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Age Time Poems | Age Poems About Time

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

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Details | Free verse |

The Shadow of Me

It was a long time ago, in another age
Where the shifting of the wind
Knew where I began
A place so far away, 
Somewhere distant, in childhood country
Before the fog had set in,
Before time lost all trace of me

Where have they gone?
Those merry dancers with whom I played?
When we were queens of the carnival, kings of the parade?
Before being dethroned to mid-life corners
Hearing the music, without playing the drums
They tell me to take this age with grace
Yet everywhere I turn, is young

I'm still the same, I have not changed
I lived a time where love was wild and thoughts were too
With high regard, when eyes were glued
Now inside I'm torn in two...the old and the new
Trapped between this nowhere place
Myself and someone else
Until each barrier becomes a bridge...
Have I been shaped too square by passing years, to fit in circle's place?

My memory recalls those beautiful tomorrows
Now long buried in yesterday's ground
There are other ways to measure time
Besides growing older and graying hair
Recorded music fills the room
Left playing from an earlier time
When October skies showed fading traces
Of empty days and sad old faces
The "others" of whom I had no fear

Now those shadowed remnants from my past
Are stalking at my heels
Will somebody care to ask?   Will anyone need my mind?
Is there something they want to tell me?
Will they patronize, or just be kind?

Care enough, make me useful, give me value, call me beautiful?....
Not yet the age I'll someday be
Still, I feel the sting of losing me
How I ache for all those love songs
How I ache for someone needing, someone pleading...
For advice....for my worth, for an answer, will they want me?
How it haunts me.....Will they see me?
Touching me....reminding me of who I am................not just who I was...





__________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010



Details | Etheree |

Sands of Time

A t f i r s t, a l a z i l y f l o w i n g r i v e r Timeless warm glow of a summer’s day In love with the world’s vibrancy Inaudible, clock ticking Safe in seeming endlessness Each day a lifetime Some wished away Years accrue Time’s grains Fall Flow Faster Sweet life full Moments precious A n t i c i p a t e d milestones fly past, too fast Children’s years wax eternal While ours accelerate quickly Scenery outside the train’s window Ever more beautiful, yet blurring, faster 7/13/16 © Thomas W. Quigley

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |

It's only time

For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.

The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.

Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.

For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.

With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.

For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
 Now Care free and full of fun.

For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.

Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.

© N windle

Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Out of the Sun

              Stayed 
             in the sun 
              to long
               today
 The skin became the bark of a tree
 the soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             my face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones 
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
               Stayed 
              in the sun
               to long
                today
the mind has smoothed over 
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
               laughingly.

Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place 
where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heart worms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the weeds, 
till the jewels of memories soothe 
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long
                today




Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Time Soldiers On

Irregardless of effort 
or desire,
we can't stop time.

Weeks fall into months,
seasons stream past 
like runaway trains,
stamping birthdays on calendars,
etching wrinkles on skin,
planting age spots everywhere.

The galloping gobbler
moves ever onward,
with sharpened blade, 
to slice away memories, 
and bestow;

weaker eyesight,
diminishing strength,
brain skips,
plus popping  joints.

Alas, twilight stops soon for thee,
Twilight stops, now, for me.


cfa ? 9/2/2012
Revised 4/20/2014


Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Burning Daylight

They are lined up along the long hallways
wheelchairs protruding, blocking the corridors.
The aroma of antiseptic spray attempts to mask
the pungent smell of body odors.

The loud blare of the big screen TV 
reverberates from the empty day room,
while medical staff busily sort paperwork 
behind the sterile counter tops. 

Each ancient face, each frail body
huddled beneath their blankets 
reflect a unique history, a life story
that is waning with the passage of time.

Men and women, now trapped within their
weakened bodies, once vibrant and strong
now confined and consigned to wait
away from the public eye, burning daylight.




Written on 4/28/2015

Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Bio |

ONCE UPON A TIME

 






I was born on the closing days of
The second World War  
In a small village of north-west of Greece
Up on the mountains.

The country was devastated
After four years of occupation by
The Nazis and Fascists and
Then
A civil war followed that lasted for
Another four years
Hundreds of thousand souls were lost,
Among them members of my family
The country was left in ruins
The hatred reigned as brother was 
Killing brother
 
We were poor
Scarcely had anything to eat
Having lost my father I had
No shoes
No proper clothes
No proper home
Living in primitive conditions with
No electricity
No radio
No cars
No roads
But
Lived close to nature that nourished me
With its wild fruits and roots
That I was finding climbing up the mountains
Or descending down onto the valley
Where I was running after butterflies and birds

My bear feet were kissing the ground
Winter and summer
Feeling the cold and the heat to the point as
To become one with the soil.
 
The animals were my friends, my companions:
Goats, sheep, pigs, cows, dogs, cats
But I had to be aware of the venomous snakes,
The cunning foxes the dangerous wolves.
 
The nights I was looking up to the clear sky
Admiring the brightness of the stars
So close to God for the first time myself I found
As I was caressing with my eyes the galaxy
That crossed the horizon from mountaintop to mountaintop.
The nights when there was a full moon I could see
As far as the eye could reach and I was happy although
My rebellious stomach could not let me sleep in peace.
 
Left the village just before my twelve birthday went
To Athens, the capital and later on to Canada where
I lived, worked,  studied and taught.
Stayed there for twenty years,
Have traveled around the world:
Europe, Asia, America, Oceania
Then back to Greece where I live 
Writing and taking care of my roof garden.

Now, retired at seventy-two, look at the world as it is
Compare it with the world of my childhood and
Have the impression that have lived for centuries
Since the world at present,  as far as technology is concerned,
Is light of years ahead of the world of my village at that time
But at the same time the world today seems to have lost
Its innocence, part of its humanity and certainly its
Contact with nature and worst of all for most of us with
Its inner divine self!






© Demetrios Trifiatis
       26 March 2017



* This is my 1500th poem. I would like to thank all of you who have
supported me with your comments, ideas and love for without you
it would have been impossible to keep writing for five years here at 
the soup. Of course always are some who try to harm someone and 
not to help but even these few people I thank! 

May the Good Lord keep all of you healthy, inspired and happy!
THANK YOU!

Demetrios 
 

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Time Travel

-In-between Worlds-

Letting go of all the space in between
the reality
the cloud
A theme, that use to be 
---Now dead
Long gone before I woke

Sadly Today's my birthday 
So here I am singing a song
All ALone
Happy Birthday to myself

Love PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Color Missing

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

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

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
FAT
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her? 
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more... 
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
FAT!!!!!!
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
FAT!
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

'Love me with your Time'


I might make a noise right now There will be a time when I go silent Will you miss my racket? In those days of silence? I will no longer yearn for your presence Like I do at this very moment Will you wonder? Will you wish? For that good morning? I might be a nuisance right now I might ask you the same thing over and over One day Some day My voice will go silent All I ask today is be patient with me Please love me; with your ears Please love me; with your time Before all you will have Is my grave and the memories…
"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate " ©134517022015

Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Memories on Branches

How did a cherry kiss? Bitter flower petals with sweet pistils.
So laden they act as halos while we breathe the love
in a pink hollow, silence sounding like taste, acting like epistle
to hold this moment in a silvery image, like moon, or  dove
low, low, a bowl formed while sunshine flickers above.

Chains of yellow petals hang over our deck, the leaves hands--
offer welcome resting branch, our sheltered home.
Seeds follow close, fragile like beans, hard case to feed the land
crawl before God, they say, be grateful as we weed and stir loam.
Together seeds and flowers and hands make a life a poem.

Awaiting the sumac, the flame at summer's ending is fruitless
we've passed the feathering, the pimping of red underneath bristle
the deer horn softness crawling out in oddest places in a mess
lining the sand pond, above the purpled iris, the pestle
of stone and sun, no rain to bring down sumac's fiery trestle.

Vulturous crows squawk and fight the ring-billed sea gulls
waiting, one in the bared hollow hands of the cottonwood
the other fat-bellied and waddling after rain finally dulls
we're under hoodies,  under shivers, our neighborhood
waits the pinking and mossing, will it unfurl new wood?

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014

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.

Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |

Time Travel

Time Travel

From conception, into birth,
from childhood, into youth,
from youth, into a young adult
is but a short journey on a long pier

A time for learning / A time for doing

Adults usually go on in blind flurry, doing.
Middle age meanders along that – shorter – pier,
looking into the waters, seeing life passing by,
catching glimpses of, reflections gaily dancing,
and reflecting upon the pier walk, thus far

A time to acquire / A time for losses

Wisdom in old age, it becomes a slow and painful walk,
- off what has become - in time’s passing – a short pier –
that has taken all seven – not to heaven – on a long, arduous
journey through rough seas – old age sees the essence of  life,
time and space - yet throughout the journey, wonders ?,
what was it ?, what is it ?, that could be, have been his place.
B .J. “A” 2
November 25th 2004

Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Sarv-e Abarkuh

[“It nourishes the spirit and feeds the imagination” ~ Ryszard Antolak]

In the desert of Abarkuh
this magnificent cedar stands,
a symbol of beauty and happiness,
liberty and justice; the triumph of life.
Was it Zoroaster or Japheth
who planted this sacred Iranian tree
which has withstood the test of time,
defying nature’s most fierce elements?
There it stands, savouring memories
of distant years, witness to the birth 
and growth of modern civilization.
It bears no fruit, but it feeds the spirit
and offers shade to those who seek it.
Age takes its toll. Weary yet defiant
it clings on to stubborn faithful roots
waiting for the master to call its name
while swallows huddle in its welcoming
branches, whispering, as the sun goes down,
keeping her company right till the very end.

--------------------------------------------------

Period of Time ~ a 4,000 year old tree
Contest: Punctuation Personified
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

Seasons Passing

A silky moonlight the water walking
As lovers entwined their lives while talking.
Spring softly warm, blossoms upon the air,
Time's gentle memory when she was there.

Stars bright after sunlight reveled in youth
Or might we more have considered the truth
Of philosophy and kisses so bare
That perhaps we gave too much to the air.

To summer we could not forever cling,
Must autumn mean loss, must it perforce bring
A harsh threat of change, hint of winter stark,
As a cold, still gun may glint in the dark.

All energy we find within a thought
Of what Fate bought, of what we might have wrought.

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |

Ninety Years

You see him at the store sometimes
He doesn’t walk too fast
His stride has slowed throughout the years
He slowly moves on past

The hair upon his head is white
If there’s any there at all
He may be stooped or bent a bit 
A cane so he won’t fall

He smiles but you don’t know his name
He waves a weathered hand
You might smile back and say hello
There goes a nice old man

What you don’t see beyond his face
His life of ninety years
The wife he met the kids he’s raised
The joys and work and tears

The letters won for high schools sports
The girls he used to date
The time his father grounded him
For coming home too late

The war he fought for freedom’s sake
Tales too hard to speak
The friends he lost the wounds he bore
The tears upon his cheeks

The job he worked for forty years
That kept his family fed
The home he built with his two hands
The church group that he led

Time and youth have slipped away 
His mind is not as clear
His friends have mostly left this earth
He’s lost his wife so dear.

When next you see an aged gent
Who passes through your day
There’s more to him than leathered skin
There’s much that he could say


He doesn’t want your sympathy
Nor pity could he stand
Don’t treat him like a feeble child
Approach him as a man.

He still remembers all he’s done
He hasn’t lost his pride
Respect his years for you’ll be there
And know his heart inside 

Copyright © John Curtis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse |

Drawing Boundaries

All newborns move from mommy's womb to crib;
and toddlers leave the floor to play in yards.
With luck, most youngsters skip from home to school,
they learn a new milieu somewhat with ease.

Our kids both young and old contend with space.
While teens assemble, needing gangs and groups,
our college students age as they leave home.
The forest’s edge expands with chills and thrills.

Advancing purlieu dawns on growing up;
the outskirts of our lives will change o'er time. 
Unwanted confines; normalize our lives
as we accept each demarcation line.

With marriage, having children need not stunt
our passage if we've learned our lessons well.
We welcome flux and call to mind our past
conception starts the cycle o'er anew.

Agendas set; when of necessity
we must retreat, the forest calls us back,
as older folk we think goodbye, adieu.
Distress and health has slowed our bearings down. 

In lieu of serving others, we now dread
the being waited-on by younger souls
who'll take their mental notes. This final phase
helps pull the curtains on our clock and stage.

written 20 June 2014
revised May 14, 2017 



Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Oh The Tales That He Could Tell

Along a pier, on a bench,
An old man sits all day.
Passers by not lending time,
To what he has to say.
They'll never know the loves he had,
Or ocean blues he sailed.
If they had just a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.

A gent with fishing rod in tow,
The "big one" but a dream.
The old man pleads with aching hands,
Would you come sit with me?
A flashing glance, a fleeting wave,
No time for you old man.
Then you'll not know my secrets,
How sure giant ones to land.
Not sailfish fought for hours on end,
Bursting through the sky.
Nor great whites conquered, whales harpooned,
Nor where the mermaids hide.

A lass sashaying, book in hand,
Of romance she does read.
His crooked finger motions her,
Would you come listen please?
With rolling eyes, a turned up nose,
His answer once again.
Then you'll miss the most daring ventures,
Ever known to man.
Expanding near a century,
Ore exotic lands and seas.
My passions, loves and tragedies,
Would bring Shakespeare to his knees.

So when you see an old man,
Sitting there alone.
Most all desires that you have dreamed,
He has lived and known.
He can fill you with adventures,
A knew world to you unveil.
If you'll just take a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.

Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

HOW TIME STOLE MY BODY

I am old. Old I am.
And frankly I don't give a damn.
I take bright pills for all my ills
And little rugrats call me gram.

Teeth are gone. Gone are they.
Can't chew my food the normal way.
I glue some in to fill my grin
I'm lucky if they stay all day!

I am vexed! Vexed am I!
And now I'm going to tell you why
I fall asleep in time to leap
And to the porcelain pony fly!

I am slow. Slow I am.
In stores I cause a traffic jam.
Joints go crack, can't bend my back
I failed my walker drive exam!

But say the word. The word just say.
And you and I can spend the day!
Let's eat prunes and sing some tunes
Then cuddle with my friend, Ben Gay!

Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

Learning Time

Wonder, wander, list and lust
   to learn anew until you bust.
Read, search, question and look
   for paths you thought you never took.

A world awaits, new kingdoms come.
New skies, new roads, puzzles done.
Machines man made, a technocrat
   to realize some oft-quoted stat.

Never too old, and not too late
   to learn and learn for learning's sake.
So open heart and open mind
   Seek on. Seek out. It's learning time.

Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Chronos

Dribble down our chins
Flee now our present sorrows 
Scribble down our  sins
We may resent our tomorrows 

Wish the alarm would snooze itself
Yet wish we were counting ewes
Wish our charm would excuse wealth
Net fish with thieving crews

Spend us sweat, spend us time
Cheek by jowl, nose to the grind
Make us debt, make us dime
Shriek and howl, clock rewind!

So we have lost
All of yesterday's joys
At our great cost
Chronos makes us his toy

Copyright © A.E. Rivenbark | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epic |

Oh how I miss the butterflies


Beyond the chipped paint and tarnished handle
of this old screen door, once waited a garden,
a winding path of stone and dirt
I had walked many times in my life,
leading to a place of wondrous beauty,
poetic blooms and intoxicating fragrances.
 
Merely stepping beneath the Jasmine covered arbor
lifted spirits and illumined hope that all was right,
and the butterflies, oh the butterflies, winged effervescence in
sapphire, indigo, tangerine and lemon butter yellows
floated from flower to flower creating
the most wonderful dancing rainbow for the eye.
 
I still smile when I hear those old rusted hinges squeak
and I feel that fresh air meet my face.
For those memories linger in my mind,
as now I find the path overgrown, the arbor splintered and fallen
the vibrant garden a mass of weeds and vines
strangling the beauty that once flourished.
 
I understand, life changes . . . slowly,
each of us deteriorate within time’s grasp, returning
to where we began, covered in lawn and dew
beginning anew or to be forgotten . . .
an occasional thought that passes
down another path of another life.
 
And now as I stand gazing at what once was,
a tear finds my cheek, meandering over these wrinkles
gathering in the corner of my mouth . . . salty.
Yet it is not the garden, nor the whimsical path
that collects in my mind . . . it is the butterflies,
oh how I miss the butterflies . . .

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

Flying on forever

Flying on forever


I’m flying on the edge forever,
Searching for a brighter future.
I can see the picture of an angel inside my mind
And now I have to find a way to meet her.


Burning out, fading away; love must come to save the day.
Shooting stars only crash into their own grave.
I will build her a house we can live in and age;
If only I could take her to it, then maybe things would change.


Some of us lie, some of us fly;
Some of us are living on borrowed time.
The future is not certain to be there when we arrive,
But the past is firmly in the past where it belongs,
So please just let me get on with my life.


We are in search of a forever love, forever more!
Fallen love angels who scorn are left behind;
Forever alone in fields of thorns, left alone to mourn.


There is a dust storm up ahead, so I must look my best,
Because when I do finally meet her, my love I will confess.
Eventually she will see me appearing through the mist; 
I cannot allow this chance of true happiness to be missed.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016

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

Copyright © Gordon McConnell | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Reverse

Today, I reversed my clock
turned it backwards
like counter clockwise
changed the numbers on the face


To wind back the days
to undo the ways
To come back upon a place
that is forever in my memory

Was then I had a thought
into the other realms

Of a new kind of world
to take back the helms

One where we get good for the good
and bad gets bad for the hold
Turning us back
to never get old

Its a new way of thinking
a new kind of time
a new kind of longevity
a new kind of rhyme

a new kind of discovery
a new kind of feeling
a new kind of reality
a new kind of healing

When we change how we think
and our thoughts in that line
Its a secret I know
of this wave of the sine

The planet turns counter clock wise
The solar system turns counter clock wise
The galaxy turns in proximity of that

The highest of leaders
all knew of this chat

And this is how they got us all turned wrong
we've been misled 
for time does not exist
its only behind
And its in the written mysteries
That only we can find
if we only learned to think with our 'own' mind.

Copyright © Liam Alepta | Year Posted 2017

Details | Etheree |

Time

Time-
That is 
All I ask.
Time to be old
Time to lick my wounds
For the battle was long
And the gains were few at times
But the victory was precious
And I would have it no other way
Before I meet my Maker, let me rest

1/22/2017
Etheree for contest -Form E

Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2017

Details | Elegy |

Slipping

I feel it everyday
 pats of me slipping away.
For a moment in passing
 all of me once seemed immortal and everlasting
but now, fading like storm threatened gray clouds
 part of my mind slows thru the oppressive crowds.
I dare not speak
 keeping my secret hidden and discrete
 while cautiously I direct my feet.
Stepping thru the garden displays
 I marvel at the colors as they fray.
In natures bounty resurrected in spring
 I marvel at life as it begins to change everything.
In my heart I'm still young and alive
 but in my remaining years I'm forced to recognize
All of me is unseen, forgotten and pushed aside
 time's up and needing of release unable to continue to hide
 and in the waning years of time, life and death collide.
I feel it everyday
 pats of me slipping away.

Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2017

Details | Dramatic monologue |

Someday special

One day
The sky fades
I'll be free
The good day
Is someday

Copyright © Emidifi Defi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

The Fisherman

Never once have I been enclosed in exhaustion
Until now - like a black woolen blanket, drenched.
I've looked and crawled and even found unceasingly 
Before screaming from the riverbank: "This Is What It's For."
But now I can hardly whisper,
Sensing, maybe, a changing tide that sends the fish away
Or remembering past moons that moved them to more fertile feasts.

Yes - both it must be.
For now the water's meandering isn't hopeful wanderlust;
It only serves to annoy me.
And is it me or has its flow slowed?
Although now more than ever I note its swiftness
In comparison with the glassy new-born lake
Or the black curmudgeonly seas.

The gulls still call but no longer in triumph.
It seems it's morphed into a dirge
Though their wings still hang a crisp angel white in the sky.
Gliding, though again more slowly,
Before snatching a fish with ease;
Now it's mockery in their squawking. 

Continuing along,
Trudging through muddy waters,
I feel more akin to washed up wood
And the log floating on
Than to the swift fishermen
Across the river.
I sit and listen to their songs
Carried by the soft wind,
Encompassing the gull and my own fragile breath 
(A song of a son lost at sea and I can't find where to put my hands).
I taste their hope in the sand and the sun
And it oozes from my eyes.

Copyright © Matt Fergoda | Year Posted 2014