Later Poems - Poems about Later

Set me free to love again— You’re holding me much too tight. And if you won’t turn me loose, I think I’ll lose my mind. Because you don’t really love me, But you hold me anyway. You refuse to set me free— Just something that you own. I’ll try again later. Some other day, perhaps. Right now I’m much too tired, And don’t feel all that...

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I Like The AWARENESS, You Know, That We've Made Out Of Man... Oh, Yeah, Me Too... And, He Thinks He KNOWS EVERYTHING! Yeah Yeah! All The Time! Man-Kind! Hee-Hee... Horribly Funny! Yeah, It Is FUNNY, Though. -Gray Squirrel 06-23-2025 ...

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149 poems later, one can still trace you in my poems I wrote you carefully in metaphors and words that scream In the anagram that holds your lovely name 149 poems later I’m still stuck in this hedge maze life I try to cut my wrist and let my tears speak the unspoken I’ll try to cut the ones...

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Better Get Going I better get started Time is running out The sooner I get started The better the poem should be I’d have been better off starting earlier But I am a procrastinator so I am never better at poetry Maybe today I will be better off writing later But then again, I probably won’t be better I better hurry, my time is...

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Monday Exactly 45 years in Australia. In bitter cold Melbourne Victoria. Came here with few clothes in a tiny luggage. Now 4 & a half decades later, Collected lot of baggages. Some are still good, others are quite damaged. Was single with bright future. Met friends here and there, but not dating till 7 years later. Engaged and called off the wedding to the...

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America plagued by terror Murder and hate wherever you turn Country gone the way of Watts, ‘65 ~ “Burn, baby burn” ...

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The stores closed early. It snowed last year. There’s not much else to it. A New Year. Resolutions. Like running in a field. We run slowly. It snows in the field. The stores open back up. The snow melts for now. I used to like January. I forgot how to like January. It had been a...

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Many British thermal units* later Vice linkedin to carnal flesh this writer, (a married heterosexual doofus, – whose alter egos named and highlighted courtesy Gallant and Goofus) attones to heat these lovely bag of bones amazingly graceful human specimen more so than required to generate clones, whose jibber-jabber feeble poetic words crafted for no particular rhyme nor reason analogous to babbling...

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"Alfred, where did you say you had the keys?" She would fondly inquire, her eyes scanning around. " I'm not sure, just look around i might have misplaced them" he would reply, scratching his memory from his forehead. Surprisingly, they would share a faint laugh; it was an everyday ritual, a morning memory exercise. He...

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Yes, No, or later Miracle man 10/21/2024 God, Oft times in prayer I’ve aired my wants to thee, and many times You’ve became my arbitrator. Because You saw a future that I couldn’t see, Your answer wasn’t yes or no, but perhaps later. I know not what might lie in wait ahead, and things I want are not always best for me. God’s voice to...

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I have a slip of memory, when you casually took the initiative and passed my water bottle to a friend of mine whom I couldn't reach. I shared a laugh for the first time with you. *For the first time with you again* *Because of you,* I laughed dozens of times....

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Jazz a Little Later Unforgettable the feelings of such right Astonishing pleasant evening nights Hollow are the darkest shadows All that really ever matters Is that when we’re gone, so, so long ~ It won’t be long, for we’re settle All that is better When we leave it up to Him If by chance I bid you a do I’ll see you later in a...

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When someone you love arrives By train plane even automobile Great Joy with hugs and kisses laughter and chatter The arrival brings new memories new adventures Something to talk about But when it is time to go as we all must like an autumn fallen leaf Sooner or later brings sadness and hope of one day we will arrive again...

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a musical trio livening up the prairie enthusiastic beatnik dog on bongo drums terrifically talented tambourine-playing Tomcat Romanian beauty with flashing eyes with a ukulele people arrive to sing along and dance it feels like the seventies Woodstock sixty years later...

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On the threshold of August Doors wide open Our faces are drowned In the shroud of clouds Put them away I’m begging But hardly you hear me Sounds of cars, all muted Brought your street to my door. In addition to what has been said One can stay silent Moreover, what has been said Doesn't have to be read Roadside stones Overgrown with moss...

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