Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Jesus was Turkish

A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes

His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed

Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind

When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home

You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut

Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing

You loved the universe




Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.

Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone  lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.

No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness. 

Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships. 

Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.

Thank you, for helping building a better world!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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

With 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 With Age.... 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 With Wisdom 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" _____________________________________________ Submitted to PD's Contest : 101 In A Row #7

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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 | 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 | |

A being in the age of consumerism

I'm constantly searching for myself –
That part which is essential, inherent.
I sense its presence, it's somewhere within
The being which echoes with infrequent shouts
Of a neglected foreigner 
Who happens to live in my dwelling.
But it's a language I can't comprehend;
Only some fragments, and on rare occasions
When we're at peace, like adults
With altruistic motives.

I'm persistent in my search
So persistent that I tend to go outside
In hope of finding 
The object of my pursuit.
But I'm offered a wide selection of objects
Each resembling that which I desperately seek.
I consume, yet I'm the one who's consumed,
Drained slowly, gradually
Until the essence is left to evaporate
As if its only purpose is to be absorbed
Into bountiful void.

I stuff myself with pleasures
Until I dissolve in them,
Become the object of my desire.
Then the insight and rejection.
Continuation of the search
Of the lost one.

But it is different with you, my beloved.
You contain that spark
Which will revive me.
You can fill the gap,
Complete the circle.
Only a little more;
I know I will find it.
This is what I need,
Is it not?

Copyright © Tamara Simic | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Fading Glory

In the spring I was a hungry scholar,
caged ambition chained to life's cold machines,
striving to grow more vigorous, taller,
prepared to succeed by most any means.

On the cusp of summer, I make amends, 
forgiving myself for lapses and loss,
pretending the actions my being spends,
are worth something more than transient dross.

I cannot fool you if I can't convince,
myself that fair destiny holds her hand,
aloof, that somehow this game will make sense,
that I can someday take pride in my stand.

O dazzling spring, I could be anything!
O summer, how humble the anthem I sing.

14 August 2016

Copyright © James Fross | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Reverie of Reflection

Reverie of Reflection

How may I serve thee, when I have grown old? 
When the rocking chair arms embrace their hold;
And silence cuddles lank and limping legs,
Uninvited tears roll down cheeks of age.

My dreams of passionate youth grandiose,
Fighting and failing for “good” bellicose,
Undone deeds clog the gutters of the past.
The sum of life’s days dashing far too fast.

The sun beams drifting through the window glass,
Reverie floats – the untenable pass;
“Cans” buried in the can nots of real time.
Opportunities lost as wilted vines.

How may I serve thee, when I have grown old?
I will pray dear prayers asleep in my soul.

Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Espejo

Surprised by sharp reflection’s sudden glance
His dreaming depths awaken to the real
Stark visage draws him in its raptured trance
Square figure’s piercing slate blue eyes reveal

Young vain lad deep within begs him to flinch
Pretensions of youth scurry from hard light
Yet fear will not cow him to give an inch
Reflected nose to his, he stands forthright

Time’s telltale gray flecks ‘round wan scar betray 
lean, harried features sharpened by the miles
Yet turquoise buoyance in him does outweigh
thin sun-baked wrinkles deepened by his smiles

To depths, his older eyes can truly see
the dauntless, yet soft soul the boy can’t be

8/10/16



Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

22

Being 22
And all the things that happen to you
You ain't got a clue where this will take you
But it's the best age, it's really so true

Falling in love
You catch dreams like a dove
You can see your hopes in the sky above
But you trade them again for a couple of $#§7

You may have the best time
And feel really damn fine
You can make it all up and create in your mind
But in the end it's gone for a dime

The best year is over
Better look out for cover
It's all gonna end in a supernova
Just like the luck of my four-leaf-clover

So baby, please make sure
Never feel too secure
Of the things that happen to you
When you're 22


Copyright © Julie Smith | Year Posted 2016

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 | |

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 | 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 | I do not know? | |

WHO AM I BY NAME ALONE

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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | Verse | |

How Did It Get So Late So Soon

How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

Lines on my face
How did that happen?
How did it get so late so soon?
Gray-streaked hair
and creaky old joints
How did it get so late so soon?

Can't think how to write
a line like Seuss
or personify a great big moose

No Whos here, no Fox
No Horton, no Sox
No cats and no hats
No Yertle the turtle
No counting fish
I'm starting to curdle!

How did it get so late so soon?
How did it get so late so soon?

                             08/07/2015

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

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 | 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 | Epic | |

Customs To Getting Old

abuse, age, discrimination, health, introspection, lonely, old,

Customs To Getting Old  ©


There are very ingrained customs noted when getting old
Getting accustomed to old age is not one of them
One has to be blessed with 65 years of life to be noted
As Senior Citizen you are given rank status from the start
Living and ‘recently’ dead is one as it comes to my mind
I am still with a doable durable mind and very much alive!

Grandchildren love us for hugs, kisses and granting treats
We get to be called anything along the realm of 'Grandparenthood'
There is ‘Ganny/ Gampy, Granny/Poppers, Nanny/Papa, Grandma, Grandpa’--- etc.
This lists goes on and all for a ‘love made’ successful act for begetting offspring at the  start
Aging parents we might be, but really now, we are becoming 'ageless' old lonely souls 
But it does seem a great era to live-up to and be remembered for a time
We all have legacies, monumental or financial rewards that will be passed on
But most accounts to moneyed estates are something being chewed up and spat out
Cost of living is too high today and pensions but a trivial godsend gifted for accumulative worked years
Due to endless insurances ‘rendered’ and especially now ‘senioratised’ we are made to claim prematurely 
We are gifted and very lucky with monthly- income Government (payouts) from dues paid for service rendered, thank you citizen
Old Age Pension and Government Pension checks do arrive ‘all’ on time each month
Helps our old-timers out somewhat because security in senior living is out dated
These splendid silver/golden years under the roofs of children who nurture us aid
Is something of the past too, gone out of style with the coming in of the new age

Great medical care for the elderly is a given to the times and rightly so
But so many cut-backs are manifesting because as baby-boomers our numbers are high
So costly a ‘society’ entanglement we seem to have become and too greedy in want
That to assist us in our living accommodations and day to day care seems over the top
And it is all  for breathe and feed when all is done and said so we can be able to enjoy our retirement years

We are in this great era of computer/phone hacking ‘whiz-ding-dongs’ and are their hopeless prey
So susceptible to these scams that trick and bleed us dry and take us to the cleaners is the catch of the day
“And I wasn’t born yesterday” refrain is outdated and holds no truths as “can’t teach an old dog new tricks” ever did 
Our instinctive ‘sound alarms’ over time wisdom gatherings have been faulty battery sensed
We are used, abused unfairly ‘counted’ to self-care restrictions to gain our rightful place
It is no wonder natures culling is backlogged as we short-change her call with ‘longevity’
Losing one’s mind/memory faculties seems on an up-rise and could be a curse or the cure to what ails us
I think I would like to play that mind-game ‘Alzheimer’s and be taken out 
All the mind-set games accustomed for us is indeed overplayed this day
I think I would like to be ‘red’ game piece and just throw the dice out to the floor  It is my favourite colour and stands for ‘stop, don’t go and caution for evermore.  


Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | 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 | 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 | |

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 | 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 | Verse | |

Please Don't Cast Another Stone


My days are long of tooth but short of value,
I have worked long and hard for many years.
Time is now an unknown value in my life,
please, don’t cast another stone.

My health has been a faithless parting friend, 
gathering age has a plan for the body of man.
Trials and tribulations on a spinning wheel,
please, don’t cast another stone.

Love has come and gone as mist in wind,
ever moving, some have left by back door. 
purpose mine, some I held door open,
please, don’t cast another stone.

Money, a life long ghost in chains,
forever calling with offers of false hope.
What I haven’t lost, the system has taken.
please, don’t cast another stone.

Now in my last years all birthdays forgotten,
time is spent in a gray bowl of lost moments.
No guarantees, no promises, I live in a house of glass,
please, don’t cast another stone
 

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2015

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 | 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