on Saturday afternoons, down hallways and classes on Tuesday, teacher and stranger and parent expectation, she approaches a destination beyond home, clutching the flower to her budding breasts Older.... Keep your eyes on her... she is residue of the mute child, now entrusted with a knowing mind and well worn shoes, still clutching the flower to her breast... She peers through pages of old photos, scratching through scraps of half-heard conversation, seeking some color and clarity with a dim vision of the girl that held a prickly spine of a spent dandelion with compromise and resignation Wiser Unable to mouth a sound, I wish to warn each teacher, each mentor, each censor of the flame... I want to shout: "Watch this girl... who held a weightless flame of windswept dream in her eyes, making her way, mediating between her reality and every longing she ever had... Look back to this girl who has always maintained an unblinking gaze on the white star of dandelion in her hand" _____________________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Dreams of Louisiana

Dimly lit, I sit
in a Mexican kitchen
near the Tropic of Cancer.
A TV is tuned
to inane noises;
dogs at my feet,
oranges in a bowl
on a table:
a specific place and time.
And I am dreaming --
dreaming of Louisiana
in twilight hours --
dreaming of short winter days and
summer's green, bright mornings.
Country time, mostly empty,
was quiet, seldom interrupted
by human utterance;
but my busy brain
was full of fantasy
and subterfuge.
The world was new, was big,
was yet to be explored;
possibilities seemed endless.
Oak and cypress,
willows, pines -- and magnolias --
were all around, and cane fields
stretched for miles.
The bayous that had always been there
were there still.
Change was slow in coming
and childhood lasted long.
I dream now of Louisiana:
poignant vignettes... dreamy glimpses...
all those slowly fading
recalled moments
of the past...

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Fanciful Thoughts

Is it our age or present circumstances
that see childlike eyes grow dim
or is it living within our reality years
that lend whimsical thoughts so slim

If one could ride the notes in play
through a child’s imagination
One could laugh and dance anew
around each magical creation

Into the cosmos we could fly
gliding on winged compositions
On breathless notes of whimsy chance
exploring without constrictions

If one could row a boat through time
back into their youthful days
and reunite with that childlike wonder
it’s here I think we’d stay

©Debra Squyres  2014

Copyright © Debra Squyres | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Bio in Short

It's been a good run
To the back side of sixty,
The short side of time.

First Hollywood kiss
Behind a pink crepe myrtle.
Thanks, Patsy Werner.

High school was okay.
Didn't help me to focus;
So, my mind wandered.

Surfed Bonzai Pipeline,
Big waves break into lava.
What made me do it?

Vietnam jungles.
I wondered why I was there.
America lost.

Smoking pot. Stereo.
Good fun in the seventies.
Psychedelics too.

And three wives later,
I finally found true love.
We're still together.

My destitute heart,
Saved by the sweetest angel.
I love you, Sandy.

Sooners are my team.
Most winning football program
In the Modern Era.

I am retired now.
But I have plenty to do.
Golf, primarily.

I've been writing more.
Perhaps I will write a book.
I have many tales.

I'd chase young girls; but,
Girls with a "grampa" fetish
Are so hard to find.

If I am lucky,
I will just drop dead one day.
With my peace of mind.

Yes, made a good run
To the back side of sixty,
The short side of time.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt
10/3/2013

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina | |

Lifes Rotations

Universes of time, aged stars;
Silent and bright, how they swirl.
Each one lights its own corner of the heavens;
each stands as one body;
serving the universe, alone.
They all reach great heights.

There are no fears here of heights;
no phobias among these stars;
despite them having to stand alone.
Round and round they swirl;
each centrifugal body,
swirling in the heavens.

When people look at the heavens;
they look to great heights;
and peruse those wondrous bodies.
They stare and dream, beneath the stars;
watching them blink and swirl;
each doing their job together, yet alone.

The state of being alone, 
up there, in the heavens;
in a constant state of, swirling;
can steer them to those, limitless heights.
Like people, they are travelers, those stars;
little gypsy’s in cosmic light bodies.

With no limbs to impede their bodies;
they travel to other universes, alone.
Each life has its own journey, even a star; 
as it travels through the heavens; 
it achieves, greater and greater heights;
never looking back, as it swirls.

Like stars, the human mind, with dreams…swirls;
within the mortal body;
Until it too, achieves great heights;
and doing this, very much alone.

Man dreams of rising to heaven; 
just like the gypsy stars.

In the end, like dwarfed stars; the human mind will cease its swirl.
In the heights of heaven, there is no mortal body.
No soul is alone, yet without any spin, it achieves those new heights.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

WHO AM I BY NAME ALONE

written 10th Aug 2013



I am God's child, first and forever
I am known by many different titles, a daughter
I am a wife
I am a mother
I am a grandmother
I am a poet
I am by several ways, known as a sister
I am an acquaintance
I am a loyal friend
I am a stranger
I am a cousin
I am an Auntie
I am a niece
But who is this person, they all call "Denise?"

She is a child to God
She is a niece
She is a cousin
She is a stranger
She is a loyal friend
She is an acquaintance
She is known to many, a sister
She is a poet
She is a grandmother
She is a mother
She is a wife
She is known as a daughter to many
She is everything, she'd ever dreamed her life to be....
She is happier than she ever imagined possible
SHE IS "DENISE"

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

We're Still Here

...en l'an soixante-dix de mon age...

All the familiar names from our youth
now belong to aged, unfamiliar faces.
Even my own reflection startles
as I pass the mirror
hanging in the hall.
Suddenly, we are old.
And, although taken by surprise,
we must accommodate reality --
perhaps convince ourselves
how lucky we survivors are --
how much better that we wear
these flaccid faces, these worn-out bodies,
these aids and apparatuses,
than to have ended
while in almost-mint condition.
But these are mere macabre,
septuagenarian musings.
So, let's forget all this!
Turn up the music
and hear us murmur,
in weakly mordant, fatalistic,
untriumphant chorus:
"We're still here!"

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Becoming

The years have rolled by
Hours into days; days into months
Continuous rotation from soft sunrises
To brilliant sunsets on the western horizon
On and on year upon year
Until this tall, slender, white female
Has become an elder, a senior citizen
Or, an old woman; I prefer an elder lady—
With pace slowing from a cheetah to a kitty cat
But, with mental acuity sharp as a razor;
Though the thought processes have changed
From policy and procedure to poetry and prose –
“The purposes is to identify” becomes
‘Love likened to soft velvet”
I’m glad God stopped me from working and said,
“This is what I want you to do now.”
Oh, that my tongue was that of a skilled writer* 
Or, that my hand could express what my heart thinks,
How blessed to look at life retrospectively
And see life’s puzzle gradually coming in place
But, still have the sweet wonderment 
Of what is yet to be while inhaling the present;
An elder lady with lifetime developed refinement
Combined with a sense of contentment
It is better to be settled in later years
Than the flitting from hither to the yon
Of youth scrambling for meaningfulness 
Though that is not true for all youth or all elders;
Searching in crooks and crannies
Wiping away the cobwebs of life
Looking for what may have been or
Ridding the what was and won’t go away
Rainbows, sunrises, sunsets, gentle rains
Add visual flavor and meaning
As the tall and slender becomes bent
And hair turns to silver—
Children rise up to call their mother blessed;**
Sunrise to sunset day upon day
Continually rotating in God’s beauty
From dawn to dusk until eternity
                        -Evelyn Pearl C. Anderson -2015
* Psalm 45:1 
**Proverbs 31:28

Copyright © E. Pearl Anderson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Imagism | |

A Farmer's Eyes and a Sailor's Shadow

A thorough yield
On a farm field of far east
It took me time to realize
How far I am to my far east of coast

Call of my weather
Call of my winds
I sailed further and farther
To my naked coasts
Naive songs, Nimble rains
Nile of rivers, Nascent clouds

Reaching this far
I kissed my earth
Ground of my grief
Glory of my ghosts
Glad is those leaves
However scanty they are

Cast is my shadows
No longer they hide
My colors and my figures
They cast numbers on stars
Measure their light
Scope my winters
Scale my summers
Scanty my rains
Scuttle I wish my springs

Now let me see my greens
Their leveling heights
Their leafy gaze
Their spiderly gesture
Their primordial texture
Now let me be slow
In company of my greens

#Poem by +Gokul Alex

Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

There Comes A Season

Age, like time, is reckless, is taunting with its breeze
Does it come to cheer with springtime grass and bees
Or cover earth with rain and fallen leaves? 

From somewhere comes the passing years
a speeding  train
that passes by, where hands can't grasp
or eyes can't ask
to hold again

From somewhere
comes  the hint of rain,
that clouds the sky with gray, 
and then
the fog sets in...
Remembering
becomes a thread
so frail in time
that the sublime
that once was mine
has withered dead upon the vine

I feel the seasons stir me, like the verses in a song
As west winds breathe a sigh across the glade
Time stares me in the face without a chance
to slow momentum's pace, for just a glance

I walk away from yesterday, the same familiar way
The views are now more beautiful and clear
where sundown holds more brilliant hues each year


____________________________________________________
1/10/15
Rock Me Around the Clock or Rock Me to Sleep--Rhythm Poems
Sponsored By Sheri Fresonke Harper

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic | |

Who Am I

Who am I?
Question indeed!

  W-eaned from tender 
age,in noble family of ten.
  H-urt by the demise of 
the tube that brought 
me into this theater of 
struggles and pains.
  O-rdered about by the 
whimps of this 
world,facing the hurdles 
of life daily from 
cradle,never giving up 
hope.
  
  A-fine young man of 28 
I am,who has the 
experience and wisdom 
of the aged.
  M-astering the arts of 
life-learning from lessons 
of life's victims and 
didactic poems 'cos man 
of fame I intend to be for 
I bear the name Bob.

  I-lost my poetic gift at a 
stage but recovered it in 
poetrysoup for invisible 
entities say a 
lesser being I shall be,but 
another encourages me 
to move on,for great is 
one who comes out of 
the shackles of life 
undeterred for this is who 
I am.



Name: Ifeanyi Bob 
Ekechukwu.
Date:24-10-2013.

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

If I Shall Grow Old 2K13

If these eyes shall become blinded, and if this
hair shall come to be combed thinly and grey;
No, it would not be the end of the world.
I would still see beauty therein this world through
the songs of Crickets and Feathered Songsters.
The breeze would yet whisper and trees still dance.
I would yet smell the freshly bloom of Spring.
I'd still endure Summer's sweltering heat.
I'd yet feel Autumn's leaves crunch 'neath these toes.
I'd still long to be fireside with Winter.
Disabled or not, perhaps I'd yet walk
therein wonderful imagination.
How I'd be forever young at heart!
Then just as one journey came to an end,
I'd indeed greet another with a smile.

Copyright © Anthony O. Mitchell Jr. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

The old fisherman and the hummingbird

Lazy I lingered on the porch of my terrace
a hummingbird was softly picking on a daisy
this reminded of the time when I lived at the coast
I use to watch seagulls as they dived into the sea
that ancient symbol of the strife to survive
 
But as I turned my eyes away from the sand
the hummingbird started to sing a melody
my soul surrendered to harmony
gone that old vision of agony
 
When I returned to the comfort of my lazy couch
in my head the hummingbird's song went on and on
took me back to times of innocences so clear and so pure
it finally won from that old cynic I'd become.
That was the day, I  heard a hummingbird sing.

Copyright © ellinor sador | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

Adulthood In The Balance



There have been many milestones,
all significant, in the passage of my life.
Each event a step in perceived adulthood;
graduations, military service, birth of a daughter,
first home, grandchildren, social security.

These events, though of value, do not denote adulthood.
Realization, perspective, visited wearing a heavy cloak,
awareness awakened, point of truth, advent end of life.
Frivolous thoughts of things unfinished must fade,
a plateau has arrived, adulthood.

The blocks of life have been set, now no redesign.
Boundless reserves of time have been spent.
Now is a time of dispersing rather than gathering,
consolidate rather than casting to the wind.
Long term visions once held can no longer exist.

Adulthood is the balance, the fulcrum of life and death,
that fine point of life spent and yet to spend, mortality.
Look back in recognition of your past,
look forward in recognition of your future.
In acceptance abides the poignant state of adulthood.


Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
4/23/15

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Looking Upon the Age-old Sphinx Wondering

For years I lingered in desert sands 
Trying to understand the reason for my being.
Looking upon the age-old Sphinx, wondering 
When, where, why and how was our beginning        
Even made possible?
Sun-baked, 
Together on bended knees we 
Stared into the eternity of the sun 
Rising like a giant orange 
Gum 
Drop 
Over the River Nile and lands beyond.
For a few moments it felt good 
To be so far gone.  Lost 
In the reverie of an ancient moment 
Uncertain as to whom or what I am  
But contentedly accepting the thought that 
Like the Sphinx, reason is occasionally void of reason 
Or so I understand.           

Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Forever Young

The older I get,
the younger 
I've become.
It took me years,
to get this young.

Appearances,
may seem,
that I do age,
but younger I grow,
by the day.
For I am youth,
in its prime,
unwriting all the,
rules of time.
Continuing until,
all is erased,
and I'm brought back,
to my natural state...

A Blank Slate.

The older I get,
The younger 
I've become.
Always living.
Forever young.

Copyright © Yoshi Mato | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

All That's Sure Is the Season

Approaching the winter of my years,
Never yet found my reason.
So much laughter, so many tears,
Yet all that’s sure is the season.

To few, all my days;
So many spent simply breezin’.
Should I regret their waste
When all that’s sure is the season?

What’s it been about anyway?
Perhaps there is no reason.
Did so want to learn the truth,
But all that’s sure is the season.

Always tried to consider others.
‘Tis much easier to be pleasin’. 
How many are my friends?
All that’s sure is the season

Felt the urge to make my mark.
Fame or fortune was my reason.
Fear of failure was my tether,
For all that’s sure is the season.

A man of Christian faith,
Hope God finds me pleasin’.
Fair chance tho’, I’ll go to Hell,
Yes, all that’s sure is the season.

So what of value will I leave?
Hearts and souls I may be teasin’
With too few words too few will read,
While all that’s sure is the season.

Approaching the winter of my years, 
Never yet found my reason;
But thank God for each extra day I search.
Still, all that’s sure is the season.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric | |

Fourscore and Three

FOURSCORE AND THREE
By Leonard Kleeman

As I approach fourscore and three
I wonder how it would really be
If I could go back in time
And make that “Road Not Taken” mine.

If I could just take a different road
Would I be me or of a different mode?
Would I still be here or have died
Regardless of how hard I tried?

Would my friends be the same
Or of a different name?
Would I be rich or very poor
And never see the year fourscore?

But the road not taken as writ by Frost
Makes all those questions and answers lost
For I am just me as you can see
And what really matters for fourscore and three
Is who I am and what was meant to be.


Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epithalamium | |

The Soul Shatters

The soul shatters upon death. Sentience fractures into a million variables that swirl chaotically into piercing eyes that melt into the color sadness, spinning into galaxies that shrink to the size of ants and you twirl in a blender of being for eternities until finally, at long last, something sticks. Perhaps it may be as simple as a strand of hair, nonetheless all possibility spins around it, flashing contradictions of rainbow transparencies, empty solids and polka dotted space, continuing until a second hair joins the first, clutching to the nothingness and refusing to move. Soon thousands of hairs arrive and synchronize above a scalp unto a face, torso, limbs… materializing ever faster… and at once you are born. And just as the memory of your trial and error experiments and prior life evaporate, you embrace the arms of a stranger, gazing into her eyes, hung between this world and the next… sobbing in a fit of omniscience, in awe of your hard earned shape.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/15/2013

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Looking Back

I’ve not scaled the highest mountain, nor sailed the deepest sea,
But I’ve held my children in my arms and that’s enough for me.
I never walked upon the moon: repelled down steep ravines,
But the bedtime tale, told a little child, is far greater than it seems.

I once longed to swim the coral reef with snorkel, fin and mask,
But a day by the sea with my children in tow, was enough for me to ask.
To soar from mountain meadow, through skies of deepest blue:
Once a lovely dream of mine, but a dream that would never come true.

I wondered in my younger years, before I had fully matured,
If I was missing out on life and all its great rewards?
I settled young and missed some fun, as children came and grew.
I thought of all I could have been and all I'd hoped to do.

But years pile up and weigh us down: resolve begins to wane.
We’re left here looking toward the back, replaying life again.
It's strange how clear it all seems now, from an elder point of view.
How meaningless some dreams became: like time itself they flew. 

And I am left just standing here with very few regrets,
For things undone and sights unseen and people never met.
For other folks my days on earth might seem to lack success,
But looking back across those years; I’m sure I've done what’s best.


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse | |

Mirrors Age

As morn braces against the emptiness of night
And cock crows echo in waves of yellow light

Fallen mixed colors brush along the coarseness’ of stone
As fall would have them, these leaves of gold

Age as time moving swiftly through coveted hope
Laid far along twisted roads, yearning there and then
to be not parted here, have alas a distance near

But what of it, who so best to have it, more!

I tire now on thinking further, 
and would love to simply settle
On piles of leaves bright along the way
To answer no more
to things that must stay

‘Cause with any wisdom here,
I would have experienced it there
On piles of leaves I will stay, and rest a time 
before another day

And should it be the last of things, then so be it,
for I would have had 
what it was before its last,
and what more can I ask -
to take on roads we can not stand

Copyright © abel olivencia | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

The Mirror

Sunshine shoots through the windows and fills the house with grace,
Ricochets around the room and finds my weathered face.

Standing at a mirror I see refracted light
On wrinkles, lines and eyes of mine reflected to my sight.

The youth that once looked back at me
Has gone – I know not where – in vain I search the glass, and find: No … it isn’t there.

Instead I see the wrinkles – they are stress of many years
Produced in times of doubt and my unfounded fears.

My eyes see lines and furrows as they track across my face
Hard times are buried there as my eyes complete the trace.

At the corners of my eyes I see: a pair of old “crows feet”
They’re etched there forever from those times my life was sweet.

A lifetime full of memories comes bouncing off the glass
A memory consumes me - as I feel still more time pass.

In the Winter of a lifetime, my memories come to play
Oh, thank God I have them – pray they never go away.

I turn from my glass mirror – that used to be my friend
As thoughts of those reflections I try to comprehend.

My face - it is my diary of experience I’ve had
And then I tell myself: “You know … those lines …
      they really aren’t so bad.”

Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Internet Age

The Internet Age


Great, snow-flocked pines, of unimagined beauty
soar over the vagaries of on-line banking

There, among the towering clouds, and
I-pad intentions, a stillness persists,
unchanged for millennia

Alone, in my designs, carefully crafted in words
and images, I invoke meaning from faraway times,

Content to back-them-up in my word processor-   




Inspired by the poetry of Timothy Donnelly
12/06/10
© All Rights Reserved


 

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires

I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons

Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo

My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.

I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs

I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”

My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.

Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

It use to be me

It use to be me
who lit up your eyes
It use to be me
Who told you goodnight
It use to be me
Who asked you to stay
And lay here beside me
Till I drift away
But now there's another 
Whose heart that you need
Who only needs grandma 
To comfort his weeps

It use to be me
Now, a son that's too old
To walk with your hand
When I feel all alone
It use to be me
Who ran to your arms
Now another has comfort
Safe from all harm
From a son I am grateful
What you've given my child
But it use to be me
Who brought you a smile
So I hope he remembers
What these memories mean
That it use to be me
But time never sleeps

Kevin D. Fix

Copyright © Kevin Fix | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Long Lost Friend

Long Lost Friend

For the first time in forever
he took a long look in the mirror.
Suddenly his reflection
began to come much clearer.

The wrinkles on his face and hands
around his eyes and brow.
Reminders of the yesterdays
that he survived somehow.

Laugh lines etched into his skin
from good times that he knew.
Lines of worry ran so deep
he thought he'd never make it through.

Scars from battles he had fought.
One reminder of a fall.
A grateful tear fell from his eye
he had survived it all.

He saw the times that he had grieved
and other tears he cried.
When somewhere love had reached an end
or a loved one that had died.

Somehow looking there he saw
a heart still on the mend.
As he looked into the mirror
and found his long lost friend.

Edwin C Hofert 

Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015