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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 | |

I Water My Garden

I water my garden
Every day
I tend to Wander and Lust
Between the wild and the sweet is no place to be 
Like home

The rush of the wind over the river dry
Cuts through the garden mine
And compels the dust to whisper
Whisper, I know you,
Little Noise White

They whittle my garden
Down to the snow-white bones, the lies
The seeds, like every flake of snow, lie
Unique and terrible each
Unique little white lies

Over, my garden
One after another unlike the other proceed, the others
Ill-fitting coats in the high, high heat
One layer after the other – each and every one, a lie
Peel one after the other and in lies another
 
Fallen to the ground too late for roots
The hard-won shoots shoot
They shoot the sky
They cast little shadows behind
My garden, I

The wind blows
And the seeds are carried away
They grow in fields strange
Where others tend to the wolves and I
Like the black sheep, stray

A dream,
Drawn by the clouds,
The hard-won shoots shoot
They shoot the sky
And cast little shadows behind

Little stormcrow, leave
Leave your place 
Is no place to be like home
My garden, I
Water, every day

The water is rising
And the seeds are floating away
They drown in rivers strange
Where others swim in the water and I
In the deep end, lay

At the end of the line, lie
Shoot the sky and fall
Too late for roots
My garden, I
Grow, every day

The sky is falling
And the shoots are tumbling away
They die in meadows strange
Where the grass grows inside and I
Like the black widow, play

Too late for roots, I shoot the sky
And I cry
Water, I
Garden, I
Every day

- A. H. Sewell ©2015
https://www.facebook.com/HelanaSewell1


Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


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 | Free verse | |

Rules and Regulations

How long did it take her to be free?

How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world

How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips

Where
Now
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses

Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
To SET
HER
FREE!

It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere

Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony

For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine

One tearful, hyphenated lyric
Too blunt
To be embraced by their “god”

One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest

Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity

There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats

Her stanza pushed aside

A glorified booty call with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones

…

How long will it take her to be free?

Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key

©Drake J. Eszes


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 | Ballad | |

WHEN I LOVE THEE

I LOVE THEE I am no voluptuous beauty nor do I live a life of purity I can only say: I love wholeheartedly with all I am so truthfully I keep my heart open though it gets hurt so often I avoid to be irate as I know love changes the heart rate.. Guys tried to coo and woo, they say words as for "only you" Yet, hard to believe it is true as I see some untrue I give chances as my heart marks with tact entrances I learned from various instances looking man in romances In places where rules impede, two persons who wants to bid Not of money but of affection, in them must be determination I love thee not of what you have… Not even of who you are but to how you are to me… If I love you, don't tell me much what to do… As me, myself will show you, I am that real and true.. Yes, I am liked by many but tell you what: I don't like this honey nor am I proud of it in anyway One is enough to make me stay Stand with me through it all, I give my best not to fall My name your sweetest call echoing in every wall.. Hold me firm yet dear; allow me to move closely We'll make it anyhow, treading smoothly on flows... We are strong, aren't we? No one moving alone Together we'll face phases in tune, though there will dunes.. © OLIVE ELOISA D. GUILLERMO 3:25 pm, 07/13/2013 CONTEST: ANY POEM GOES #13 SPONSOR: POET DESTROYER 8TH PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY)


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 | Personification | |

The Heart of Imagination

I smell the scent in the water
As it pushes through my gills
My desire to return
beckons me to the place of my birth
For me the desire consumes me

I struggle against the current
Imagining my place of rest
I desire to place my children 
safely on a bed of stones
Sweet water to welcome me home

I know this to be a perilous Journey
I may travel over a hundred miles
Grizzly bears and Eagles block my path
They are to be my test
Yet I am strong
I have swam the oceans
I have known predators greater than these
They will not impede my path

Flying upward in the air
I glimpse the night moon
reaching towards my horizon
water splashes as I make my way higher
Almost
yes, almost home
I push beyond my limits
gathering speed

My sisters and I
we turn the river red
Arriving
thankfully arriving
imagination spawns reality
Estuary,
cool relief!
I release seven times
Now, completely exhausted
I can finally rest
Thirteen years 
I have waited
To come home.










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 | Imagism | |

IMAGINATION

IMAGINATION

Closed eyes; under a locked prism of unavailable light 
subjects our third eye to mind's internal creation; 
imagined images viewed by non-existent senses
on an opague three dimensional screen.

In an algorithm of shedded particle waves
Insight quickly fades back into a darkened vision 
of only half a picture without reflection. 

It leaves with us a broken trail of possibilities 
new thoughts, new choices, changes in destiny 
warily made under duress of immediacy 
trying to conceive a canvas framed 
by the hand of God.

It is in response to these panchromatic memories
held back by the sun's blackened light, 
that we clearly notice how the prism 
reflects an undercurrent. of shadeless secrets 
different than the realm of visionary colors.

Sensory detections relinquish an uncompleted picture. 
The image within, at times, may reveal an idea.
the transmission of which however placed
when received should strive to become an emotional 
mover of otherwise placid thinking where wizened leaders 
can in causes wept in sorrow from yesterday's sadness 
proclaim a hope for a brighter tomorrow.

INTERPRETATION:

When our eyes are shut tight, there is no light or vision.
We are limited to what we see with our inner mind. 
Nevertheless there is an internal sense,
a feeling of a creative process going on. 
It occurs as insight and often fades into a clouded vision 
of a thought picture barely perceived within.

When we leave the path of contemplative thinking,
we lose the benefit of what could have been. 
The choices we make are usually expedient 
and we struggle to determine 
what it is that we really want. 
Often we are faced and challenged by outside forces 
many of which we deflect as we espouse our point of view
without exploring all the possibilities. 

We see what could be and would like to be 
hoping that it will make a difference.
and help humanity move forward 
to a brighter tomorrow.

CAK  5-23-2103


Details | Tanka | |

LOVE, ANGELS, and MUSIC

LOVE God is always love Forever seek the kingdom; Praise the creator Keep giving what you can give Please endure until the end ANGELS Beautiful Heavens Protecting the meek ones earth Watching over us Helping us to cope with life Comforted with hope and trust MUSIC When you find rhythm You find your hearts inner core Celebrate the times Make them better than before Reminisce and dance all night


Details | Rhyme | |

Feel the Power

You don't have to kneel to pray,
Lye,sit or stand,just do it every day,
The presence of the Almighty is real,
Alleluia,alleluia,chant it until you feel,
When you feel Him,don't be afraid,
Don't be frighten,He came to make you brave,
The road of life,from birth to the grave,
Do you hear Him telling you,be no longer a slave,
Led by your environment,family,friends,plans and greed,
Take a spiritual stand,time for you to lead,
The road of life is slippery,don't slide down the drain,
Travel it wisely,what is gain without the pain,
The high-way is smooth but you have to pay the toll,
Take the by-pass,it might save your soul,
Don't be lead by evil,conquer evil with good,
Now hold the Almighty hands,live the life you should,,,,,


Details | Tanka | |

Faith In God Makes A Difference


                                            Commitments are hard
                                        Time is swift and life is short
                                              Misfortunes happen
                                      Faith in God makes a difference
                                         Times will pass much easier

                                           By Eve Roper 11/14/2014


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 | Rhyme | |

Timeless Love

They met at first around sixteen,while they were in their teens.
A young man tall and handsome, a girl with many dreams.
Years later they did meet again this time he was smitten.
It took some time to hook this girl, eventually their history written.

He had a plan to marry her and move her from her home.
She'd have to leave her roots, the only thing she'd known.
Leave her home and family was what she had to do,
The love they shared was eternal even though it 'twas brand new.

This love they shared was a gift,their faith was also strong
They both loved many similar things like fishing, books and song.
Seven children blessed their lives, they started their own tree
So strong this love they shared, became one large family. 

Both worked hard to raise them, devoted to each one,
They shared their love equally to each daughter and each son.
Education and faith were important, practiced with daily prayer
They fed and clothed this family with love and tremendous care

Each child was very different and different paths they took.
Educators, artists, builders, Lawyers and even cooks.
Each child found their partners, some added children to each branch.
All love music, all loved to read, a few even like to dance.

Their children had more children and the two were greatly blessed,
With lovely grandchildren with many traits that both these two possessed
What remained from the love they shared twas passed down through the line
A love this strong must be shared and it surpassed all time

Four generations have now developed from these two whose love began
So many years before when both had shared a plan.
Each twig shares a piece and resembles one or the other
For this love story that's been described was about a Father and Mother

I'd love to say they share a life together here today
But God had different plans in mind, for one he took away
The void he left was devastating to everyone you see
Hardest on the one for which he shared atop the tree

The plan these two created at the time they were entwined
Continues on by one so strong , who giveth all of her time
To the tree these two created which grows branches to this day
The love created by these two shall never go


Details | Couplet | |

Let Go Of The Rope

Let go of the rope my tethered friend
Your holding on to a futile end.

For if you fall what’s the consequence?
But if never tried life won’t make sense.

And if you try and don’t succeed 
You just may find its all you need.

See God is in the nothingness
Where pain resides along with bliss.

Its up to us to find the strength
And see what all this life is meant.

So take a fall, get up again 
And leave that world of bogeymen.


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 | 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 | Rhyme | |

LIVE LAUGH LOVE

(Rhyme) Think of every thing That you can attain today Enjoy every dream you can And make it part of each day You don't have to be well-known or rich, To find happiness under the sun, You can smile now and be happy Even if there's no one there for you Celebrate life and appreciate yours, Each autumn, summer, winter and spring, Make each and every dream come true, Remember, you can accomplish it all too Don't let anything or anyone stand in your way, Live, laugh and love, with passion and learn each day. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2008 December,2014


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 | Quatrain | |

Whisper Of Your Soul

           Whisper Of Your Soul
       (Soul Listens On A Whisper)

Murmurs soft are sensed, mimic nature, diaphanous clouds spread wide
Settle softer than a translucent butterfly on spring light snow
It is the moon flirting in ebullience, fog rising on a thin film on winds side  
Lifting skirts or is it veils?  Unknown in this muted light of whispers glow
   
Mist rolls across the bog, pulls along reluctant virgin night
By golden glow, that holds the sky in humble hush, abeyance in a trance
Tracking down the birth of morning, bursting full of light 
Barely able to mutter the words, “the light of day”, the endless dance 


You feel the vibrant tones, fold over meadows as you go
A vestigial tiny vessel of a virgin’s secret opens here
Chasing dark away along the marsh with pounding heart to know
The open glen is near, fills up in brilliant colors clear

Soft luscious sounds fall silent on the morning air and then
Listen, it whispers on the minutia of the moment something true 
Holds on to quiet in the silent glen
Waiting on a whisper Imbued with truth, soft thoughts of you

Created on 12/16/14 for “Whisper Of Your Soul” Poetry Contest Sponsored by Gail Angel Doyle


Details | Free verse | |

My Left Breast

strange it was there just the other day 
hanging about as usual, 
reminding me in my mirrored image 
of my definite femininity 
now gone, am I less of a woman? 
will you look at me differently, 
or strangely as I do myself? 

I never really gave it much thought before 
of how things come in pairs 
how lonely one would be without the other 
how misshaped one appears, 
no longer jutting forward, 
proclaiming sensuality 
thrusting into the limelight, 

now scars and a flattened ego, 
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing 
men, look at me in horror, 
women in shock and pity 
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them 
my left breast is missing 
no not missing, taken, stolen...

it was just a lump a few weeks ago 
a tiny pea shaped knob, 
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting 
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was 
what purpose I served in society 

am I still a woman, a sexual being? 
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so 
but yearns for its mate, 
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right 
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed  
I can still hear its scream


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 | Rhyme | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn


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 | Rhyme | |

I tried to hide

I tried to hide
I tried to hide 
But I just can't hide me

I tried to hide 
Yet my soul speaks 
To me

I tried to hide 
But all I see tells
A tale 

I tried to hide 
Now can't hide from my self

I tried to hide
Yet nature keep me on
To my dream

I tried to hide 
Yet my mind can't 
Let me be

I tried to hide 
But I can't hide 
The truth 

I tried to hide
Yet I can not hide

Now no wonder always 
I tried to hide

For the more
I tried to hide 

The hidden 
Keep me on 
So the unknown
Reveal a revelation 
whenever
I tried to hide 


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.