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Age Life Poems | Age Poems About Life

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

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Details | Rhyme | |

Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty


Details | Free verse | |

Twilight Hands

She hummed the dawning of the day
while spry hands bounced babies
Wielded a spatula with expeditious 
movements flipping pancakes onto a plate
Folded napkins at place settings

She was in full swing at noonday
as brisk hands folded lunchmeat and bread 
into sandwiches     Smoothed the creases 
from pages of homework     Kept the iron 
moving in a pendulum motion over 
the mounds of spanking clean laundry

She talked with her hands 
gesturing wildly with excitement 
Administered slaps to unruly kids with her hands
She took all gossip with a grain of salt 
Tossed a pinch over her shoulder 
with a cupped hand    just in case

With reverent hands and nimble fingers 
she daily turned the pages of the good book
unerringly finding the appropriate Bible verse 
Now a smattering of age spots dusts her smiling 
frail countenance aglow through paper-thin skin
And mother folds her twilight hands


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.




Details | Sonnet | |

A Painter's Pine

The void calls through gossamer veils and widow's peak. Shifty-eyed now of necessity I lie, bone-wrapped in rosaries black as my rheumy eyes, death speaks. Uncomforted by down or velvet, role trapped corseted, board stiff with age like calf skin vellum peeled and bloodied by the dual edged knife of man. The scene is set and I shall not whimper, as do some, or call to God, or blame the fates of those whose clans remain earth-bound, when I have left this mortal glade. Pigment on canvass, linseed loosed, stretchers taut, displayed, all of this, I've had a plenty, and been royally paid. My life was art, and it was art that fanned my life's flame. So, stretch me on the pine boards and lay my edges down; monochrome me in umber, drench me in shades of brown.
Self Portrait See About the Poem


Details | Free verse | |

NINETY SOMETHING


She is ninety-something
A tiny old lady with wizened eyes
She says the hot dog on her plate looks good

“It reminds me of when we roasted them over an open fire.
They tasted so good, hot off the stick.
I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.
I waste so much food, and my mother would never 
have approved with so many starving children in the world.
Would you help me put my leg back up on the chair rest?
My body doesn’t work too well anymore.

I wasn’t always like this.     I wasn’t always this old and crotchety.
I was young once too, and so was everyone else.
I was a child at my mother’s knee.     I was sassy and a brat,
for children of six have such confidence.
I played with an Irish boy two doors down in Illinois.
He hit me in the forehead with a snowball wrapped
around a chunk of coal and I rubbed his face in the snow
until we were wet and cold and our mothers were mad
because we stayed out too long.

I am not as different from you as I seem.
I too had dreams, although I admit
they did not include the events I lived through.

The flu epidemic which swept the land, 
where so many took sick, with children dying out of hand.
The big war, the first one.     I was still a fairly young child,
but I knew the young men were dying, heard the mothers crying.
Then the depression came, with no jobs, no money, no food.
Each night on someone’s table there lay a posting of jobs,
but there were too many looking for work and too few jobs to fill.
No jobs were fat jobs, you were beyond lucky to get six bits a day.
That is seventy five cents, by the way.
I learned to make do with what I had.     There was never any excess.
Not like for the generations who came next.
When World War II came we already had practice.
Only this time my generation was dying, and I was one who was crying.

Look in my eyes, I am still a young girl inside.
A young lady with plans to be a bride, to have my children at my side
and be the loving mother like mine was to me.
But my son took too many risks.     I told him to slow the cars down,
don’t drive so fast.     He did not listen and he died before me.
That is not supposed to happen.

I did not plan to get old and infirm and alone.
Everyone is gone.     I told them goodbye, each and every one.
No one left to hold my hand.
No one left to understand the memories 
prompting bursts of girlish giggles.
I never planned on being the one left for last.
never planned on my future becoming my past.
So much history remains alive in my mind.
I lived the events which shaped the world that you found.
Lived them time after time for ninety some-odd years.

No, I was not always this old.
I was young and fresh and in my prime, for a time.”


Details | Free verse | |

Still Fires Burning

The thinness of skin 
parchments across
blue veins and brittle stick bones
dreaming of budding branches—it lays loose

you've matched my desire 
with phrases of burning leaves
flames—flaring gold, yellow and red

rheum fills my once clear eyes
but echoed memory guides me
through forests of fall
descending with feathered down 
from empty nests

dulled and lifeless fodder for fire
ungathered leafless— 
forlorn as stalks of dry corn  

still, I eye beauty—
 
voice symphonies of words
and build bonfires from 
each passing
night


Details | Quatrain | |

In Celebration of REAL Men

The strength of a man is not determined
By his muscles or his brawn
It is determined by his strength
To admit when he is wrong

The wisdom of a man
Is not determined by myriad facts
It is determined by the way
That wisdom is seen in his acts

The integrity of a man
Is not determined by his claim
It is determined by the reputation
That follows around his name

The love of a man
Is not determined by mere time
It is determined by each moment
That he makes you feel sublime

The sexual prowess of a man
Is not related to his size
It’s how he satisfies your needs
And what you see there in his eyes

The chivalry of a man
Is not determined by his manhood
It is determined by how he nurtures
You to revel in womanhood

The passion of a man
Is not his need to self-gratify
It is determined by how often
He makes the effort to satisfy

The wealth of a man
Is not seen in monetary things
But by those things that are free
That to your life he brings

The age of a man
Is not seen in the age life deals
But by the strength of his heart
And how young he makes you feel

The sweetness of a man
Is not determined by what he says
But it's determined by the fact
That you want him more each day

The humour of a man
Is not determined by a hurtful tease
It’s determined by how your laugh
When his words your heart please

A man is an awesome creation
That I’m determined to venerate
As Eve’s daughter much in love
This male wonder I celebrate.

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Details | Acrostic | |

Captcha WHA6

When I was only five
Heard mommy always's say
Angel  keep being naughty and you won't make it to
6




Entry for Adam Hapworth's
Captcha Acrostic Contest
G.L. All



Details | Light Poetry | |

50 Shades of Naked

If you are 50 and you are naked
Please
Make it a poem and not a photo
A poem we see your inner beauty
A photo we see out of warranty
A poem we see you’re giving spirit
A photo we see your sagging dreams
A wilting flower is majestical poetry
On paper is part of a suicide note
A naked mind will melt hearts young and old
A naked old man will scare away the scare crows
No one wants to see grandma naked
Not even poor old grandpa
But we will love her all the more
For chocolate chip cookies and loving hugs

You however my princess
At fifty x three, lovely and naked just for me
And I will love you to the very bone


Details | Free verse | |

Dandilion

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 The Elder.... 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 The Dead 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" _____________________________________________ Carrie Richards 8) "One could not pluck a flower without troubling a star." Loren Eiseley


Details | Free verse | |

Self inflicted blues

This day I grow tired
and so incredibly weary.
My heart holds only dreams
of a Life unfullfilled
A Life not nurtured,
yet barely a glimmer
of the spirit that once was.

I do have memories of some things good 
-not all bad,
But the fear that I am alone
is Like a fingerprint on my Life.

Shadowing, waiting to pounce,
always there, unshakeable.

It's the mirrors that hold me accountable
to my actions.
Proof positive that where ever I go
there I am,
Naked, vulnerable, and yes
still alone.

As I try to allay this fear, 
one Lonely and painful pluck at a time,
It becomes crystal clear, that I alone
am damaging my soul to the very core
with each stroke of my hand.

I steal one Last Look in the mirror
and know that I alone
have self inflicted these blues
Leaves me to ponder one question:

Will I ever allow myself the strength and grace
it will surely take to heal my scarred soul?                        
                                                      
  



This poem was written in hopes of begining the healing process for my self. I 
have a disease called trichiotillamania. It is an obsessive and manic urge to pull 
one's own hair until baldness occurs. I'm a 48 year old woman, married(with kids 
& grand kids)and have been doing this since the age of 5. It coincided with the 
begining of my stepfather raping and torturing me which lasted until the age of 
thirteen. This disease has me trapped and is NEVER letting me go. There are 
two inflictions in regards to my hair pulling in this poem, one must know about 
my disease in order to understand this poem.


Details | Free verse | |

The 80's

This is a decade that many wonderful things happened; 
I was born, the reign of hard rock began, 
Michael Jackson began to moonwalk, Cars became smoother 
on the road, Cold War reigned, and also a time that soul music 
massaged our souls and emotions.
This is a decade that never dies. People who were born 
and lived in the 80s still live, the music still exists in hard-drives, 
teenagers have immortalized the fashion sense, and
my yellowing birth certificate still lives on, with one piece.


Details | Free verse | |

Year of the Acorn

Year of the Acorn
(For my Father who
has Parkinsons &
Alzheimer's)
22/12/12  21:21
pm

Out on a winter walk
one day
you solemnly put an
acorn into my hand.
Something in my head
whispered
"Keep it safe
and he'll be safe".
I kept it to this
day.

Year one.
One candle on my
cake,
burned into my
mind's eye forever.
You took a
photograph
to keep me in the
picture.

Year four.
My sister arrived in
the world. 
You took me to feed
the swans.
Back home
she greeted us with
screams.
I fled, covering my
ears.

Year thirteen.
Mother told me the
facts of life.
You kept well out of
it.

Year nineteen,
A disco at the end
of a long, quiet
road.
You always drove me
safely there and
back.
You were judge and
jury
of all boyfriends.

Year twenty three.
You gave me away
to the best
boyfriend of all.

A montage of eras
replay in the bright
lens of memory
till the year of the
walk
and the acorn.

And I kept it safe
so you'd be safe,
only now it looks
cracked and old;
not quite like an
acorn

and you are not
quite like you.


Details | Couplet | |

It's Bittersweet

I have determined to age with grace
To show off each wrinkle on my face.
I now accept there is more of me
Much more than there was at twenty three.
There’s a sprinkling of the salt in my hair
That mixes well with the pepper there.
The spring of my life has given way
To vibrant colors that will turn grey.
I know that Summer must bow to Fall
And then Fall will answer Winter’s call
Every age has beauty I've been told
There’s bitter sweet pain in growing old.


Details | Free verse | |

What I want for Christmas this year

Oh the day of Christmas 2020!
The snow has for long, been pushed further into the year.
I shan't spill a single tear.
Christmas this year is beautiful that I in my prime of Twenty Three am so glad.
I am so glad that you could spend it with me, my wonderful.
You are my breath of fresh air, my tender kiss.
You are my only Christmas wish.
Your beautiful glossy dark hair.
Followed with a loving oh so, tender stare.
You were my Christmas past.
You are my Christmas present.
And you... You will be my Christmas future.
There is no hate on Christmas day.
Tender loving care, here and away.
I’m glad that I can spend it with you.
My heart beats fast when your air fills the room.
My eyes tear up at the sound of your beautiful voice.
My hands bloom for your radiant glow.
Because I know, you know. 
What I want for Christmas this year.


Details | Free verse | |

Post-Choosing Life

First things first you have to understand the last time I opened up, I left feeling burnt.  I have let my secrets surround and protect me; I have let its vines grow into thick foliage.  I could peer between the leaves and still feel like I remain in your same world.  Four years ago, I had many tactics and relentlessly tried them all.  I have tried to escape this plane in hopes to escape myself.  The moment of dealing and processing I have found does not occur in a wonderful symbiotic nature.  I struggle to process what I am now.  I have danced with my demons, and seduced the devil twice, what does that say about who I am?  I used to live in a fear of jumping into dark waters with an unknown depth, but after walking in the darkest nights far along the abyss I wrestle living with the knowledge of knowing the height of it all, and the depth of the fall. I don't know for how much longer I can keep pretending I'm safe in these waters.


Details | Rhyme | |

Time I Never Knew

There was a time long ago
which my mind cannot go
I was born that I know
what happened next it's a no no

These days and months afterwards
are all just a blank
there I was with no parents
just me myself with no rank

For these long six weeks
before adoption rescued me
if I knew my mindful state
it was most difficult to see

This period surely was hard
not knowing what life would come
everything was freely unknown
of what this lad's life would it become?

At six weeks of age adoption came
a couple wanted me as a son
despite my stammer with it's restrictions
life became a story yet to be done


Details | Rhyme | |

THE AGING PROCESS

Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.

Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.

Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.

Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.

Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?

Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.

The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.

The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.

Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.

Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.

Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.


Details | Ballad | |

Little Blue Bird of Rain

Little Blue Bird of rain.

Rain, rain go away
Little Blue Bird of Rain, needs to shine again
In her version the sun dried, up all her tears
Leaving hurtful rain inside the bird
Destructive past sudden cheers
Waking up to empty words
When abandoned by her peers
Just not knowing what had just occurred

Drowning herself in a life of Jane Doe.
Never know who she really is
When all she loves hanging her lowest moment
The rain brought out Mary-Jane.
As the bird lost its glow.
The rain tricked her once to use Cocaine.
As her feathers met that one Joe.
He broke her wing and brought more Rain.

Very young, very sweet.
Living her life in the fast lane.
Hard for her to stand on her feet.
Balanced her life on one leg, like the crane.
Curtains hang over her wings.
While she let no one near her domain.

While she flies through the heavy rain.
She finds her comfort with a pen.
Using the lords name in vain.
Cursing all her backstabbing friends
With no one around to explain?
All the sorrow left her on a railroad track.
Ending up like the runaway train.
Only she can get her life back.

If for myself I ever felt pain?
I felt more pain at what she wrote about. 
In my face on my left side 
Your poetry comes to life in my head. 
Visions of her wanting to be dead.
Oh! How I wish this life she did not dread.

You hide the tears you shed so well.
A life with balls you cut the chains.
You diss, Your parents to go to hell.
Little Blue Bird of Rain, don't let them fools drive you insane.

Little Blue Bird of Rain.
If a sparrow could show you,
There is more to life than pain.
Under the umbrella, the sparrow would cover you.
No one wants to see her colors drain.
What a world to master her feathers into art.
The gift of words runs through her vein

The paintings on her wall.
A dream of a bad seed of grain.
One day our Little Blue Bird will stand tall.
To free herself from all the Rain.


  To: Rain aka- Joy Loveless
Our sweet 16-year-old
      P.D.     1-1-10


Details | Rhyme | |

Pal

Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed. 
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Both quietly passed away.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place. 
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.

She smiled.  “I had a dog when I was young...
a good one too.  His name was Pal.”


Details | Rhyme | |

The tree of life

A lonely tree stands in a field
Branches entwined in one
And as those branches come to life
They reach up to the sun

This tree with all it's energy
just like a woman so it be
It's branches swaying in the breeze
just like a mother's offspring, these

And so the lonely tree does age
The human kind out living
But we all end up just the same
Our flesh to earth be giving

And thus our lives all end the same
No matter what we be
Some have long lives, some much less
In life's sweet mystery


Details | Epigram | |

WRINKLES

WRINKLES*


Wrinkles:
Wondrous memorials    
Masterfully engraved      
By
Graceful Age 
For
Commemorating the victories of self 
Over 
The afflictions of life! 


© Demetrios Trifiatis
  15 NOVEMBER 2013


*Having read Andrea’s Dietrich: The Wrinkles Justifier, I commented that
I might be inspired to write on Wrinkles. I kept my word!  Thank you Andrea!
 
 *Dedicated to all my fellow aging, young friends! 


Details | I do not know? | |

My_True_Identity.sas

Data Birth;
 INFILE 'C\Fathersperm\Motheregg\9_months\The_One_Of_Shadows.txt';
 INPUT FNAME = 'Yoni'
          LNAME = 'Dvorkis';
    Var Hidden_Meaning = "SAS code is not meant to be poetry you nut job";
Run; 

Data Child;
 Set Birth;
    Where Age >= 4; 
    Var Worldview = Parents_Worldview; 
    Var Facial_Expression = compress('Fear'||'Bewilderment'||'Jews believe in guilt');
Run;

Data Teenager;
 Set Child (Drop= Innocence, Baby_Fat, Cheerful_Disposition);
    Where Age >= 15 and BAC_Level >= .01;
    Var Worldview = (Peer_Pressure * 100) + Favorite_Teacher_Worldview
                            - Parents_Worldview;
    Var Hidden_Meaning = "Where are you going with this?";
Run;

Data Adult;
 Set Teenager (Keep= Anger, Intelligence, Need_For_Material_Wealth, Hatred_Towards_Body
                     Drop= A_Sense_Of_Security_In_An_Unforgiving_World);
    Var Job_That_Slowly_Kills_You = "Healthcare Data Analyst and SAS Programmer";
    Var Worldview = (Company_Mission_Statement + Family_Is_Most_Important) 
                             / Screw_Everyone_Else_I_Have_My_Own_Problems;
    Where Age >= 21 and BAC_Level >= .15;
         If Yearly_Salary >= 100,000 then 
             Self_Esteem = "Now I'm worth something!!";
         Else if 50,000 <= Yearly_Salary < 100,000 then 
             Self_Esteem = "I guess I should count myself lucky...";
         Else if Yearly_Salary < 50,000 then 
             Self_Esteem =  ______;
    Var Hidden_Meaning = "Jeez, you're really laying it on thick with the salary stuff";
Run;

Data Old_Man;
 Set Adult;
     Where Age >= 65 and Yearly_Salary = "Whatever's left of Social Security"; 
     Var Cynical_Being = 
              (Why_Did_It_Have_To_End_Like_This  *  Years_Hiding_In_Plain_Sight )
                                            - The_Will_To_Keep_Going;
Run; 

Proc sort data = Old_Man out = Old_Man_On_Deathbed nodupkey;
 By What_This_All_Meant_To_Me;
Run;

Data My_True_Identity;
 Merge Old_Man_On_Deathbed (in = a)  God  (in = b);
 By _all_;
 If b and not a;
Run;


Details | Quatrain | |

Average Age 19

Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for

Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain

Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin

I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail

Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled

Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss

How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run

I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance





James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "



Details | I do not know? | |

New age babies.

Quantum leap, material mind,
learning curve steep, perceptive mankind,
this earth inherited to keep, in the depth eyes shined,
the karmic benefits we reap, after money too long pined,
in the shadows they did creep, by our light left blind,
hearts awaken from their sleep, each ventricle gold lined,
More awake each enlightened peep, open hearts, contemplative minds; you'll be amazed at 
what you find.

Been crawling, now it’s time to walk, too long the masses talking the talk.....


Details | Narrative | |

The Benefits of Old Age

 
As he sat on his old front porch gently rocking his swing.
    His old mind a million miles away not really thinking on anything.
Staring into space he just let his old thoughts run free.
     Wondering how he got to this place, all alone and lonely as could be.
Just killing time somehow became the daily norm.
     Without someone to share your thoughts somehow life can take on a brutal 
form.
His children are all grown and they never come by.
   They’ve got lives of their own was his reasoning as to why.
Was I this selfish, as he tried to recollect those memories from way, way back.
     Maybe I was he thought as he tried to get his thoughts back on to track.
A tear ran down his old face as he got up to go back inside. 
     The pain was still there too hard for him to hide.
There was nothing left for him to prove, he was just an old man and this he knew.
     Everyday played out the same as he longed for this day to be through.
His nights were quite short while his days seemed to never end.
    As he sat down at his table and called out to Jesus his only true friend.
He said Father when You’re ready please take me home.
    I’m tired of this heartache of living alone.
As he sat at the table he felt a sudden peace.
    He felt his soul being lifted in its final release.
With angels all around him he ascended in flight.
   Heading for heaven he’d be there fore night.
As he reached Heavens Gate there stood our Lord.
    He said I’m sorry but you weren’t ready I know it was hard.
He said I know that you’re ready so please come on in.
    There is someone that’s been waiting she is waiting within.
                         


Details | Light Poetry | |

yeah, yeah, yeah

The past is but a story, itching to be told, so when you tell it to us, Grandpa, tell it big and bold. Tell us of those better days, now crumbled into dust. Tell of how things used to be — in detail, if you must. Tell a darn good fairy tale, a “once upon a time.” Paint an idyll portrait, in colors peach and lime. Tell us how you walked to school, through snow, on unshod feet. Explain to us, exactly please, how this made you more complete. Tell us life was better then, simpler, less confused. Tell us kids behaved back when, manners often used. We’ll listen with all ears. Listen kindly and polite. To how you entertained yourself without TV every night. But tell it not in pastels, unmarred by shadows blue. For always there is wounding, in the making up of you. Don’t hang up on your drama and forget to turn the page. But move along with dignity to another time and age. Yesterday’s a pencil sketch, erased by this today. Let it go and move along, there is no other way.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Tai-Ana at Age Ten and Far Away

			1

Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing  thee, thyself  in turn.

Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke – 
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.

I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore – 
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.

‘Twas all I had.
			
			2

Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.

Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.

I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more – 
remembering thy portrait in my mind.

‘Twas all I had.

.			3

Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions,  mind alert, thy hungering to learn.

Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.

I watch thee grow, and will,  forever more – 
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.

‘Tis all I have.

		4

Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee 
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee. 

Break loose those  prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain – 
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft – 
all a capella – pure and long.

Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.

Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.

[Finis]


Details | Senryu | |

Age of the Sun

The Cruel Barbs of Time,

Sink Slowly underneath Flesh.

The Skin Dries and Cracks.


Details | Enclosed Rhyme | |

2Cor120

It came to me one night, a dream
An idea, a thought, a better way
Is this all there is, this life I have
To wake and live another day

Exist just like a cloud, or shrub
To eat and sleep, work and play
Go here and there, do this, do that
Wait for Friday, bills to pay

The hairs are counted on our heads
Our bones will see decay
But the spirit will live on
Past when we’re old and grey

A plan, a purpose, his promises pure
I trust his word and pray
I know that my Redeemer lives
The truth, the life, the way