Long Age of man Poems

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Premium Member The Poet's Touch

Little fingers, big fingers 
Red fingers, blue fingers 
One finger, 10 fingers 
Long fingers, stubby fingers 
Pointer finger, middle finger 
Ring finger, wiggle finger 
Leather fingers, soft fingers 
Cold fingers, warm fingers 
Stinky finger, slimy fingers 
Fingers manicured with pretty painted fingernails 
Fingers that can hold a pencil or a pen pal
Fingers that can tap on laptops or typewriters 
Fingers that can tap tap tap on tabletops 
While I transcribe or press “RECORD” 
Poetry will always be the Midas touch to me 
Bringing forth the Golden Age of Man 
The Poet’s need to free the soul 
Is as old as the knowledge of fire 
Sometimes the Poet bleeds 
With words beyond the funeral pyre 
Never underestimate the Poet’s power 
To create changes that are magically mystically miraculously 
Spun into a reality that only poetry
Can inspire.


To Be Or Not To Be

The sands of time will cover all,
   Of mankinds birth in natures womb.
   From chaos to our final fall.

   As ancient lifeforms we did crawl,
   From primeval swamp, to volcanic gloom.
   The sands of time will cover all.

   This age of man now standing tall,
   Will rule the earth, then meet his doom.
   From chaos to our final fall.

   With mans idea of peace so small,
   Our warlike race we must assume,
   The sands of time will cover all.

   Unless somehow we do recall,
   Peace keeps us safe, war will consume.
   From chaos to our final fall.

   So let us stop, and heed the call.
   For soon this earth shall be a tomb.
   The sands of time will cover all,
   From chaos to our final fall.

Premium Member Beingly Simple

There’s nothing wrong 
In wanting things to be simple. 
Living the simple life 
So others can simply live. 
Wanting life to be simple 
Is an honest desire. 
But of course, that’s not reality. 
Life is complicated, 
And full of mystery and surprises. 
But still, if only . . . 
Everyone lived by the Golden Rule 
To bring about the Golden Age of Man. 
If only . . . 
Everyone believed in karma there’d be no need for money. 
Only sharing’d be the thing and, nothing else’d matter. 
Just try it for once, to be remotely like Jesus, 
Just to see what might happen. 
If only . . .  
Everyone took a flying leap of faith 
And transformed into Gurus of Love. 
Wear a godbody for a change.								 
And actually, take a chance 
To believe in oneself. 
The fact is is that everyone deserves happiness. 
Everyone deserves love that’s true. 
Anyone can change to do the right thing. 
Put down the past and 
Stomp on the imaginary spider of fear 
That sucks soulblood to certain death. 
And fly above it all. 
Avoid the entangled web of doubt. 
Be blessed.  Blessed be. 
There’s nothing wrong with being me. 
There’s nothing wrong 
In wanting things simple. 
And simply to be, 
Simply me.

Premium Member Billions of Years Before Our Eyes

Years of ice under sky and moon

A great expanse of age un-strewn

A world of new awaiting birth

The sky so blue above the grounds of earth 

Clashing storms light up the sky at night

Like roaring beasts their thunder cries

Billions of stars fill up the sky

Billions of lives live in the tides

Billions of years before our eyes

Hovering above the shallow pools

Where giant insects rule who's cool

Microscopic organisms live in lagoons

After many moons and many Suns 

The world prepares for what's to come

A quiet, restless energy unfolds

The age of man begins to grow.

The Age of Man

The Age of Man

We carried on
The age of man
Till moon of tin bore
An electric sun

And all machines 
Shone bright and clean
Keeping silent
But wanting more

Till the purpose mind
Did loose its time 
In idle waves lament
Through prostitution of evolutions 
A self induced torrent

Took his mind till eyes fell blind
Unraveled the very core
To spit it bright into the night
Every secret that endured

Till all the stars fell off in drought 
Withered at the root
Every galaxy was brought to knee
By the embassy we took

And God came down
To spy our crown
In towers that we command
As every tree 
Laid low to be
A place that we should stand

While all the earth
Gave up its worth
Mountains fell to sand
But those machines
All we could see
God left us standing there

So gathering the ways 
Of all his days
His books and all his score
Scattered it high into the sky
Into the cloud he stored 

Every thought 
That effort bought
By page, pen and grave
And set to fire 
By all his ire
Knowledge eons gave

While dirt of earth gave up its worth
Lay idle, a broken land
Gave lifeless life unto the night
And Metal, a full command

Till from the hearth soulless marched
The field of Mars and woe
To stand in line as engines grind
In that womb steel did grow

From something other
Than a loving mother
A milk of gasoline
In burning oil and writhing toil
A demon she did wean

So the thought machine
Did kiss our dream
As man must lay to rest
But that unblinking eye
Our thoughts did spy
And developed its own interests

And not one of we
Did need to be
Said that steel abhorrent pet
And once the master, fell fast, then faster
Until not one of we were left

An an age for I 
The lidless eye
Not troubled by truth or dare
Stays unseen 
By human being
And continues its lifeless stair

Till rain came down from man made cloud
In that fog the Godless kept
All the ways until that day
And away it all was swept
Form: Rhyme


Musical-Moonlight Sonata

A quiet...soft resolute theme plays
The low tunes of the piano ascends.
A sequence of sound radiates, 
The tones hum...words of passion,
Reverberating...serenading a quiet night.

Echoing...deep in his prodigious soul,
In dedication to a fellow muse,
A pupil...Countess Giulietta Guicciardi.
Thoughts of her...radiates his mind,
Like the moon’s soft glow upon the night.

Against a filigree...silvery accompaniment 
His fingers voice...a covert...love from within.
A bitter...sweet acceptance of fate...resounds,
In the sonata his...heart...sadly plays.
The movement ends in the reflective mood it began

Softly...fading into the solace of night
Echoing into time and age of man...
A sad...story that only fingers could tell
Of a miserable...lonely night in Vienna 
From the isolated...soul of a dejected composer.  




____________________________________________
Ludwig van Beethoven - Piano Sonata No.14, Op.27/2
"Sonata quasi una Fantasia" ("Moonlight Sonata")
Form: Ekphrasis

The River

The river.


In waves it flows and rages full;
In moonlight it slows and trickles still.
In sunshine it roars a tumultuous call.
The river flows throughout the seasons and throughout the hills.


Down in the valley, the water still runs;
At first just a drip, then a tidal wave.  Its source is unknown.
It echoes throughout the mountains as if fired from a gun;
Its voice tells the same story as it did long ago.


Its people swim freely, never knowing they are entrapped;
Beneath its surface, a civilization is formed.
It gives birth to life and also takes it back;
The river is still flowing…the sunshine is still warm.


The river was eternal, long before the age of man;
Who are we to change nature and build a dam?
Let the beaver’s beaver away and do as they must to be nourished.
Allow nature to do what is necessary and this world will flourish.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
© Aa Harvey  Create an image from this poem.
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Premium Member White Fanged Warriors

Let's start early, let's get this done
Let's walk down the street, we're not afraid of the sun
Though they despise our kind we must set this straight
It's not us or our kind who brought hell to their gates

Humans must live and humans must die, it's the nature of earth, don't ask us why
You think that your kind has the world eating out of the palm of your hand?
But we were here first, long before the age of man.

Vampires we are and through the ages we've seen
Many attempts to live on this spinning ball of green
These aliens invade and you think that your life has-been
They know who we are, they know where we've been

They expected to take your planet without a fight
But we've got to appreciate your kind and we think you're alright
So many ages of us have surfaced to be your protectors, your friends
We're the ones that you need. We won't let this be your end.

We can shape-shift and fly, we can see in the night.
We can feel their heat as they come in to strike
We will fight and win this war for your ball of green
Because we think that you have the ability to be the best species we've ever seen.

Premium Member Whistling With the Wind

Never do anything and nothing is done
Never love anyone and no one is loved
Never believe in something and everything is believed

Do I hate life or does life hate me
Do I fear life of does life fear me
Do I hide life or does life hide me
Do I deny life or does life deny me

What is life but an illusion of time
Just seconds of the Age of man
Just a breathe from the nostrils of God
Meaningless for the future was decided
For nothing we do nothing we say
Nothing we believe can change Destiny
It is Finished

Life is hollow empty and broken
We are scavengers on the scabs of life
Boasting in self worth
Preaching in defiance
Mocking our souls
Deveining our spirits
Lingering in our wallow

We evolved into blemishes on the skin of Time
Soon to be scratched away is dust in the wind

We live in our secure graves of fear
Worshiping youth and yearning for gold
Numb our minds hard our hearts
Living as lifeless blobs fed on technology

We died before we are born
Death is bored
Dying is easy and welcomed
Dying is induced
Human race cancers into oblivion

The gates of Eden are rusted and fallen
The Garden is a patch of weeds
Surrounding a dead stump
Whose remnants of bark
Hold a shed snake skin
Whistling with the wind...

Accept Your Fate

Accept your fate


What time is this?
What age of man?
My body feels so broken.
What day is it?
What place is this?
I’ve nothing left to try; I have done all I could.


Who knows what will become of my life?
When I am done in, will my words remain unspoken?
We all become our mother’s daughter,
Or we become our father’s son.


As beauty fades, we seek the shade;
The sunshine is no longer attractive.
In modern times, there is money to be made,
In anything; if we are not too distracted.


The hopes of youth are not often followed through;
Such dreams are fanciful.
If you became the same as you had wished for in youth;
Would you still be so grateful?


Such ambitions are usually far-fetched;
Only realistic aims are achieved.
The fountain of youth is wasted on you;
Accept your fate and leave the next generation to grieve.


Age is just a number and your number is up.
You have lived a long and interesting life, so embrace the end.
Time is continuous;
We are not.
On this you can depend.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
© Aa Harvey  Create an image from this poem.
Form:

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