Best Matures Poems
As blaze of August fades into the Fall
horizons new have burned and turned to ash
and textures of the change of seasons clash,
a plague of frost becomes a rose’s pall.
The supple smooth confronts the brittle break
as petals silk matures a wrinkled skin
and winter’s snow to bury sins begin —
a fallen cloud the shroud for briar’s wake.
The days of glory sun and ruby rays,
across the skies, these hues were once my own,
beneath the blue above the green, my fling...
dressed not but strands of dew in solstice haze.
When youth was sown my roots were honed in stone
I died… but I will rise again in Spring!
As we walk hand in hand
Today as we walk hand in hand
Happily through pure white sand
The love within my heart for thee
It flows to you so tenderly.
The ocean waves ebb to and thro
As hand in hand along we go
Bare feet in the silky sand
The sun shines down and life’s so grand
We stop, the two of us and kiss
Oh how nice to feel such bliss
As love matures we two, entwined
Such perfect sweetness we do find
Today as we walk hand in hand
Happily through pure white sand.
Vera Duggan 10 July 2014.
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Written April 21, 2022
Writers of the dark
Sisters they are three
Tales of darkened horror
To scare the light from thee
Vampires of the night
Haunting the living souls
To lure them from their light
As there intention slowly unfolds
Gray mist begins to rise
Around their eerie crypts
Three maidens from the night
White laced, fleshes ripped
Vampiring ghouls
In scarlet greed
Napes and neck
Frenzied feed
Fuelled of blood
As the dawn matures
Their nightly feast
From their hypnotic lures
The sun rises
On the living morn
As the vampiric three
Retire to death norm
Stay in at night
Lock your doors
The Sisters three
The De La Keurs
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy2.php
It starts as a thought,
a troubling notion far out
on the extremes of distance
making room for a lifetime
to occupy the intervening space.
Seasons come and go -
wildflowers ripple colour
across wide open plains
and inland rivers exhaust
into a shimmering heat haze
beneath an outback sun.
Fruits ripen and vines rush
to swell their sweet bounty
before the savagery of frost.
Love blossoms, grows, matures
into a silence, gathering all
that has been spoken
into an offering to transcendence.
Candles are lit in the crevices
of the soul.
It comes finally,
swallowing distance -
a whole lifetime -
and you stand paralysed
within your own sense of being,
powerless in the cross-hairs
of its sure aim.
It's the only land that you can
get all seasons in one day
you name it UK displays it
all the colors from blue to grey
It certainly has loads of great variety
from sun clouds snow and pouring rain
to hail winds storms and freezing ice
has such a staining effect on the brain
The north is such damp climate
having wet damp miserable outlook
fills one with negative thoughts
when sun shines it seems a fluke
In the south where it's bright
as it's mostly warmer with sunshine
for it's labelled the English riviera
where it matures like a good wine
The east has real mighty gale force
as America's conditions effect the west
when they come across from States
on the atlantic waves full crest
So that's Britain's wayward weather
like it or lump it that's your lot
remember you guys across the pond
don't send everything that you've got!
(Just some thoughts on the UK weather and how it varies so much, also a little quip at you guys in US where we seem to get the effects of your east coast storms but rarely your sunshine. but no matter we love you all!!!)
I come to your bedside once more,
you've poured our photos and poetry on the floor
an act of apostasy, a grim admission, the room in dim depression,
laying on your side , cheeks heated and soaked in sorrow, your joy in remission,
Refusing to look at me, as if seeing this face would invite a fatal grief,
hating me yet loving me because I am the wound waking belief,
a living scar fueling faith in the survival of our love,
needing me to be your spiritual shove,
I lay along you, gripping your tender arm, still, you do not disarm,
the tip of my nose surfs the skin of your shoulder, I smell the tears of my harm,
trying to explain that love is never wrong, that in your heart is where I belong
you roll into my chest, a gorgeous heat of anger escapes your glare,the sting strong,
in a fevered whimper, throat bubbled, you ask, how can I dare love you in absentia,
how can you love a kiss that cuts, a breath that bruises, nails of nostalgia,
oh how love makes us suffer for the truth of our hearts,
I say, there is no absence within the Absolute, a fusion of soul parts,
The onomatopoeia of my heart is ready to be splayed into you,
I kiss bite the supple muscle of your neck, you release a searing sigh
the air spiced with the oil of a woman's want,
I need the salvation of your hot opening, I yearn to super charge your core,
my balls, plump and heavy fall over your thigh, breast spread softly,
your hands enveloping my back, heels hooking around calves
the root of my Being swells to true and thick form
red oak stretching into your moistened magenta earth,
tenderloins contracting, pushing, smacking,
a metamorphosis matures to cure our crisis,
I can see in your eyes a soul that flies
on a light beam without ending,
one touch more and death will be a thing of lies,
rebuild love with me and find warmth never wanning,
we become Angels with no age
lovers without rage or confusion,
a new universe of raw pleasure and instincts sage,
dreams witnessed in the sweat and steam of sacred revolution -
J.A.B.
Couples coming into prime
exhibit an exact prognosis;
passions working overtime
while seeking love in heavy doses.
Never being quite enough
to satisfy their youthful yearning;
time spent lying in the buff
so sensitive to needs discerning.
Couples in their middle age
display a diff’rent kind of story;
passions lack that same old rage
as they once did when in their glory.
Obligations, no time free,
and children clinging to the tether;
“scheduled moments” seem to be
the only way to come together.
Empty nesters think at last
that time again is their possession;
love will be as in the past
when passions flowed without discretion.
Yet they’re finding other ways
to fill the moments of their leisure
browsing Facebook in a daze
without a thought of passion’s pleasure.
Couples in their golden years
just holding hands and reminiscing
‘bout old times, as sunset nears,
recalling flames that now are missing.
Passions that were once the scorch
when ‘tween the sheets were interlocking;
wooden chairs out on the porch
the only things that now are rocking.
May 8, 2021
Dozens of gallant white tulips swooning
Promising fragrant notes to ponder
Fiery stains of red passion tattooed
Whistling breeze freshens her view
Last petal standing determines her fate
Daisy has faith her true love won't escape
A golden heart stems from his solid core
She needs no reminding she's been here before
Lilies devotion so luminous and pure
Never flounder's nor dies it flourishes matures
Each anniversary love blooms in delight
Countless colours displayed in unique garden sunlight
Rose picky so quick to sympathize
Stands by her bouquet can't help but comply
Strong and resilient her beauty mystifies
One fragrant note you cannot deny
Tulips they swoon they puff and they sway
Gallant and fragrant their beauty displayed
Flowers they flourish in our lives each day
Love and attention is what we must convey
July brings the perfect rose.
In August we take off our clothes.
September we must don our hose,
And summer goes, and summer goes.
October the cool breezes blow.
November brings a hint of snow.
December time is all aglow,
Bright gifts with bow, bright gifts with bow.
In January a deep freeze.
Small February is a tease.
Bold March once more will try to please.
Time to plant peas, time to plant peas.
Early spring is dark and drear.
in April rain clouds still appear.
By May the weatherman we cheer,
And June is here, and June is here.
The Bridge
Trees clothed in blazing yellows and flaming reds reach towards the sky in gentle supplication, preparing for their naked winter. Fat orange pumpkins are last gasp of fallow fields. Warm, pleasant days give way to frosty nights. Apples give of themselves to make the sweet nectar that warms us. Bushy tailed rodents squirrel away nuts and bears grow fat in anticipation of the long cold season ahead. Time slows and matures as winter approaches. Fall is that short bridge between frenetic summer and still winter.
I am in the Fall
Crossing that short bridge
Winter grows closer.
I know that God
would not create me
Less than perfect
(a Good Father
always wants best
for His Children,
more than Himself
when possible)--we evolve
in Love
and as understanding
matures we grow in Spirit,
Mind, Soul and Body—
nearer His Likeness
We are substance of
God—nothing existing
outside His Being,
Omnipotent
and Immortal….
My true love is like an apple tree planted in a forest of pine
Down next to a stream, where bees continously dine
In spring his white blossoms produce nectar
The aroma floats on the gentle breeze
He draws strength from living waters
And offers them to me
In summer he offers shade from the sun
With leaves of glossy green
Tiny apples begin to form
Drawing strength from the running stream
In fall he offers to one and all
The fruit upon his tree
A mixture of colors pleasing to the eye
For everyone to see
Drawing strength from the stream
His fruit fully matures
Everyone comes to feed upon the apples
That have with time truly endured
The love we had
The same love we lost
What was given from God,
You soon tossed
Took me for granted
We said goodbye
I wish you'd recanted,
Given some sort of reply
I was yours,
Every part of me
Your pain matures,
Mine is set free
My heart is open
To everyone, but you
The love I gave
The same love I took back from you.
In the dance of time, dynamic and free,
Every second, a shift in destiny.
Life's canvas painted with the strokes so bold,
Static changes leave the stories untold.
The Childhood innocence transforms with age,
The Curious minds turn life's vibrant page.
Adult matures with the wisdom in years,
Change, the melody in our mortal spheres.
Omnipresent, like the weather's ballet,
The Nature's script changes on day by day.
Ocean tides alter, in a rhythmic boast,
Life's dynamic changes, we cherish most.