Best Maturing Poems
He meandered lonely
just a senior citizen
trawling the pathways of his computer,
when suddenly one day in a flash
an enchanting name jumped from the screen
into his unadjusted head,
whilst still in a daze
he had cut copied and pasted,
the delete key not an option
when sent to his favourites.
Then like magic, poetry began to appear
every single day a new poem would emerge
all written in a familiar dialect,
to begin with down to earth
raw unadulterated poetry
the kind that attaches itself to one’s mind
bores in to the head, rattles around
then lays awhile
then keeps coming on back, over and over again.
Poetry that penetrates, like an arrow,
pierces the heart, tends to linger
deep in one’s consciousness
disarming the most vehement of thought,
poetry that creates calmness
making one at ease, especially one
old with age and recipient of an endowment of excruciating pain!
Soon the poetry began to blossom
as all creations do
in the springtime of their lives,
the purity of Wild flowers, colours of the rainbow
free to sway within the gentle breeze,
soon each daily dose of verse begins to transpire
into carpets of lavender
upon the woodland stage, cascading Bluebells of joy,
the epitome of beauty unfolding
before one’s very eyes.
Again the poetry continues to consolidate,
poems of form formularized those conceived of
the Peace Lillie so sensuous in shape
so assuring in grace, a hard life the Lillie endures
yet one, only of positivity etched into each stanza
of bold narration for all to peruse!
Then a transformation
to the Rose, the very sense of beauty,
when with words of wrought
thy language comforting long into the night
to ease each day a journey of plight,
yet for you sweet Rose
thy poetry, it is not at an end
when to the Orchid you graciously ascend!
Many are those that come and admire
the wonders of your beauty those words on fire,
yet some desire more
with cunning and subtlety
those to manipulate to control
for one’s own ends.
But the Orchid remains safe
suffers no fool,
nurtured in extreme climates
is strong and worldly wise,
the poetry just keeps on coming,
flowing like tears of joy,
from an eye of one who’s happiness
is assured every single day!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
For it to…
For it too—
Four and two.
Forty-two!
A number?—or a gate?
Where past meets present,
And dreams no longer wait—
Fighting, and finding—their rightful place.
For it to…
For it too—
Four and two?!
Forty-two!
An age where silence breaks,
Where the pen takes its rightful place,
Listening to the voice long ignored,
Now, writing what has been stored.
Yes!
42!
Cheers!
For Me—and You!
When you hear plans for reactive justice
do you also listen for responsive mercy?
Or are you more likely to feel merciless revenge
against uncivilized behavior
swelling vibrant adrenaline
thrilling your self-righteous bloodstream?
If revenge is your best defense
against chaotic complexities of bad mad behavior,
If punitive humiliation
is this justice by disgrace
you deem responsible,
comfortably live by,
protect and defend,
then you will be an often disappointed,
and disappointingly ineffective,
parent
And would best and brightest stay far away
from anything in law enforcement,
militarized defense,
courtroom dramas,
and gun permits.
Advocates and defenders of justice for all
are deep lovers of intentions and behaviors
good healthy humored
seeking our not so bad, sad, and mad renovations
of white-washed purging rituals
including Society's eco-political purifying rituals,
obsessive-compulsive demoralizing ruminations,
ruinations,
rambling echoes of great and small transitions
quaking Earth's moral indignation
steeped in Anthropocene rape cultures
and pillage histories
of patriarchal justice
without matriarchal mercy,
much less Eartheatrical peace.
Justice without mercy
is like believing in love
without practicing peace
Like trying to restore a moral climate for love
without a maturing polycultural life
engaged co-empathically together
All guilty of anti-Earth transgressions
against compassioned innocents
of most every unmerciful violence one might imagine
inside inhumane uncivilization
Until we fall Anthropocene bad
sad
mad
unglad apart
To reweave yet another new inter-re-ligious
brightest and best day
Without such long LeftBrain EitherFor/OrAgainst
pathologically punishing shadows,
unmercifully thrown survival of the fiercest apart,
not yet fully grown Anthropocene together
Mature sacred and organic
mind/bodies
Anthro/Earth-Tribe polyculturally thriving
merry mercy co-passion full
Maturing polypathic peace
EarthJustice regenerates.
Time seemed to be in abundance; enough to chew and brew
Sleep, play or gossip; enough to spare despite all that we blew
Dreams, expectations, full of flurry; no tick to stir the blurry
Life discarded as wasteful worry; hurry, worry all went to bury
I the Master, I the Supreme; others, the ordinary got little attention
Times came and crept by slowly; learning shirked away at mention
Who cares, motto was straight; something will happen, why haste
We will surely learn as we grow; grew we sure, but in utter waste
Overtime, the uncared suddenly became important; time was short
With hunched shoulders I prayed for mercy; hoping for His support
Help! I shouted, but they laughed; I got no solace, calm or sleep
Fear, unknown, induced a maddening; my end seemed so cheap
Mercy, somehow was restored; zero, the ordinary I learned to ask for
Time, the industry & thrift; I learnt to strive for, not ignore anymore.
(This poem is a modified (couplet) version of an old poem titled 'Transcendence' which was in Free Verse form.)
People always tell me that
What to do with my bat
After practicing a bit
I will try to make a hit
Avoiding the opponent's mitt
Through the infield
The rawhide peels
And I run the bases as part of the deal
People always tell me that
I cry like a little brat
When I do not get what I need
To hit the ball with such a degree
And start complaining when I charge a fee
For our fans to see
This spectacle created using lumber from a tree
People always tell me that
I look good wearing this hat
An innocent cap
Waiting to get the ‘you're in’ tap
Replace someone
When their day is done
Playing this diamond game
That could find fame
It takes nine or more innings
To collect the winnings
A day spent in the afternoon sun
Waiting to announce who had won
People always tell me that
Like luring cheese to a gullible rat
What was that?!
What did you say?!
About this thing called pay
I mean I know I should like it one way
But I do contribute
Wearing this uniform suit
With a number on the back
Noting who I am and that is a fact
Using a bat
Taking a whack
Then running on the dirty track
Off to the races
Around bases
Stimulated when fans have smiles on their faces
It all started after what my father told me
Over that go for the green tee
You must make par
Sending the ball sometimes far
Trying to sink it in a hole
That has a flag on its pole
Gallery greets you with a scream
Like you are in a dream
Debating are you alone or on a team
An issue worth the bicker
Wanting to be a victor
That is what I have been told
Peaceful competition that is not cold
Death does not come to the one who folds
Instead, another day to play on the ground
Recreational conversations are the sound
Pitching ideas on the mound
Reaching a catcher, with the ball stitched and round
Let us not be concerned with trivial things
Enjoy sport and all the maturity it brings
I sit here
With a pint a cheer
Wondering about the number thirty
Avoiding not being dirty
It was fifteen years ago
As you all know
I was on top
Thanks a lot
To someone who gave me a shot
Brandy, they said what it was
And I was now feeling the buzz
But as it wore off
I found myself having a hiccup not a cough
Phone stopped to ring
Going back to being a pauper not a king
Now I will ponder what’s to come
Should I have a goal to dream like a bum
Relying on memories that were fun
Securely realizing I am just riding into the setting sun
Or do I interpret the next fifteen
Continuing acting being a teen
Or profiting in this desperate scheme
Asking, ‘where should I venture?’
Gritting my teeth not wanting any dentures
Fifteen years from now
I will take my final bow
Then I will address
If my life was truly a mess
That is when my antagonist will confess
Unless
This test
Results in I am doing my best
Yes, what a wonderful thirty-year window
Open it up and show
Celebrating everything I think I know
And dependent on how I say the word ‘whoa’
The author grows, reflects, and acts.
Words become harder to express.
When youth was evident,
the soul was thriving.
Now it all hurts,
on the news the world is dying.
Too afraid to lift the eyes,
staring at the steps infront,
hurrying to a destination.
An author experiences, shares, and cares.
I thought perhaps I would be one.
But where I was bold, I am timid.
When I was trusting, I am now battered.
When youth was evident,
so was pain.
Confusing and vast and deep.
When there was so much beauty,
I found terrible tragedies.
The author mesmerizes, captures, exposes.
I perhaps, have lost the author.
We humans are here to mature,
And often it takes a thunderbolt,
To strike from beyond,
To deepen our understanding,
Test our resolve,
Bring us into a calm acceptance,
Awaken us to our soul nature,
To complete an initiation,
Like putting the final piece of a jigsaw,
Into its interlocking place,
That we can know our purpose,
Why we are here,
What Spirit would have us do,
And then to go on living,
Totally in ordinary ways,
Chopping wood and fetching water,
But with a light step,
And inner smile!
Christianity is a process.......
Some Christians explore their faith and question their denomination
Some do vice versa
Some question and explore both....this is the process by which true maturity comes.
The only immature Christian is the one who does neither zero none.
O God you who knows all things
give me serenity that's wholly true
to accept that which I can't change
bowing to your supremacy this I do
Fill me with your courage
so to change what I can
being obedient to your law
nothing better done by any man
Give me your great wisdom
which I sadly often lack
so I know what's the difference
that will keep me on track
This is what I truly ask
so I may honour you
in all my life here below
drinking in your divine brew
AUTHOR NOTES: based on quote '"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change
the things I can and the Wisdom to know the difference." Reiinhold Niebuhr
I wish I was young and still drinking
Where others would see my soul
And feelings were thought together
for shallowness meant to role
That all of my troubles were sexual
and life meant I'm easy that way
For others to see me as special
and happiness had it's say
That all of my time was as busy
as the work that I do today
When proudness was chaised for better
and loss was left making my way
(“Tapestry”, 2025, original encaustic)
Late Bloomer
It wasn’t until I was half my age
That I came into my own
And finally felt whole.
Now at sixty six
I’m not sure what you’d call
The way I feel.
Over the hill
Ripe in a hard cider way
Nobody going nowhere.
But there is peace
In having been there, done that
And gotten over the need for more.
Knowing in my bones
What a long strange trip
It has always been.
(4/6/25)
You will start off as an egg
With a tug and a tug and a tug you will rip out
Now you have advanced to a tadpole
And with that you will start your route
Then when you find the difficulties of life
You will have to find the solution every time
This is because you strive to be the absolute best at everything
Now you have grown a mouth so wise like a persons that can rhyme
Now you have careened into a new path
You are following forward with fellow frogs
You see new conditions and environments everywhere you go
You are now growing legs while you are going under logs
Now you are following your destiny
Next you have to go through your final path
For you have discovered where you are meant to be
And you have calmed down and silenced the rest of your wrath
You are in your final maturing stage of existence
Next you need to find someone to stay with you for the rest of your life
For you have matured enough to reach this stage
You are now a complete frog with another frog wife
Breaking through
the walls of my old thoughts
peeling away the dead skin
of the old sins I was taught
I know my loved ones
didn’t mean to hurt me
but teaching me the same toxic lies
did in fact poison me
and it was the kind of poison
that tasted really sweet
when you’re a child
you don’t get to choose what to eat
so, at 51 I’m still breaking through
the walls of my old thoughts
peeling away the dead skin
of the old sins I was taught
a silent calling
scattered colored leaves
a maple bleeds
rain falls
from holes in the clouds
a passage
thunder rolls across the sky
and fades
to the patter of rainfall
I run from my car
and call my gods
whispers of nothingness
as summer fades
I see my friend at a restaurant
as she clears tables
she smiles as she walks
by my table
hands full of dishes
snippets of conversations
affections shown in small ways
she pays for my drink
and together we linger
neon lights reflections in window
reflections of passages
and promises for more
silence speaks of seasons shared
in a most tender moment