Best Greying Poems
I am from Great Britain – it’s not a rumour
I always try to write with a sense of humour
In 1996 we moved to live in the Isle of Man
I can say with hand on heart that I’m Jan NOT Stan
Work with youngsters who have ‘special needs’
Very rewarding occupation - but challenging indeed!
I am short in stature – guess I have low ‘elf esteem’
Tall greying men I adore – I love to see them in my dream
I love to eat plain chocolate – don’t need to watch my weight
I’m really quite petite – my hubby thinks I’m great
Met my husband Bob at Radio Lollipop
Both were volunteers – he loved my low cut top!
Love to listen to music and go to hear a live band
Best gig ever was ‘Queen’ - the best band in the land
I have a wonderful son he is my pride and joy
He’s at university now – no longer my little boy
Started to write poetry when my husband got cancer
To get my thoughts on paper to me it was the answer
My friend Jenny Brewer introduced me to poetry soup
Took me a month to join but I’m so glad I joined this group
Wrote thirty poems with Darren as Jadazzle United
When Daz returns to good health I will be so delighted
I am happy when with friends but like my solitude too
Try to do my best in everything I do
The past 14 months have been so challenging for me
With writing I can escape and set my emotions free
Now my dad has passed and mum is in a care home
I am now ‘free’ and my self-confidence has grown
12th April 2015
Contest: Bio of a Poet Tammy Reams
~awarded 1st place~
Categories:
greying, mum,
Form:
Couplet
To my enemies,
cloaked in t w i n k l i n g topaz~
I’ve become immune
to your illusive m a n t r a s,
recited in roseate refrains.
I’ve learned to see
the vermilion
f l o a t i n g
between venomous
pigments of
psychedelic sunsets
For life is a whirlpool
of uncertainties
slithering through
l o o p h o l e s of adversities
We waltz through
h i g h s and l o w s
while masked foes
orchestrate a
a circus embellished
in emerald s p r i n g s
Yet, I f o r g i v e
your i g n o r a n t skies,
unable to grasp
the vision of loyalty
You’ve long been
preaching in
verses of lyrical lies,
soaring above
catastrophic canopies~
draped with my
sentimental s i g h s
this conscience remains
constantly crippled
by the ecstasy of
poisonous promises~
served from
diamond chalices
once upon
a blood m o o n
There’s still
a pearlescent
shore for faithless
footprints in the
island of h e a l i n g
in the marine bed
of softness
that f l o w s
beneath seething seas,
there I’ll sculpt a
lagoon of
p r a y e r s across
fire corals that
f l i c k e r
in tints of
lethal lime green
As I allow aquatic
pearl ruffles to ripple
through weary waves,
they become the
sacred v e s s e l
that unveils
hyacinth stars,
when your heart is
as dark as the
eclipsed moonflowers
Tonight, I’ll rewrite
the poems I’ve woven
from golden arrows
that assassinated
the alliterative tranquility
in sinister silence
within my inner psyche
In the journey of revival
I’ve mastered the art
of wearing pain
like a crown of
thistles and thorns
I’ll forgive you
amidst unspoken apologies,
and e r a s e the
a c h i n g colors
within greying rainbows,
behind your
soulless eyes.
For, I can feel the
insecurities r u s h i n g
through those veins~
longing for an empathetic
empire that
serves you
k i n d n e s s
So take these metaphors,
make them yours,
ink them across
your s u n l e s s canvas,
and r i s e beyond the
demons that lurk
as shadows within
your a r t l e s s heart.
May the light of twilight,
correct your insincere intentions.
Categories:
greying, forgiveness,
Form:
Free verse
"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. The word is love.”
Sophocles, Greek Poet
When love meets your silhouette at twilight,
heart unfurls chamomile flowers so bright,
flickering sunset hues in eloquence,
to veil greying grief in rose elegance..
Life when harmonized with bronze strings of bliss;
the charming cadence of soul's ardent kiss,
paints a picturesque sea of lilac sky,
where mauve threads mirror day-dreams, soaring high.
So let this sonorous pilgrim embrace,
silence that serenades in moon-wrapped grace.
This musical devotion shared so dear,
shall unchain the flaming fears tangled near.
I'm weaving hope from syllables of peace~
and crippled thoughts, bleeding ink does release.
Categories:
greying, devotion,
Form:
Sonnet
Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope;
scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue
countless times. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth,
she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs
that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head
upon the chest of one she called her husband
(when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
and she'd feel the beat of a heart he wouldn’t show.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .
if thoughts, invisible, which were transmitted
to the Lord, by Him were then received,
why could not her words directly spoken
to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially
with faith extraordinary. . . and wisdom came.
Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted too
took root and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a greying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband(not in word alone),
who watched her as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you”
as he kissed her cheek. “Goodnight.”
For the contest FAITH/ sponsored by A Rambling Poet
Categories:
greying, devotion, faithlove,
Form:
Narrative
Who will love me when I’m a restless relentless rust?
Who will see me when I’m a distant decaying dust?
Who will take my heart and lay it on pillows layered gold?
Who will light the shadowed skies when clouds are greying old?
Who will lift my saddened smile when I crumble to the ground?
Who will take my selfless soul when the triumphant trumpets sound?
Who will caress my humble hands when my tears flow to the salty sea?
Who will steer my sailing spirit when the Angels come to carry me?
The Lord will as He promised all of these things and so much more
When we open up our hearts and let Him in as He knocks at our door.
This poem is dedicated to my friend Victor Buhagiar...simply because he believes
Aug.11.2016...^WW^
Not for any contest...
Categories:
greying, inspirational, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
We learn to waltz and whirl through sunless spheres,
amidst the frozen frangipanis, grieving in trembling stillness……
When summer is gone and the salmon sun slumbers in its somber sanctuary,
waving silent farewells to skies glowing in apricot ink,
I steal the amber and tuscan shade of twilight
to shawl them in ballet pink, embroidered with champagne sequins.
But am I to swirl through the melted haze of mauve,
to wade through gloomy shadows befogged in dragonfly darkness,
suffocating the balmy roses within my dusky heart of crimson thistles and thorns,
like a weathered and greying garden of pixelated petals?
Yet somehow, I find colors from crestfallen leaves,
to paint my bleeding scars with singing stars.
I still ponder: if grief had a color, would it be the gold and russet hues of autumnal foliage,
or would it be the crystal blues of the ice-cold hues of winter?
Perhaps there is no metaphor or seasonal tone to depict raining black dahlias,
for the violin strings of a honeyed horizon now remain a mere memoir,
where marigold memories flow within cluttered calligraphy.
So tonight I’ll rise as the vermilion veil of the mulberry moon,
amidst the faded streaks of saffron and cinnamon clemency.
Categories:
greying, death,
Form:
Free verse
“instrumentalising mind, I rested thought
employing it only when needed
shifting to heart, I became self-taught
gentling touch, voice of conscience heeded” ~ Unseeking Seeker
When thoughts purge in restlessness,
we pause the frequency of the mind,
allowing the rhapsodies
of the rosemary heart
to compose lyrics of
life in sync with sandalwood serenity…
I am a gossamer ribbon,
drifting across
caliginous cloudscapes,
like a delicate trace
of greying gloaming,
listening to the eerie requiems
ricocheting through the horizon.
But am I to follow the hypnotic lies,
perpetually prompting
my thoughts to ink
crimson confetti of confusion?
For the heart is the window
to the crown chakra,
awaiting the alignment of seven stars,
where the mind remains a mystery,
unreliable and capricious,
like the wind carrying
the sound of raging rain tonight.
O celestial maestro
of the cosmos and beyond,
let fears dissolve into ambient waves,
rippling with rejuvenating radiance,
reflecting seraphic light
from the crooning currents beneath~
tempestuous tides,
while I unchain the confined
chambers of my persona,
to unravel the alchemist within,
that knows not the
dying colors of dusk and dawn,
and reveals emerald auroras
in hibiscus harmony,
amidst the moonless
serenades of the sky~
in sync with my stained consciousness.
So let the dancing dreams
and the divine spirit
manifest through bleeding intuition,
as I open my arms to the sun
singing within his euphoric siesta,
there lakes of lotus ebb and flow in
ethereal themes,
transforming jinxed juniper lilies
into joyous jasmines,
and my voice shall mirror
pristine peonies,
scented with mystical musk,
where the fickleness of existence
is liquidated with lavender scriptures,
for my heart is the
empyrean haven for northern gems,
guiding the glass kayak of survival,
refusing darkness to mask
the kundalini mantras within
the alluring aura of life,
rehearsing self-fulfilling prophecies,
to illuminate silhouettes of
the galaxies in crystalline clarity.
Categories:
greying, dance, dream,
Form:
Free verse
I’m feral like a fox
misplaced in the
maroon mists
of wilderness,
only found in
woeful woodland.
My skin is blanketed
in crimson balmy
hyacinth feathers
from a
forsaken rainforest.
Misguided on
delusional paths,
where spring-tides
mirror liquified colors
of warm diamond tears
I’ve suppressed
behind ice blue sighs.
And I’ve seen
splintered petals
beneath thick-leaved
jewel orchids,
that surrendered
to greying leaves
on tainted twigs
and broken branches.
I’ve walked through
fields of thorns
where the
musky scent
of roses remained
a poison to
my aching soul.
So, why does it
feel like I’m chained
from vines of changes,
that suffocate
the sun within me,
crucifying the fragility
of premature
begonia beginnings?
Am I to follow
the darkness,
to cast away the evil,
constantly pushing me
into a cave of
cacophonous silence?
As I see beyond
the gossamer veil,
hiding sharpened talons
of treacherous eagles-
flying amongst
vicious vampires;
emerald foes
masked as friends,
feeding my conscience
with cruel concoctions,
oblivious to the truth,
that I am a bark believer
of marigold miracles.
So let the
steel black breeze
and the
faceless ghosts
of fleeting time,
witness how I
rise against
wicked wolves
lurking behind
stars within
a chiffon laced
canopy of nightfalls.
For, I am more
than the empty labels
you’ve placed,
like the shame,
I’ve buried beneath
lyrical lies drizzling
from vanilla skies.
Categories:
greying, confidence, courage, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Waking on this grey fall morning;
in the air there lies a warning;
rising angst as fears aborning;
feeling late November’s chill.
Darkened clouds obscure the daybreak,
as I nurse this aging headache;
warmer days are but a keepsake
gone forever, summer’s thrill.
Thinking back as springtime’s grooming
brought me hope with nature’s blooming;
summer’s warmth left me assuming
that forever youth would last.
Suddenly there came September
causing bygones I remember;
now November’s dying ember
leaves me longing for the past.
Damning is this aging season;
robbing hopes with truthful treason;
greying dreams are now the reason
that I’m feeling nature’s warn.
Looking long into the mirror,
aging lines becoming clearer;
end of year is drawing nearer
on this late November morn.
November 11, 2020
Categories:
greying, age, angst, autumn, november,
Form:
Rhyme
(Jan… or in some poems Stan)
compassionate, loyal, humourous... always uses an extra 'u'
Daughter, mother
Lover of men with greying hair, plain chocolate, orchids
Who feels men shouldn’t dye their greying hair, sweet shops here should be open 24/7
Who fears losing my faculties, my mother's demise, living on my own
Who would like to see Pompeii, Easter Island and meet you guys for real
Resident of the Isle of Man
Allison
Jan Allison
12th October 2014
Contest: Bio Poems
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
~awarded 1st place~
Categories:
greying, humorous,
Form:
Bio
The see-saw backsides of obesity traverse across the promenade
Led by bustling torpedo breasts thrusting through the hustling throng;
Past tarnished chromium espresso bars, burger vans with frying lard,
Ice cream parlours, sagging deckchairs and the sunlight blazing on.
Splayed upon the greying sands with butts of cigarettes in shallow graves,
Bikini babes in thin floss thongs, sun oil basted, lie and fry,
The effluence of sewage farms foams ochre crests upon the waves,
Cheap sunglasses and tinted shades warp vision as the seagulls cry.
Or are they coughing in the choking rise of hotdog onion smoke,
Or searing blast of diesel oil drove upwards from the fairground sprawl,
And do they dive for fish and chips discarded by the glutted folk
Until cholesterol weighs them down and they no longer fly but crawl?
Oh, I did like to be beside the seaside in the golden memories of my youth,
Before the tattooed mobs and greedy slobs and moguls came to town,
And though rose-tinted, real dreams of childhood wonder sing of truth,
But now I’d much prefer it if they torched and burned the whole place down.
Categories:
greying, parody, people, places, sea,
Form:
Verse
What Colour?
What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!
And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!
Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.
And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!
What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.
And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future
By M. Norton
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future
By M. Norton
Categories:
greying, imaginationchild, moon, mountains,
Form:
Narrative
Paul Callus and I have finally met
It’s a day I’ll never forget
Paul is so charming and he’s got greying hair….
I’ll say no more of our meeting… I’ll leave it there
What happens in Malta stays in Malta!
Jan Allison
2nd November 2014
Categories:
greying, friendship, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
Ah, the wistful daydreams about my lost youth!
Astride upon a white stallion, riding into a distant past
I miss youth like a barren, parched desert misses pouring rain
I wish I could coax father time into restoring my vernal exuberance
My aging body is starting to betray me. I can't see quite as clearly
I can't move as quickly. And I sure can't run up the stairs as fast
As I used to. My memory isn't quite as sharp anymore. Each morn
I awake, full of aches and pain. I'm a squeaky wheel in need of grease
You needn't strain your eyes to see what my age wants you to see
I have greying hair, crows feet, lines across my forehead, the works
My testosterone is shot to smithereens. My virility is steadily waning
But who's complaining? I'm loving life. There's a lot of it left to live, still
Aging is hard to accept, but I must. I see my wrinkles
In the mirror, and I smile because I wear them well. I'm still me!
No one stays young forever. I am but a flower no longer blooming
As beautifully in springtime, but c'est la vie. I'm still thriving!
Youthful folks may deride and dismiss me as over the hill...
A Phoenix with clipped wings, thrashing about the ashes
Sucking me in like quicksand, but I'm still alive and kicking
Look how far I've made it! I have something they envy---wisdom!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 2 Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest(Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/01/2019
A Contest On Aging Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Date written and posted: 06/02/2019
Categories:
greying, age, introspection, life, truth,
Form:
Free verse
When we first met, in love we used to glide
on waves of bliss like pairs of sunglow swans,
now we slowly totter,and try to hide
our orthopaedic socks and thick long johns.
We still hold hands like back on that first date
but now it's less a gesture, decades on
else I'd walk off ahead then have to wait
while you found something firm to lean upon.
You said you'd like a skirt to match your eyes
I did my very best but must confess
I went to every shop but no-one buys
or maybe no-one sells a bloodshot dress.
you run your fingers through my hair a bit,
these days I marvel just how fast it goes
these greying locks ,well, what remains of it,
from off my scalp and southwards to my nose.
Annoying habits met with just a sigh,
you snoring on the sofa after tea
or ducking as my nail clippings shoot by,
or leaving used bags out when making tea.
Love's outer shell is merely just it's name,
inside it's precious pearl remains the same.
Categories:
greying, humor, love,
Form:
Sonnet