Best Middle Age Poems
I am not afraid of middle age Let the inquisition of cunning smiles begin My ambition is not conclusive yet My passion is not devoured by deliberation in the night For I know that I am the profit margin of my dreams And that my vices are as real as my virtues are strong No, I am not afraid of middle age For I have only just begun to rediscover this miracle That I am
I'm tempted to let it spread.
I
just
walked
back into
the kitchen
for some juice
and then walked
out with a sandwich,
a glass of milk, sweets
and the TV remote
that I lost when
I last went in
my kitchen
an hour
ago
.
&
if I
had
a penny
for every time
I lost my house keys
...........................................
there'd also be a jar full of coins
that I would have to
search
for
.
A bulging belly balefully belies
the vanished vigour of youth;
happens to most of us.
- - - - - - - - - - -
19 November 2018
Ah, the middle age where I
Can find excuse. No one now
Will test me to ride the wild horse.
No one will offer the fat udder
For the order of disciples.
No one will expect that I
Should leave my seat and stir
The hissing embers.
Ah, the middle age where I
Can heal from inflicted justice.
No one now will place my weight
On the several social scales.
No one now will sniff my excrement
And be duly appalled,
Nor will they obligate
With tears and flowers.
When evening red surrounds our dream
A varnished crown glosses the breeze;
To summon love's ascent, upstream
On river's bend as moist lips tease.
A varnished crown glosses the breeze
Here, stars wiggle in blazed delight;
On river's bend as moist lips tease
When embers of dusk flames the night.
Here, stars wiggle in blazed delight,
Through middle- age, we find pleasure
When embers of dusk flame the night--
As tide cradles this love, it's lure.
Through middle- age, we find pleasure
From gentle floats of a damp kiss
As tide cradles this love, it's lure--
While years ripple in fiery bliss.
Juli-Michelle's Contest
Rhyme Battle: Round 7 Written 6/17/2017
Whenever middle-age recalls youth
with its long, exciting and carefree days:
we remember that we lived them in our own ways;
our parents argued that it wasn't astute...
have they forgotten how they shamelessly lied
to get some romantic kiss before it actually died?
Before the invention of television most folks were moody...
there were only radios and vinyl records to listen to,
so the dreamy heart would sing and not be blue;
amazingly today, everything is digital due to high technology.
Even grandmother admitted of kissing her sweetheart over
a few Strega Liqueur drinks before falling face-down on the lawn;
she didn't get caught and that secret has remained with her
until now and blushing she tries to smile, remembering that frown.
Whenever middle-age recalls youth as being innocent and free of all woes...
it may surprise you how it went hand in hand with progress;
in the sixties, Rock & Roll was considered evil and scandalous,
but our frantic moms adored Elvis for his attire and gentleman's manners.
* Strega is an Italian Herbal Liqueur
Translation: The Witch's Liqueur
From birth to middle age
Tell tale signs sending us into a rage
Not knowing what to expect
Slowly approaching wondering what comes next
Hot flushes to mood swings
I wish someone would have told me these things
Trying to find a way to cope
Visits to the doctor for a glimmer of hope
Feelings of anxiety and despair
Searching for remedies it’s so unfair
Balancing hormones to reach a safe place
Tiredness constantly it shows on our face
Family life disrupted on a daily basis
Looking for normality researching cases
Always saying sorry to the ones, we love
Will it work out is it enough
As my brave abdomen is distended
pleasure in seeing my feet has ended.
4/6/18
Now the mid-winter grind
Is on me, New York
Drills through my nerves,
As I walk
The chewed up streets.
At forty-five what next
At every corner,
I meet my father,
My age, still alive.
Father, forgive me
My injuries,
As I forgive
Those I
Have injured!
You never climbed
Mount Zion, yet left
Dinosaur
Death-steps on the crust,
Where I must walk.
MIDDLE AGE RIDDLE
middle-age riddle...
water splashes on my face
...fountain of wrinkles.
4/24/2018
(CHILDHOOD)
Start with no feathers,
warmth is around, we are fed.
We grow, we will fly.
(YOUTH)
As eagles, we fly high,
above everything, free, no fears,
all the sky for us.
(MIDDLE AGE)
Not far from rooftops,
doves flying together are,
they follow the rhythm.
(OLD AGE)
Not many high flights
concerned under the branches
digging into our soul.
November descends delicately,
crisp, crimson-gold
landing languidly midway between
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'
and 'Now is the winter of our discontent' -
dead center between its nurturing tree
and the leaf pile bound for burning
Casually clad in T-shirt and shorts
on my makeshift cardboard sled
middle age's gravity conveys me irreversibly
down summer's green, grassy slope
towards the snow-shrouded vale -
I find myself halfway between
where I did not want to leave
and where I do not wish to visit
Midway between the eulogy
and the forlorn trumpet playing 'Taps'
it dawns on me that life is not entirely about the
sunshine on our backs nor the coming snowbank
but about searching for the sunrise
on the far side of
the next hill
1 November 2022
The wresting groung for old homos
Is full tonight
Because we spilled so much of our youth
In endless repeat anonymous encounter
That it was not enough to end the world once
More than a thousand medieval nonyears ago,
That spun off revolution in the sixties
Into reactionary shaved heads in the ninties.
They're scratching their old heads
Saying what have we done when we were young
enough to know better
Than dad
Because we had more fun than zoot suits
That women diddn't catch on
Until they got mad enough at us
To start their own rest home
For the partiers who came too late
To catch onto the disease that followed
Our young release
At the old new
We now are.