Best Coming Of Age Poems
We Are One
Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons
My voice
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age
I have always known you...
I have heard your
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me
I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently
I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of
Your grandfather’s footsteps
I see your reflection in the twilight
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you
I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet
I hear the echo in the distance of songs
The Elders sang...
During their passage here
You are born into a woman
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving
A welcome imprint on our hearts
My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world
Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you
A glow radiating into
The night sky
The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...
The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on
The hungry earth
Keeping time with
The movements of your body
You will look back on this
Day as you walk with the
Same cane down the path of
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently
Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence
“Coming of age” happens twice in life
It not always at the same time
The physical change nature will bring
But, the other is in your mind
Sometimes an adult can be a child
And a child can be an adult
The physical change is still the same
The mental, an unknown result
It seems you mentally “come of age”
As responsibilities grow
Being responsible for others
Suddenly your adultness shows
Although you reach the “coming of age”
You still want to stay young at heart
That’s a condition you should maintain
So keep thinking young from the start
"Coming of Age" Contest
Submitted by Charles Sides
My eldest brother, nine years old,
Thought he could break a horse.
Our mother strictly forbade him.
A mother’s right of course.
Her young son mustered all his wiles,
Hoping he could sway her.
Unwilling to be defeated,
He vowed to disobey her.
He gathered a rope and bridle,
Went to the big corral.
He was there to break a wild colt,
Three brothers there to yell.
Our youngest brother, four years old
Yelled, “I’ll tell Ma on you
Unless you take me up there
And give me a ride too.”
In his eagerness to hush him,
His big brother agreed
And lifted him to the bare back
Of that big, trembling steed.
Our father came in nick of time
To salvage little brother,
Then watched as his son rode that colt.
No one told our mother.
The second coming of age,
is like the
softened beauty
of the color s a g e;
rich in Indian summer warmth
graced with shades and shines
of too many noons and moons to count
savvy and savory… seasoned
with salted depth and perception.
No longer a blur of girlish green...
rather,
the continuum of time,
has weathered colors;
fine-tuning mindful hues -
balancing contrasts and intensities,
blending and smoothing
the not-so-gently honed edges
of life's tints and tones.
Continuance creates a mature perspective
worthy of viewing a canvas
painted from a palette of gold and rust.
Yes,
the burnished beauty
of the color s a g e,
like the second coming of age,
is easy to take.
The grass green pigments of colorful youth
are muted by mistakes.
For wisdom gained,
the price is paid
in the aged
and ripened patina
of the color
s a g e ~
my second coming of age.
Susan Ashley
July 20, 2017
~ Eighth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Patina
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
The years have flown by,
Without me realising of all
That I have been missing out in our world
The years, with the speed of light,
Have brought me to stop wanting
To glance into my mirror,
Unable to bear the sight of my wrinkles
My saggy skin and my balding head!
Now, my bones have become weak
And they can crash at any moment
My organs function on some days,
On some others, I require hospitalization
Making it all seem like
My body itself is rejecting life
While this world itself
Is rejecting my body!
Yet, my worn out eyes are sparkling,
Full of expectation for that which is to come;
Yes, though I missed out on some mundane pleasures,
I watered my spiritual well with clean and pure knowledge,
Sought out from religious books and enlightened men
So much that now
I am so eager to meet with that which has been promised
By those sayers of sooth,
From the celestial beings to the unconceivable God!
And when I look back at the life I lived,
I breathe with silent relief at the fact that
I lived according to my own will and to my own choices
Even if these corroborated not with those who surrounded me
I did what I wanted, indulged in what I loved, stayed away
From that which made me uncomfortable, and imprinted
My journey here through thousands of poems,
Set to be deciphered if the world would want to understand
My meaning!
I have come of age,
And knocking on the door is none else
Other than Death
For whom I am preparing to hold
A welcoming party!
Summer Place
A song crept into my soul today riding on the summer wind
Then peeked into my summer place closed for many seasons -
Windows shuttered standing on a grassy knoll
Whitewashed in the morning melody at the waters edge -
Waiting - held in time - face unchanging;
I forgot how I loved to sit
Upon the wysteriaed porch in wicker chairs painted white
To smell the elfin roses reaching for the trellis tops
As summer heavy hangs upon the railing
While a frisky breeze
Hop skips
Across the harbor leaving diamonds in it's footsteps
On the waters
And opens up the wide front door,
Decorated with a flowered wreath,
Inviting welcome to my summer place,
Warmed by summer's enduring caress;
The wide front room filled with bits of yellowed lace,
A fragile nautilus,
Daphne pressed between old diary pages,
Haunting songs of summers past, antique keys
And faded photographs;
I take the album in my hands sitting upon the fragrant porch,
Arms around my knees, tabby kitten by my side,
To watch the games and songs
And friends
Unfold their images across the lawn -
Children playing in the sand at the waters edge,
Voices lifted in the sunlight -
Here, I can touch their hands again,
Look into their eyes
And see our laughter fill the afternoon;
We return from play
Young women,
Dressed in cool white linen,
Sun touched hair bound in flowing ribbons
Enfolded in the breezy twilight on the porch
To feast on summer peaches and gaze across the water
With eyes enchanted by the gathering lights
Twinkling in the dusk -
The first bright stars of evening rising on the darkened air
Whispering of the future borning,
Blessed by the crickets chirping serenade -,
Till I would stand
Alone
Upon the empty porch tightly holding in my arms
Roses,
Red and white
Pink and lavender,
Yellow, crimson, orange and ivory and blue,
Their new perfume ever filling
The quiet rooms of my summer place
Until the golden moon slowly closes the white front door
Putting the key into its place,
Leading me upon the sandy path
To morning
Painting blush upon the sky,
When the summer wind
Whispers
Of a summer place.
Every sound
Every breath
Every flicker
Every flutter
Every tear to come
I could unravel for you
Not one step
Or ache
Or choice
Or fear
Or desire
I wouldn’t unravel for you
The shade of your eyes, the crease of your skin as you talk yourself out of what I am talking you into is not going to work, is not going to happen, you look, you are, you have become
But you choose your own boat
And I watch you offshore
Away
From it all
All
Away
November 4, 2019
Icarus Falling
Edward Ibeh
Summer nights in Centerville, sleeping on the top bunk bed;
A transistor radio playing low, lying right there near my head.
The Big Red Machine was in their prime; those boys could sure play ball;
I fell asleep every night listening to the play-by-play of Joe Nuxhall.
I entered my life of puberty with Charlie Hustle running to first;
Davey Concepcion turning two and Joe Morgan with a speedy burst.
Johnny Bench throwing out would be stealers, Pedro Borbon with a bending curve;
All happening on the summer of my first kiss – once I finally worked up the nerve.
With Tommy sleeping in the bed below – nary a care in the world,
George Foster launched an enormous shot while I tried to figure out the girls.
Jack Billingham was striking them out – an apt metaphor for my chances,
As I fantasized about dating girls while two bases Ken Griffey advances.
Tony Perez was still strapping them on; Don Gullet piled up some wins;
Cesar Geronimo owned center field while my hormones multiplied within.
Coming of age in Centerville, back in nineteen seventy-four,
Meant listening to the Cincinnati Reds while thinking about the girl next door.
There is music in her hands;
The graceful gestures of a different time,
Courtly manners and a black lace fan...
A hundred shaded meanings
In my daughter's eyes...
Mysterious, sibilant laughter without mystery
Without guile
Say so many things young and beautiful.
And the dance begins inside her smile
In the middle of her first kiss
That needs no translation...
While the chandelier in a debutante ballroom
Reflects flashes of joy
In a swirl of shining silk
And a trace of elusive perfume
Warming her skin for the first time.
There is such music in her hands;
She is my princess, unawakned
Surrounded by a future beloved,
And dissapointed courtiers...
There is such wonder...
I love you, Daughter Mine.
He was 11 when his first scars began to appear
In the beginning his scars were small and not very deep
Originating at school his hazing began
This boy was bullied
He was changing and his friends didn't like it
They teased him
He was a twig and had a squeaky voice
He had no one to help him
So he turned to the blade
He cut daily to escape the emotional pain
His body continued changing
His scars became deeper
He couldn't handle becoming a man
He couldn't handle the stress in coming of age
As he developed he gained responsibilities
The world expected more from him
he wishes he could go back to the boy of his youth but knows he can't
His body growing bigger
His shoulders broaden
The weight in becoming a man is heavy
He wants to stay this little boy
The thought of being a man terrifies him
Now has mood swings
He's not happy all the time like he used to be
He angers easily and
Wish to remain that little boy
Then he realizes
He must learn who he is as an individual
He must endure the changes
He must push on
Listen to advice
Stay fit
Be patient
These scars are symbolic
A badge of honor
Decorating your self-identity
Transforming you into the man you wish to become.
Coming of Age
The breeze is blowing through her hair,
and like the sun she’s headed west
as apprehension fills the air.
All by herself she leaves her nest
of comfort where her dreams were curled
and sets out on an unknown quest.
A quest to find within this world
of varied visions widely spread,
a place to have new dreams unfurled.
Ambitions deep within were bred
throughout her tender years to find
the great adventures up ahead.
And so, she sets out heading blind
along life’s path of vast extremes
and leaves her comforts far behind.
Her time has come of age it seems
to follow all her lifelong dreams.
July 22, 2022
Ecstasy:
*an overpowering emotion or exaltation; a state of sudden, intense feeling.
* slang 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine; MDMA: a powerful drug that acts as a stimulant and can produce hallucinations
Some time after midnight, a change in the noise
The bitter white pill cleaves the men from the boys
Only the most hardcore of party heads gather
So hungry to fly without sprouting a feather
My clammy hand trembles then moves to my lips
I swallow it down, I wait to lose grip
I'm waiting for death to grip me by the throat
I wait, for you promised my body would float
My skin feels so cold I'm convinced it could crack
So why is there sweat dripping down my hot back?
My eyes scan the room, they jitter as they move
I can't find one person not feeling the groove
And why does my head seem to turn in slow motion
My brain swims around like it's lost in the ocean
The cramps in my hands, have they already died?
I throw back my head and laugh til I cry
I love this, I love it, Oh where have you been?
Who knew nights could hold such rapturous dreams
These people, once strangers, I cant comprehend
How every last person became my best friend
Red, sweating bodies, bouncing together
The DJ ensures the tunes last forever
Your face oozes steam and your jaw won't stay still
It shudders and flutters against your own will
I fight down the nausea but I'm to late
Why didn't you tell me this room can rotate?
I don't care coz I love you I LOVE YOU
who are you?
A realisation I don't even know you
So this is the comedown I heard all about
I fall back to earth with a cumbersome clout
My body feels swollen, exhausted and battered
The gnawed, raw remains of my mouth are in tatters
I felt such a big girl, had nothing to lose
Thought I'd walk for miles in my new grown up shoes
I thought I could play at your wild games too
All I've learnt is I'm still a child. Like you.
Jodie Williams for
Frank's Coming of age contest
5th Feb 2012
Her besotted idyll interrupted
by the adolescent angst--
Ha, a momentous choice!
~"In praise of Kimo" contest by nette onclaud
~Visual#2
~Abdul Malik - 2/17/15
The rose bud
The soft petals
Clad between the sepals
Oblivious to daily dismals
Drops of water dribbled
Gliding soflty off the sepals
Not a single drop
Reaching the smooth petals.
Sweet Little Rose
She was protected likewise
by her beloved parents
Shielded was she of difficulties
Not a single hardship did she encounter
They were deviated vehemently
By this armour called Parents!
The rose bud had bloomed
Into a beautiful flower
The sepals had curled downwards
All the same supporting the rose.
The rains came again
How the droplets
Landed ruthlessly on the petals!
Poor rose flower was drenched!
Little Rose blossomed
Into a lovely maiden
Her parents were bent with age
Yet upholded their Rose.
Challenges arose again
How they bore down
Upon Sweet Rose
Poor Rose was burdened!
a tender voice recites, muse’s lyrics flow
non-believers have poisoned Earth Mother's waterways
She unleashes winds blown hotter and dryer
perennial white blossoms swoon midst zephyrs
dangle from sterling chaste trees
twisted maple bark echo braids sacred hair unscathed
gold filters branches
thousand-year rooted Algonquin memories
elders and granddaughters amble amongst crackling twigs
streams pristine align to augur a promising path
within a bison pelt tepee awaits the knowledge keepers embrace
fire and smoke dense and opaque
evoking a bittersweet melancholy
broadleaves tremble breathe and sway
hymn chants of traditional wisdom expel
severed is the braid as is the child from the woman
her nascent efflorescence
transition is significant as we are wedded
and bound to nature’s perennial sentient
let the path before us grow wider and brighter for future generations