Long Aged Poems
Long Aged Poems. Below are the most popular long Aged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aged poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: September 03, 2023
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Under cotton clouds, a bride awaits.
Her building passions burn and blaze,
With petals of hope, her dreams unfurl.
As love's tapestry begins to swirl.
Bathtub battles, raging within her soul,
A tempest of emotions, outside control.
But before the child's time for bed,
She finds solace in the world ahead.
In dreams, she sees bees and birds.
Their gentle whispers, as soothing words.
Ads in the air, they fall apart,
But the blossoms in her heart start,
To bloom and blossom, vibrant and bright,
Guiding her through the darkest night.
Apples in an aged woman's arms,
Symbolize life's charms.
An artwork piece in oil on canvas
Captures her spirit, her dreams, and her passions.
Life's battle calls, "drug on.
To build and build until we're gone.
But even then, back on earth with cover and crust,
The dance of blossoms continues a must.
For life's eternal cycle, it never ends.
From birth to death, it transcends.
So let us embrace this wondrous dance.
With love and hope, let's bear a chance.
In the midst of chaos and strife,
There's beauty in the journey of life.
With each raw day, let blossoms bloom.
Releasing fragrance and dispelling gloom.
In the bride's heart, passion still burns.
As she casts and frames, her spirit yearns.
For the dance of blossoms, forever divine,
A symbol of love, a sacred shrine.
So let us join this eternal dance.
With joy and grace, let's bear a chance.
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
Buried deep in the coffin of my mind,
Memories of my youth; aged like fine wine.
I've got a few cherished ones to exhume!
I recall one chilly autumn noon running around the park
With the neighborhood kids, then I'd run indoors
To warm up when winds start to groan and whistle. Brrr!
Ah, the halcyon days of summer sitting in the shade
Wolfing down watermelons with my best friend, Lloyd,
Cheering on kids playing basketball in the backyard.
I remember one harsh winter sprinkling play sand
And rock salt on walkways with Dad before snowfall,
So snow won't stick to the ground. Fun times!
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - ''T'' Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme: Past Memories
Date written: 10/19/2022
I have been riding on the same waves for a hundred years
I have been telling the same tales for more than fifty years
One generation has passed another has come and this
old dry biscuit is still sitting in my chair. The dogs have bitten it, the kittens have dragged it, and the old stinking biscuit is jumping from chair to chair leaving a terrible stench in the atmosphere. Its white hair is sticking in the air and its black moon faced surface is as hard as rock, with eyes bulging like demons from the disdained pack.It watches me and silently sucks the daylight out of the primitive crops. This aged old biscuit has done its time, but it continues to steal and take what is mine. It is living off my energy and everyday it spreads its toxic waste on the younger crops, to blighted their growth and fill their cuticles with false hope.I wonder how much longer this biscuit will last? it is as stubborn as my dry ass. The dry old biscuit is irritating and its aroma is disgusting. My patience is running out and sometimes it makes me want to shout. It deceives the cats and dogs and it tells my brother that he is not tall.It moves subtle around with a sharp edge that will take a more than a hundred men to bend and just about fifty six women to control. The biscuit is not fit and it is babbling along to show off its terrible wits. It cannot stand up straight and I detest the looks in its face. It moans and groans at nights when it faces the spiritual light. This biscuits have a bad taste so throw it out of your pantry before it is too late. Don’t mix the old biscuits with the other biscuits or the mildew will blow up right into your face. The sun is hot, the moon is bright and something is going to eclipse at midnight. Beware of the shooting stars, and watch out for unman drone; the satellites are in close range to suck the energy out of you and leave you lame. I have been waiting for this day to past when the old biscuit is rolled away at last, and I will reclaim my chair and breathe fresh air. The eclipse is coming and I hope that you are ready.
Orchard Boulevard
Heavy traffic;
Congested minds
Orchard Road crowd
Seeking diversions;
After hours delight
Beer guzzling cliques
Evening waterhole;
Downtown gathering
Shopping mall ambience
Restaurants fully booked;
Long queues waiting
Shopping spree
Bargain hunting;
Well-earned bonus
Baby boomers
Grey hairlines dyed;
Cluster to chit-chat
Evening stroll
Two old lovers;
Talking in silence
TV dinner recipe
Fruits and salad;
Crash diet plan
Ordinary moments
Triumph of simplicity;
Nothing to lose
Bills come
Regular as debt;
Payment requests
Old man,
Old woman;
Aged like brandy
Fleeting passage
Echoes in the wind;
Evening sanctuary
Write and ink
Poetic wonders;
New revelations
Blank canvas
Splash of paint strokes;
New art form
Wander far
Yet not lost;
Wonder dictates
Music strains
Piano nocturne;
Classical wit
Muse now amused
Flinging outburst;
Word-pictures spring
Relax and listen
Ink flow records;
Haiku prospects
Leon Enriquez
06 Mar 2014
Singapore
Poor old me.
I hate my body, so stay away;
Don’t waste your time coming onto me today.
Because my body is as ugly as my face
And my middle aged spread is on the way.
I hate being me and I hate you seeing me,
So close your eyes before I leave.
I disagree if you think I’m sexy,
Because that is one thing I will never be.
Leave me alone and get out of my face;
This place is no home. I am a disgrace.
I’ve never been touched by a touch of grace,
Just replaced and never saved for a rainy day.
My six pack is being replaced with a pot belly;
Oh pity me in my misery.
I can’t get back what age steals from me,
So I wallow in my self-pity.
Oh poor old me.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Diminished by age, a weathered existence limps
Crutching dimmed vision and impaired limbs,
Much wiser that before, it speaks wisdom words
Entertaining grandkids in stories that enlighten,
Wishing the time to destiny would stop rushing
Reminiscing adoringly in yesteryears’ springs
As exuberance of yore in travails of life recedes,
Recalling seasons pristine, ravishing, blossoming
When youth ruled meadows of blazing revelry,
Reckoning lately though, how summer parches lilies
And winter freezes perishing autumnal leaves,
Unsure whether sunlit-dawn tomorrow brings,
If life’s graying themes can still invoke dreams~
As blunt reality confronts passions embellished.
Yet, life emulates pride of battered old oak tree
Mangled and broken, withering in gusty winds
But, standing steadfastly aiming for centuries
Rejoicing birds frolicking, concert of hatchlings,
And it too sways merrily ignoring bleak warnings
Beckoning alluringly reluctant, fading feelings
To tango in ballroom of life for yet one more spin,
Conjuring ancient images of renaissance in Italy~
The Colosseum, statues, galleries full of paintings
Pulsating forever, beyond bounds of mortality
Weathered, yet standing, as battered old oak tree
And aged-existence that defiantly keeps ticking.
November 24, 2021
Placed 2nd: “W” New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Weathered
The bride of fortune
to be an uni- polar power is like being the bride
and resent the uppity of bridesmaids
she wanted her wedding to be remembered
no one could equal
and her democracy is the the bride that has
become domineering, not let in the bridesmaid
not even getting married if she thought her
rule was somewhat diminished
her attitude causes friction, they want to leave
to go find their own happiness
this include miss Russia who in the nineties was
a downtrodden maid, much patronized, made
fun of and dismissed.
Surprised when out of the shadows grew and
demanded an equal place on the in the beauty
contest, where woman in a cowboy hat ruled
but this domineering woman had grow aged
the woman in the cowboy hat, knew miss
Russia had to be subdued rapidly and set out
to ruin her reputation to preserve her hegemon
she said was a gift from god and the Christianity
based on the New Testament, the white god who
loves mis America and the people at the wedding
a subdued Miss Russia would be allowed to exit
as junior partner if she helped to catch
miss China whose beauty was fabulous not seen
for two thousand years
The woman in the cowboy hat could once more
be the belle of the ball
G-rand someone whose old but yet young, leading the youth with wisdom;
R-ossting royal comings to be completely bald, yet teaching the truth never fail;
A-ppraisals and appearances up keep while rallying children get off the streets;
N-ews today and days to sweep, remembering history and history feats;
D-oing most things for others not selfish relentless gathering family reunions;
P-leasing all well almost all else, elder Mother, elder Father, grand...
Almost dying, yet still revealing one's self;
R-epeat turn the other chin cheek, little children, young adult in Ahh! in
shock can't speak!!
E-nter in the rustic dried out golden
N-ever say no to friend or for, always respect your elders;
T-odays the day for being golden and born
Simple said, simply heard senior minded stop the habit of disrespecting the aged;
Close your mouth open your eyes hands and heart if you wanna live long life like them you should
these are the words for the Grandparent HOOD
07/31/14
My Mama she trips out in the moon light
when I’m safely tucked up in bed
she dresses to wow her audience
but I know not of her occupation
when I ask I am greeted by silence
and then “You will understand when you grow up”
My Mama she returns at break of day
before the curtains begin to twitch or draw
she’ll come in exhausted and fix my breakfast
then checking in on me she’ll wake me for school
before she goes off to bed – she’ll see me later
to ask about my day and play
A Mamas kiss, a smile, a hug, warmth, food and a roof
Yet when we go out together people turn
to talk to one another, quietly nodding
Funny looks are cast our way and yet not one shall speak to us
Aged nine in school I find out why
when another child will laugh
“Ya Mama works the streets
lies on her back, watches the sky – to feed ya
-Tis what my Ma said”
It makes me cry
I love my Mama
but this shame hurts
I want to die…
I was working my way north through Kansas,
selling hot dogs at a traveling fair,
the pay wasn’t great, but it was still a job,
and I met all sorts of people there.
We’d set up for a week near Wichita,
when some bikers decided to stop by,
they stood out in leather, with their skull rings,
one of them was even missing an eye.
Of course this same fair, to entertain crowds,
had brought in dance troupes of every single kind,
and two dozen clog dancers walked by my stall
when the bikers had some bad things in mind.
They started taunting the two-dozen souls,
laughing at their clogs and their costumes,
challenged the manhood of the male dancers
until the whole of the troupe raged and fumed.
This just made the lead biker laugh more,
cry,”What are you gonna do know, pansy?”
From the lead dancer flew a wooden show,
which knocked the biker right off of his feet!
A switch was thrown, and the bikers charged in,
I thought no dancer would survive this day,
but they took their clogs in hand like clubs,
bellowed loudly and dashed into the fray.
Punches were thrown and blades slashed about,
wooden footwear clubbed down brutally,
a biker flew into my poor hot dog stand,
at the last second I leapt to get free.
In the roar of the melee time slowed and sped,
the crush of fists left the whole world spinning,
and the damndest thing, amidst all the blood,
the middle-aged clog-dances were winning!
Then lights were flashing, police cars drew near,
both parties broke away and took flight,
I poked my head up in time to be asked
by a cop,”Which side started the fight?
I told them all that I had seen gone on,
when done I quickly jumped into my car,
Ffguring I had no job to go back to
I drove into town looking for a bar.
I found one near the local airport,
and went in so I could relax a bit,
only to find the bikers and clog-dancers
drinking beers and burying the hatchet!
It was hard to believe any such foes
could have put it all behind them that fast,
but as they shot pool I saw in their eyes
the respect of those equally bad-ass.
I finished my drink, then headed on north,
needing to find a new way to make coin,
which is how I found that one polka band
who took down the city of Des Moines…