New Age Poems | Examples
These New Age poems are examples of Age poems about New. These are the best examples of Age New poems written by international poets.
O my shadow, sail away.
Be thou far from me.
Morning deadly, thou art grey.
Poison, hear my plea.
Torn apart, O tones of time?
Nerves inside us, roil.
Countenance of bitter crime!
Belladonna, boil!
River, in thy deepest cave.
Giant, see thy grave.
Sidewalk cracked and needing pave.
Savior, time to save.
Armies of forgotten gone!
Tend thy fiercest rage!
Blackout, blossom! O my swan!
Broken, O my cage!
Automaton, mad machine!
Envy turned them green!
Roundabout run red! I deen?
Just what have I seen?
Moon above, thy fullest.
Lunatic, thy fringe.
Fill the brazen bull? Best!
Murder, on the binge!
Great queens, from thy black abyss!
Give the end a kiss!
Such a night! What lurked in this?
Serpent, time to hiss!
Hope, accrue? What do we do?
Magnetize the flue!
Stick together just like glue!
Make the whole world new...
The house whispers
as I awaken
and a dream plays.
My loft breathes as I get up.
The block on the hill
still after the night’s
storm, and a story
plays in my head
remnants of a love
I once had. The cat
rumbling on my chest.
shares the moment.
…
Tires sing as I drive
along the river
as it takes in reflections
of sun. I’ve viewed
the scene many times.
I’m seeing it again.
Public Radio plays
a feature on psychology
and the triumphs and trials
of life, and I cry out
This is me. This is me.
‘’’
In a diner, dishes clink
and patrons laugh
while elderly cajole
their granddaughters
voices filled with promise
about the lives that lie
ahead.
…
I walk away
from old conversations
the pain felt
after someone left for good
and unanswered questions.
…
I stay true
to one thousand voices
in my head.
A new poem I seek.
Though it’s still partly cloudy in this street
& everybody follows the king’s fleet,
I’m following you to the ends of this world,
where I’ve replaced everything with your word,
I remain elsewhere like the empty plea
because you’re that fire burning inside me.
Though those agencies that create duets seem
to believe that a system employing well over
2, 000, 000 couples with infusions of bright visions
will need certain clearly specified characteristics
with objectives & noting costs to protect the new moon.
You’re that whirlwind blowing everything away,
that’s why in this play, I pray not to be the next prey.
I’m too late this morning & I won’t catch any bus,
though traders in their market won’t understand us.
To them, we’re actors in a tragic-comedy stage.
& we made a bold decision to try out the phage.
Give me your hands for a warmth of touch
& I won’t be in operational form in that skutch.
Give me your mouth for a kiss
when I listen to your coos.
Give me your whole body for burying me completely
when I pledge fealty.
the Biltmore Hotel
appears through my car window
by my new office
two workplaces as bookends
to forty years and one life
Wheelchairs
and walkers
in God’s
waiting room
Praying
abeyant
the end
coming soon
Front to
the back
they line
in the queue
Telling their
stories
from memory’s
askew
They wait
and they wonder
who’s next
to go
As all through
the lounge
great grandkids
in tow
New moments
like hen’s teeth
each minute
a year
As walkers
and wheelchairs
rust out
— in the tears
(Dunwoody Retirement Home: September, 2025)
On the road I try each guise,
Today I’ll meet them with new eyes.
Life has left me time to spare,
I bring some idleness to share.
Some may perish in this flame,
I live on gladly, all the same.
A boundless show, yet sweet refrain,
Their voice keeps singing out my name.
Are these feelings just in vain?
Still alone, to them I wend my way again.
Age can’t carry its carriage when,
No more gets born new courage then.
Age ponders penning a page when,
Life gets peeved of post-passage then.
New dares are hard to engage in
When, past quests get sung in rage then.
Mundane move ways of marriage when,
No room, new romance to stage then.
Tired, living long life of rage when,
The old man turns unto sage then.
__________________________
Ghazal | 10.09.2025 | carriage, courage, marriage, rage, sage, stage
Our proximity came with my age
And I only saw your later chapters,
though I saw myself in you.
Not unlike myself with ambition,
Homely peers and shouting,
The weight you did accrue.
Your aims changed a while ago,
And I added them to my own,
I saw your smile tighten,
But I let my feelings stew.
Fancy chains of gold, white veiled capture,
And, yes, I hate your captor,
Sceptical of this new chapter,
and the baby cradle too.
As of now your hands have turned to hitting,
Smiles inclined to swearing,
Your son is only one now,
And our similarities are already true?
As I try to slumber now the stature cracks,
The bringer of tears strikes again,
And I struggle to identify who.
I’ve looked up for the longest time,
And I gaze into you now that I’ve grew.
The truth I’ve come to grips with now,
I don’t want to be you.
Morning Sonnet
The news this morning was something new
Greece has a banana plantation near
Mount Olympus, and they are yellower and
bigger than bananas from Greenland
A British surgeon pleaded guilty to cutting
off his legs to satisfy a sexual need
Try as I might, I struggle to understand how
The removal of legs can be sexually necessary
On Thursday next week, they are removing
a growth on my left side, can the surgeons
be trusted to find and remove the cyst
You sure don't care,
of the willy wag's
tail flickering,
a glorious
morning,
in
opposition
to burning trees,
a desolation
held so fast,
burning embers
flickering hands
casting out
those flames...
a fire-starter,
whose time begins,
this sick-ness
is the air
we breathe
and try to forgive.....
our sins
and theirs,
and the dark is here
as the flood-lights,
illuminates new-born skies
to eliminate past cries..
I can assure you
Had a dream while sitting at the edge
of a hole where they had removed a stone
and the mold was soft to the touch
that I had died, but also said to myself that
Were I dead, I wouldn't be able to dream
I have growth on the side, which looks innocent
like the one I had surgery on, the new one
is on my back and tends to be ignored
I must see a doctor again before the ulcer
sprouts a green plant that has a red rose
that needs to be handled, not by a gardener
The hole had turned into a newly dug grave
I didn't care for this dream, wished it would
I assured my frightened self that I was not
dead, and the self said I will believe that if
You wake me up at eight
My Chronology
ages
as my writing
stays young
The years
in retreat
as each new song
is sung
A number
but unit
of folly
relayed
Whose essence
a symbol
of prescience
— in play
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
I said, "Since I got my brand-new dentures today,
can we maybe try some new adventures today?"
She said, "I think I have to wait a bit ~
That new smile! I just can't get used to it.
So, let's do the same old adventures tonight, okay ~
after we pray?"
Yesterday, today, tomorrow.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12 O' clock,
24 hours,
365 days,
cocoon to butterfly,
7 days.
Over and over and over.
Again.
When you turn 5, you become a kid.
No more sippy cups or nap time.
When you turn 13, you become a teen.
No more cartoons and dolls.
Adults say, "You're not a kid anymore, start acting like it".
When you turn 18, you become an adult.
Suddenly, nap times become apartment hunting and sippy cups become shots that you're still not allowed to drink.
But just yesterday, you were walking to the bus stop in a backpack full of new supplies, and now you're having ramen on the floor, barely getting by.
No one is asking what you want to be anymore, instead they are asking when you're getting married and having kids, but you're still a kid yourself.
You're cosplayng someone all grown up, but you cry yourself to sleep because you just want to go home.
20 years later,
you have kids of your own.
they are turning 5, then 13, then 18,
and you're wondering where the time has gone.
Streaming like the rain outside
The windscreen wipers working like
My heart and chopping onions stuff
A testament to will the good of another
The kids are in the back and can't see what's going on
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling in the driving seat
I think of my wife and when we first met
She was always running late
As I was shoegazing on the corner
I needed a parrot sidekick
High on Belgian waffles and coffee
A hip new sensibility
The dash cam records the journey
Join me on my magic carpet
Grant me three wishes
Give me some tassel
In the Maghreb
I'll be your magic lamp
In order to reveal myself
Let's pick out curtains