Outside the corner market,
a chartreuse pharmacy sign
buzzes above rain-dark pavement.
Its color reminds me of leaves
caught midway
between
staying and
letting go.
I didn't notice old age arriving.
Not in the mirror.
Not in the slow
accumulation
of reading glasses,
prescriptions, and
retirement brochures.
It found me instead
standing at a crosswalk
in a beret cap I once thought
belonged to old beatniks.
Beside me,
a delivery cyclist
waits for the light.
Across the street,
young faces glow
blue-white
in restaurant windows.
The city gathers its harvest~
office towers emptying,
subway grates exhaling,
headlights filling with dusk.
For a moment,
anxiety returns,
familiar as an address
I remember by heart.
The traffic signal changes.
Steam rises from the grates.
The crowd moves on.
In a restaurant window,
a young stranger walks
beside me.
For a moment,
we wear the same face.
Then,
dusk keeps his name and
gives me mine.
The physical world around me is constantly changing,
sometimes for the good and sometimes for the bad.
I keep saying,
leave things alone until I die.
Then make all the changes you want,
because I will not be in the middle of the changes.
The tech world is moving faster than lightning,
what was new yesterday is old today.
Some say,
the physical world around me is an illusion.
How can I prove this to be right or wrong?
It is something to think about.
In this changing physical world around me,
I need to be like a young tree and bend in the wind of life.
I shall not live to see changes for the better
But those who do will not notice them
Just as I did not notice the changes
Having taken them for granted
And yet, previous generations
Could only dream of such changes
Well, at least about some of the better ones
That have taken place in my lifetime
And even then, they hardly indulged themselves
In such irresponsible illusions
But I merely wish to say
That I care nothing for the future,
For the simple reason
That I won’t be there
Of course, this is selfish
But no more selfish than having a body
And a soul that belongs only to me
As part of some greater whole
I am of no interest, even to myself
Let alone to others
I have no need for lofty abstractions
To prove my existence
And find it valuable in itself.
There is still the hot summer temperature
but there's something else
something in the air
It's the turning of the season
from Summer to Autumn
from hot to cool and colorful
"Young serpent", an aged father snake
said as he kindly and wisely spake.
"You must be comfortable in your skin.
It's the home that you'll be living in."
The young one grew. Life was like a hug.
His skin felt comfortable and snug,
but as time went by, it got too tight.
Life was unbearable, try as he might.
So, it came about that hardship and strife,
were conditions that motivate new life,
leading to a pleasant new existence,
as he shed his skin, and his resistance,
and thought to himself, "It sure is strange.
Difficulties can lead to change",
and found in life that growing pain
often leads to happiness again.
We live our lives as if there will always be another day,
often taking advantage of those around us,
much like an alcoholic unaware of their addiction
or a tobacco smoker oblivious to the smell of smoke.
It often takes someone pointing out the changes for us
to truly see and understand our impact to things around us.
Your smile is like the quiet
dawn,
A gentle warmth that lingers
on.
With every word and every
glance,
You turn the ordinary to a
dance.
No grand design or poet's
art,
Could map the rhythm of my
heart.
In all this world, so vast and
wide,
I only want to be right by
your side.
EMOTIONAL CHANGES
becoming
eccentric
voracious
&
taciturn
with
fractious
tendencies
blinkered
failures
in
commonplace
preoccupations
&
veritable
re-interpreted
paradoxes
Release the glass to its reckless ruin
Witness the fragility scatter into quiet
As it folds into a delicate ruin of your making
The forced jagged edges meant to leave scars
Offer your tears and hollow pleas
Linger if you must, weave thousands
Making each breath sing pretty well
Yet no melody can fix that fractured glass
her life had started out small and churlish
named Maude, she never felt pretty or girlish
of all the names, that might have been the worse one
she never played like others, did not have fun
her parents were frightened to let her outside
she became so paranoid, when kids came, she would hide
but after she became a ghost, all fear faded away
She decided to live her ghost-hood, determined to play
She got bolder, bigger and better, with each fleeting year
Her parents could no longer stifle her, they were not near
She was all that now, glitzy and pretty, living her best life
Thrilled that she was more than cutting it, she renamed herself Knife
snow is exquisitely beautiful
when it is fresh, it dazzles like rhinestones
rivaling water droplets on a spider’s web
snow is pristine before we make steps in it
she brings a magic
replicated by nothing else
refreshing, enlightening, revitalizing
she changes the ambiance of air and field
nothing changes a day as fast as pristine white snow
What if life was a mystery of self?
Would you have it figured out by the time you left?
As we sit back, thinking everything is okay,
within the blink of an eye, your body starts to deteriorate.
"What do you think?" and "How do you feel?"
You pray to God, hoping it's not real.
You get a second opinion with a worrisome face.
The results were not good as you walked away.
It's a life-changing moment of no control.
You wanted to be here until you were old.
What happens now as you wait for your time?
You lie in bed, waiting to embrace the final divine.
Death was always the conclusion after you were born.
As you enter the light of eternity with "The Father and The Son."
The banks carved by Swift creek run quite deep
Each curve a line that's set to keep
Every laugh and frown from sun
Grow defined with passing
Days accumulate
Trees fall, banks cave
Frowns stay formed
Grow firm
Then
More
Storms come
Wash away
Collapses banks
Wider lines are drawn
Beauty, though is in the heart
Silver drifts change color
A radiance beams forth like sunlight
Aging brings out laughter lines running deep
The Shadow Person Changes
The Shadow Person, who loved math,
suddenly changed into the shape of a birdbath.
The silky-smooth, feathered
birch-dressed ravens so weathered
wouldn’t allow shattered her
to leave the path
of the indoor greenhouse built by a Sir,
and his wife who was a great osteopath.
My life's been a 'he's become a broken, bumpy ride.'
I am not sure how many trips I can abide.
While he comes, goes, leaves and slips from my side,
I daydream about a smooth, gentle tide.
It is from our depths we did always confide.
Now his ways seem as secrets the night hides.
I truly need for him to give me clues
about his friends, Moony Trends and Mangled Blues.
Both characters only recently showed
and both seem volatile enough to explode.
He reinforced the cellar door with sandbags
on the outside where yard air is so sour, I gag.
Now he wants to cement the cellar ceiling
and place a bed down there in case a malady
renders him contagious and in need of healing.
I never know what is happening or how the
words 'trust me' are but sad and maddening.
Why does he look to me for assurance
when he self-sources every disturbance?
He has developed such a worrisome act
with reasons that loom vague and inexact.
Seems his sanity is disappearing
and something catastrophic is nearing.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.