Long Middle age Poems
Long Middle age Poems. Below are the most popular long Middle age by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Middle age poems by poem length and keyword.
I Can't protect you from the course of life
But you know me
And you know I was born to try
It’s just the symptom of the middle age of time
Forever holding our hands up to the fire
Every hand that you hold
It comes back no one knows
Every word every lie
It comes back anytime
You can run
Because you were right
No more fears
No more trials
The frozen air
The screaming feet
Confusing you for letting me eat
I was walking through the forest of my mind
Never knowing where the path would unwind
Your smile surrounds me
when I close my weary eyes
The hardest whisper to hear
Is from the man inside...
Form:
Things are not always what they seem to be
When you are walking on the path of your dreams
when the sun is blazing the earth beneath your feet
and your heart is melting in the street
You keep going when your heart is beating
and the only thing that you can do
is to cling to is the cross next to you.
You press on the avenue of time
And you look as far as you can where destiny will land
but the days are passing and the hours are languishing
and the people are moving up and down the street
without a sense of purpose but possess the will to complete
The sun has drained the energy out of them and courage
Has lost its best friend,
there are no more tears in the eyes to weep
for no one is parading the street
but on the other side of town the remnant
of the beast can be found.
You look for the things that cannot be found
For it is buried deep down in the ground
You have searched for it for many decades
but everywhere you look is hollow and dry
but sooner or later the sky will cry.
The clouds are getting dark and the crucifix
is hanging next to the cross,
come with me to the center of the sea
and let me show you what is happening to thee.
Beat the drums for me, for we are going across
The turbulent sea to make the universe happy
set up a stage to accommodate the middle age
Extend the stage and invite the people of all age
to join the parade
my heart is beating and my spirit is reeling
you have made so much sacrifice to be here
and you have taken away all my fear
the rhythm of life is moving
and my heart is beating
give me one moment to speak
and my heart will be free.
I …
have courted luck in countless ways
against ragged judgments and self-umbrage
I still draw breaths, counted
and the mirror has been charitable
most I meet deem me forty
(I’m not about to correct them)
my visage betrays scant little of the
darkness and damage within
oh, it will one day chase me down -
no doubt soon enough
but I feign my teens in bearing also
that, a lack of maturity
hence I make no false assumptions of
grandeur or wisdom
my child's heart thrives and bounds
(a lad seeking truths yet proven)
it yearns, still, for a soft meadow's callow passions
and the blossomed beams of a
summer moon, daubing sweet skin …
I hold no kinship to middle-age or frosted brows
'tis a young man's mad marrow that
moves my flesh
the ambitious vigor of a
yearning heart that thrums my chest
there is nothing of my age but the years themselves
and the altered perspective of being
nearer dusk than dawn …
my eyes look abaft now more than onward,
I must concede that -
all the myriad priorities of gain and
dream and want have dissolved into the one
meaningful prerogative of life itself -
the only TRUE worthwhile endeavor that
should be the foundation
the solid base that we learn and treasure and
build upon from childhood,
the ONLY thing that I've come, thru all these years
through all these countless lessons and
struggles, to care about ...
that is, quite simply and purely and
unmistakably …
love.
Couples coming into prime
exhibit an exact prognosis;
passions working overtime
while seeking love in heavy doses.
Never being quite enough
to satisfy their youthful yearning;
time spent lying in the buff
so sensitive to needs discerning.
Couples in their middle age
display a diff’rent kind of story;
passions lack that same old rage
as they once did when in their glory.
Obligations, no time free,
and children clinging to the tether;
“scheduled moments” seem to be
the only way to come together.
Empty nesters think at last
that time again is their possession;
love will be as in the past
when passions flowed without discretion.
Yet they’re finding other ways
to fill the moments of their leisure
browsing Facebook in a daze
without a thought of passion’s pleasure.
Couples in their golden years
just holding hands and reminiscing
‘bout old times, as sunset nears,
recalling flames that now are missing.
Passions that were once the scorch
when ‘tween the sheets were interlocking;
wooden chairs out on the porch
the only things that now are rocking.
May 8, 2021
By middle-age he became unseen
as he slipped by unnoticed
through a changing world.
When down town,
he walked unremarked among
the throng
though he clearly heard
fanfares, and the regal cry of celestial eagles
announcing his presence everywhere.
Head up he strode past hurrying shoppers,
all intent on ignoring
the supranatural evidence
of his transition into non-appearance.
He maintained an air of calm dignity
as the cahier oblivious
to the grandeur before her
or of his omniscient comportment,
bagged a bottle of cheap vodka,
and a family pack of salt and vinegar chips.
Shortly thereafter, he ambled home
whistling a high-pitched prayer of gratitude
for his exalted position and unviewable radiance,
still traveling incognito to his kingdom
on the third floor of nowhere.
Picturesque beauty - the sunrise, sunset
The rays - that hue - those shades of bronze
Beauteous - that yellowish tint or the rainbow
Way up high - after the rain! imagine that
Imagery of waterfalls - the beaches in the sands
Or the sparkles of the first fallen sparkling snow
Beauty walking the paths through the gardens of life
Sitting at docks or tossing rocks skipping in the pond
Picture the house well painted and well maintained
Imagine yourself, imagine that - no love by any chance
A drunk - lying in the ditch or on the treasured ground
The photo in your scrapbook to think about you're around
Imagine that midlfe - middle age crisis - look at you!
Imagine that! your companships - the bottles
Imagine your health - self love , self pride OH!
Feeling sorry for your own self, love your friends worldwide
We love you! Imagine that enough to tell you to detoxify
Imagine that earn a madallion - and clean up
Picturesque- the opportunity of the life you could live
Fancy that with each sunrise, wow! waking up
Look at you! You do drinketh from that cup
Beauteous be, beautiful day, carry a madallion today?
Wonder why?
A catholic priest from the Scottish highlands,
Scotus treaded a nonconformist philosophic path,
deviating from the high middle age mainstream,
for his doctrines of realistic beliefs he was maligned.
Digressing from the prevalent dualist tenet of his times,
he denied the distinction between essence and existence,
the abstract concept of living in monism perception
led him to propose the notion of univocity of being.
He countered the contention of divine illumination,
ensuring derivation of precise and pure knowledge,
in situations where the thinking process was fallible,
like the rejection of immaculate conception of Mary.
Proponent of metaphysical introspect contemplation,
for him theology was the practical science of God,
deciding the ultimate union of the liberated soul
with the divine trinity through love in the eternity.
________________
March 25, 2022
Contest : John Duns Scotus
Sponsored by : Joe Maverick
ONCE IN A LIFETIME
They're once in a lifetime
These moments of joy
The first time you rattle
That colourful new toy
Your first day at school
With the rest of the kids
Your hair all slicked down
Bad smells mom got rid
The ultimate joy
Of your first tender kiss
The shock when she tells you
Her period she missed
A puff from a cigarette
Makes you dizzy and ill
The beer in the closet
I remember it still
The joy of first child
The smell of their skin
The softness of touch
Their sweet tiny grin
Your first big promotion
The raise that you get
The first time you notice
A grey hair NO NOT YET!
Middle age quickly follows
With a sickening thud
It's all over now
Your life is pure crud
The sixties are next
And retirement awaits
Where did it go
You're in a hell of a state
Then someone says wryly
You've had a good life
'Whatcha crabbing about?'
But it still cuts like a knife
These tender sweet moments
You experience through time
You'll remember them fondly
And treasure the climb
Hold on to them tightly
They won't come again
They're once in a lifetime
They're treasures my friend
I believe in ghosts
I used to not believe
in ghosts or spirits
or supernatural phenomenon
at least
i used to be
quite skeptical
but I have had
some weird encounters
over the years
so now perhaps
I do believe
that ghosts might be real
I have had supernatural
experiences
things that defy my understanding
back in 1992
My Korean Uncle-in-law died
and the family hired a shaman
did a traditional shaman ritual
the shaman came out
a middle age woman
she started speaking
in my uncle’s voice
and she nailed it
she channeled his spirit
and his abrasive personality
even looked like him
freaked me and my wife out
had to leave the scene
just too freaky real
and ever since then
I have become a believer
in ghosts and spirits
they are all around us
some of us can sense them
many of us are blind to them
but I now believe in Ghosts
but I wonder if ghosts
believe in me?
writers digest spirit poem based on a true story
By middle age he became unseen and hatless;
would not look at the back of his head
as he slipped by unnoticed
through a changing world.
It was some recompense
that his Idea of ‘self’ had expanded;
a self so spiritually inflated
it now inhabited the sky
as if the sky were a pond and it a whale.
When down town,
he walked unseen by the throng,
while he, clearly heard
fanfares and the regal cry of celestial eagles
announcing his presence everywhere.
Head up he strode, past hurrying shoppers,
all intent on ignoring
the supranatural evidence
of his transition to enlightenment.
Even dogs were tugged away
as they dared sniff at him
and that majestic blimp
of his greater being
as it floated high above
clearly for all to see.
He maintained an air of calm dignity
while his greater self
filled all the available space in the small store.
The cahier, seeing nothing
of the grandeur before her
or of his almost palpable spirituality
bagged a bottle of cheap vodka,
and a large packet of salt and vinegar chips.
Shortly thereafter, he rode the bus home
still travelling incognito to his kingdom
on the third floor of nowhere.