Coming Of Age Poems - Poems about Coming Of Age

Ugly Orange Shutters It’s ½ past midnight when I ease my 1989 white Nissan Sentra into the long driveway of Horseshoe Rd. A decade past its prime but its engine is still strong. I’m late, but no one ever waits up. The lights are off, but the moonlight reflects an abnormal glow off the ugly orange...

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Conservatives’ banning’s apropos of nothing At twelve when he delt with this shouldn't have to jump through hoops should’ve been able to explore when a teen But because of many conservative groups The Ire excessive was the coming of age Juvenile mistakes made in adult years Denied the ability to pick up social skills Sexual assault and sexual awaking considered pornographic Q**r’s often live...

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Oh that Lily, she the epitome of a Golden Child as I watched her Exuding effortless grace, a liquid-silver baton— a Haddon Heights Garnett. a Blazing Comet / enchanting / popular and stunning. Envious, was I, her? a younger sister playing the silent shadow. watching from the ...

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Do you remember like I do, the way we’d jump with giddy— Or how we’d grit our teeth, waiting for something to happen? Your feeling, A pulse that nipped the green off my leaves, like I was holding something in my mouth, something I couldn’t swallow. A space between urge & action. A pause before the pull, where everything hangs, and...

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She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline, Her crown, heavy with my wasted want. Never knows best, a fault of design. Her tensions a dagger, a cunning divine, A soul-bleeder, god as a vaunt. She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline. The arson of anger will never confine, For the plaid that’s been woven, I a gaunt Never knows best, a...

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Roads long squandered, Routes trained to memory. a crack in the long unyielding concrete unremarkable. Then, a wildflower A peculiar pink. Leather, nostalgia. Cinnamon, mellow. Stop dead in my tracks, Wistful, yearn. Many a while did I dream of creation After all, what does it take? Soil, water, an undefeated soul. Many a while did I long for something that called me God. Many a while did I pick...

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They say the journey to adulthood is supposed to be a slow coming of age process that allows the time to contemplate what role we’ll play in our future. We check off all the options. Burn out some brain cells in college or maybe find that ‘special someone’ and take a few years to plan...

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a tender voice recites, muse’s lyrics flow ...

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I awoke from a small seed Born from the sun and earth of humble origins Surrounded by others waiting to bloom A journey I took, Through the soil until the sun turned to smile on my face My leaves turned upwards I awoke to see the sprouts around me All of us different, Yet connected In this desert...

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("Mrs. It Dances Through It", 2014, original pen and ink) Turning Point - Coming of Age - Acceptance at Last Finally at age 65 I reach a turning point Where a lifetime of doing is seen To be just a lifetime of accumulating Moments and things to give purpose And a reason to be perhaps, But more likely just a way to...

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Dangerous Fools and Evil Idiots They agree to disagree Always spitefully fastidious About each other’s pedigree Always at the war, that goes With no hope to prove who’s right There’s no right, because it flows Through their fingers to the light Of forgotten source they knew In the times of childhood years When the mornings looked brand new And they lived knowing no fears. ...

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unleashed I may waiver satin spoils are new to me yield, your monotone salute suckling praised a freedom from fur the hunt is mine devoutly...

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As the weather chooses its flavour for the hour, Stubble-ended wood shaves itself on the layers of unseen ground. Synthetic puke seeps through pores seeking to devour Every tiny, curled hair floating in the murk around and around. Pool party skies reside a millimeter higher than the tallest fingertip: Leftovers infect this mass of last meals passed on. A spindle of...

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His wise council and kind patience bolstered my resolve to overcome my youthful woes and nightmarish troubles solve. His humanity may have saved my life. His memory I hold dear. But whenever the name Mister James arose— Other kids just called him q****—By Poet It’s May of 1966. Mr. James gave us an assignment to write about happiness. ...

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The years have flown by, Without me realising of all That I have been missing out in our world The years, with the speed of light, Have brought me to stop wanting To glance into my mirror, Unable to bear the sight of my wrinkles My saggy skin and my balding head! Now, my bones have become weak And they can crash at any...

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