Long Maturation Poems
Long Maturation Poems. Below are the most popular long Maturation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maturation poems by poem length and keyword.
We get along well. (A response to someone observing, "You two seem to be pretty close".)
Remember when that was pretty much the essence of all of your childhood relationships?
How much more pleasant and well-functioning would the world be if we harken back to those simple childhood dynamics?
Sure, there were those who didn't play well with others.
But, there were always adults around to govern those interactions.
How much more pleasant and well-functioning would the world be right now if the adults in the room acted like adults?
And not children.
How good is it to have real friends?
There is nothing better in the world.
Remember when your childhood friends meant the world to you?
How pleasant and well-functioning would the world be if we maintained those kinds of friendly relationships as much as possible instead of calculating advantage?
Remember when a childhood squabble resulted in a night of agony, thinking the world would end, plumbing the depths of despair?
But the next day you were thrown together by fate and circumstance and proximity and patched things up immediately and the world was so bright it was "the best day ever!"?
I heard a child psychologist say one time that you have to think about the fact that children go from the highest highs to the lowest lows emotionally in the course of a day.
How pleasant and well-functioning would the world be if we could temper our tantrums in that kind of time frame?
Maturation is a lifelong process… and we're living longer and longer.
It's time we started living smarter and smarter.
Past psychological development
describes zigzagging mama's yoyo
casually, aye publicize, (asper
mein kampf) personal woe
unpleasant memories indelibly
etched, jagged, scar outlined like ticktacktoe
solitary games invariable resultant
draw between every “x” and each "o"
metaphorical of course for this poetic,
formerly non opportunistic
generic Joe Schmoe,
hoof hound cathartic airing emotionally
rocky terrain, whereby floe
tips of icebergs with poetry I tool
examining, excavating, extracting, et cetera hoe
ping to discover ring visa vis,
why this ordinary fella did not want to grow
up, when on the throes of puberty lugging
"FAKE" nostalgic memories in tow
markedly heavy impossible to shrug
Atlas off (as if yoked with an albatross) also
weighted with Taj Mahal size fountainhead
gushing with emotional phlegm like no
buddies business shockingly deadly toxic
sputum nearly killed me, the only bro
their too hoo (owl right) untwisted sisters
one older, the other younger dough
ting on this then suicidal, impassive, and
ambivalent depressively sullen self burrow
wing boy within my own wormhole unresponsive
to overtures of sincere love - self castrated
particularly social maturation grew
ming this present day subdued chap
still smarting from ravages of anorexia
nervosa, particularly wrought hardy brew
of schizoid personality disorder self
deprivation excruciating frame of mind
as I mercilessly flayed and never grew
to experience ordinary relationships,
hence though married with grown daughters,
nonetheless...pay penance forever rue
man hating price hermetically
sealed wharf from humans,... thus you
cannot reach me, - now adieu!
A blank space
Unkempt
Overgrown
But, so full of happiness and future
With the nurturing that only time can bring
Change, new and innocent
Full of wonder and inexperience-
Almost childlike in nature,
Springs up slowly because of attention and patience-
As knowledge leads to a wisdom that only experience and maturation bring,
The ups and downs of continual trial and error
Erode the possibility devotion and hard work once brought about
Dry dusty earth is what is left of soil,
Once so dark and rich.
Birds chirp and flock about no longer
Squirrels do not feel welcomed
Those who once shared time and space peacefully,
Now find themselves caught up in a silent war
Full of stares that try unsuccessfully to hide confusion, sadness, and dispair
As the once beautiful garden is now, sadly, lifeless at best,
Struggling, all the while, to hold on.
I hope it’s not a premonition
Of my immanent demise, but thinking today
About how far the arc of my life has come,
Makes me glad to be alive.
Nothing special or unique in that
Just odd to feel, like a cat
I’ve had more than a few lives
Packed into this one, so far,
And the range of change
Surprises me when I look at it.
Forty five years ago in college I briefly
Subscribed to the Socialist Worker’s Party paper.
Not sure why, but I think it had something to do
With expressing solidarity with a cute blond.
Now here I am on the cusp of applying for membership
In the John Birch Society, about as far
From the reality of that college hippie
As I can now imagine.
In between a mostly smooth arc stretched
Across decades of very slow maturing.
Maybe I’m just proud and stubborn
And so resistant to change
But I think it’s more a reflection of just how
Indoctrinated I was in my formative years.
It takes a lot to undo real indoctrination you know,
And I think in my case
It involved a couple of millennia instead of decades.
But anyway, I don’t think I’m quite done diving
But I can see the ocean shimmering
A great warm smile
As it comes up to meet me.
(10/16/25)
We may have found a time
in human maturation
when our history of depression
becomes unveiled mutual suppression
of healthy impressions,
We may be coming upon a time
of opportunities for climate ministrations
to reverse spiritual dehydration
of ego-souls
and our co-habitating eco-soils
for healthy safety.
There may come a space
on Earth's revolutions
when natural LeftBrain
abstract deductions
listen with less WholeEarth violence
resistance
secularizing dissonance
to Earth's ancient RightBrain inductions,
invocations,
win/win invitations,
When physical
personal
political
economic knowledge
follows EarthMother's original teachings
metaphysically multicultural,
interdependent
eco-political wisdom
Indigenously rebecoming
our return to Here with Now,
3DSpace with 2Dipolar Times
EgoSoul within becoming healthy EcoSystemic
anti-racist
pro-Green EarthJustice,
rebecoming NonViolent CoEmpathic UnDuality
verbal/non-verbal confluence
LeftBrain ironic coincidental Space
with RightBrain iconic co-operative Time
May be coming upon this 20/20 SpaceTime
in humane win/win playtime
of bicameral maturation,
nutrition,
communication,
win/win administration
Is better than
win/lose health and safety values
for masturbation
Is better than
total lose/lose patriarchal castration.
We may have found a
Once Upon Our EarthTime
in human eco/ego-political
Right/Left
Yin/Yang maturation
when our history of depression
becomes unveiled mutual suppression/repression
of healthy ecological
and safer theological impressions.
it has been a long time since i made you breakfast
we forgot to remember to remember what should never forget
it is quite pitiful it took me almost losing you to realize what has been lost
i even remembered the salsa for your cheesy scrambled eggs
i am just now noticing that have have become even more beautiful with age
the maturation of your appearance the the spiked cinnamon tea of my day
when i kiss you good morning, it turns into a powerful ****** on my tongue
sometimes life is a wonderful thing flipped and in reverse
i never anticipated us missing each other so
now i want a pina colada understanding finally what rupert holmes was putting down
the rain has perfect timing and so does the perfectly strategized warmth of your mouth
i can definitely finished making breakfast later
with what you are doing to me now, i will be your servant, your chauffeur, and your waiter
tomorrow we ascend in the much needed renovated, updated, and upgraded changes
the view is perfect, and Blessing of Loving You and Being Loved By You is Improvingly Assured
(“Before the Door”, 2023, original encaustic)
There is no transcendent ethos in mainstream West
The enlightenment in the West was
A mere mental liberation from superstition
With the dawning of science
And yet with this science has come
An age of both reason
And health and wealth,
Communication and transportation;
A physical bloom of hope and prosperity,
And yet an ever increasing spiritual void.
Transcendence flourished in the East
Because it had no science to assuage the suffering.
It’s as simple as that,
And that simple fact
Makes all the difference even today.
Hard times make tough men
And tough men then create softer times
Until inadvertently all that remain
Are the soft and weak.
And with their corruption
Hard times come again.
Again and again, the cycle turns
Which is why transcendence becomes a value.
But the West is young, adolescent and brash
Full of arrogance that good times
Are what we must deserve
Since we have them
Unwilling to see
That everything passes through our hands
Eventually.
And what comes next to such adolescence?
An unknown, filled with the risks of the unknown
Suicide or maturation and a life
Of family, birth, aging, sickness and death,
And transcendence
To those who look
And so do find.
It’s waiting there after all
Ever patient, ever kind.
(12/28/25)
You will never be perfect nor even
particularly good,
but you might just manage
good enough.
Hers was a complicated birth.
She was picked out
of a crowd of thirty newborns
sight unseen while lying in recovery –
her voice, felt.
Heeded during its infancy,
there would be awake-ness
a full minute before the cry,
fully cognizant and expectant of need.
Cared for, and still
witnessing her sleep for hours,
childish and solemn,
and never bored or feeling the need to flinch.
Relaxed now, but the daylight
hours are a different story –
no need to go into that here
(you’ll witness it soon enough)
but for now, consider me good enough.
Trusted
because, before you know it,
they’re all grown up,
and it seems I shall be, too.
Resigned.
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing.
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
You were ready.
Age is just a number, you said
grinning broadly like a
little girl repeating a loving fib.
You wanted a protector,
a guardian of devotion.
But I am not your Paul Bunyan,
the mighty timberman in your dreams.
In my twilight, I remember so many
mighty forests burning to cinder.
Frailty disintegrates the will.
Big-strong-protecting-men wilt with age.
They offer their pleading eyes,
longing to be cradled.
Maturity is mortality ticking.
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing,
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
chance encounters remind me time’s
a loop of intense moments continually
wrapped around energies of design
slowing only to allow recognition of
something to be seen by each
those times of possible action are
reactions to the speeding up of time
when we are in flow and allowing
all of eternity to attune to our
resonance, we enter Samadhi
movements of stillness resurrect
awareness of alignment for all
things are never what they seem
being one thing while being
another possibility is that all
time is a ball of twine wound
round and round and back upon
itself is awakening to the probable
self it began when eternity yawned
spreading herself everywhere
only glancing back to know self
when maturation seemed imminent.