Long Midlife Poems
Long Midlife Poems. Below are the most popular long Midlife by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Midlife poems by poem length and keyword.
Approaching winter...
OK, maybe encroaching mid-winter
of life's seasonal span
with resonantly compelling grace,
perhaps even transparent vulnerability,
feels controversial,
too laissez-faire
Too much courage
in declaring preliminary success
with too little curiosity
about what happens next
on planet Earth
Continuing to revolve all four seasons
dynamics
holistic lenses.
I recall the poet's admonition
to not go quietly
into this winterish
cold night.
Life's final reflective opportunity
does not invite quiet
so much as impassioned peace
of a windless snowfall
blanketing all I can see
and more faintly hear,
touch and awkwardly feel,
smell and bittersweetly taste
unsafe passage.
I recently moved from autumn habitat,
a creative tension between summer's midlife climax
and this new winter habit
above Connecticut's exquisite Salmon River.
This is a compromised writer's winter hermitage
shared with my son who cannot speak
but can roar,
who cannot walk by himself
but can scoot
and belly laugh at his own internal sensations
and my external sensational sounds.
And, following Daquan
from my fall habitat
to winter's eremetical search for peace,
however coldly displaced,
with social
and political
and spiritual
and natural distancing,
Behind Daquan
are daily in-home nurses
and his most avid companion,
my romantically distanced husband.
He comes bearing gifts
of clothes,
cleaning supplies,
far too much meaty food
for a proper hermitage
and not enough
for sufficient redemption
and for self-forgiveness.
He comes unaware of my ecofeminist wintering spirit,
longing for Earth's warm womb justice
restoring peace
resilient through all four seasons
of present
past
and future Earth lives.
My ecofeminist lineage
feels too white to him,
not a journey for him
and our two brown sons
and my brown and cerebral palsied daughter
and Daquan.
So, this writer's winter hermitage
remains newly compromised by past fall
and summer
and even spring
of extended multicultural family life.
May it always be so
or no,
I'm not sure which to pray for
or against
as I quietly write
into this warm and peaceful night,
just right,
not too dim or bright.
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what it means
As I sit in front of the worlds screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton balls
How to paint between the lines on a paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served up on the worlds menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More art work this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friends nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
Google left and Google right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can to Google that
MH
Just yesterday
the hours filled up with busyness and play
that hurry, scurry effort of getting things done
each and every moment of the day.
First comes spring upon the softest wind
then summer followed by autumn rushing in
and we wonder why the seasons run
as winter sets the time to begin.
The years of our youth
strained at every unwritten or unspoken truth
and in the tempest toss of our early years
we look ahead for proofs beyond the laughter and tears.
How quickly time erases yesterday
and everything we experienced in our midlife haze
while on the shelf today never stays
and tomorrow seems so far away.
We linger in our moments
those indescribable feelings and emotional torrents
waiting on the dreams and hopes of tomorrow
to find ourselves above the joys and sorrows.
Tomorrow Contest of Edward Ibeh
11/21/2018
As youth flows out with middle age,
I find it hard to turn the page.
Life deals the cards and calls our name.
We ante up, or leave the game.
Working, saving, spending, craving
If success is measured by the things we own
By glorious deeds so widely known,
Then I must fold; in shame confess,
“I've lost this hand, I've failed the test.”
Labor, scheming, planning, dreaming
The dreams of youth are so elusive,
Love and fortune, so exclusive,
Time has placed them beyond my grasp,
The lock of age is on the hasp.
Experience, yearning, study, learning
Notions in granite, supplanted anew,
Ideals, so innocent and true
That filled my adolescent thoughts,
Replaced with truth; by patience wrought.
Knowledge, growing, wisdom showing
Life is not over! Not soiled with rust!
The dawn is now! A light to trust.
My coffers fill to overflowing.
My treasures humble, still are growing.
Riches tallied, courage rallied
A home and family; sacred ground,
With spouse and children gathered 'round,
A stronghold, safe from worldly trouble.
My life's net worth has been redoubled.
Life is a whirlpool
It drives you to the bottom no matter how hard your try to get away.
Life is a thunderstorm
It weighs you down and strikes down the proud.
Life is a blizzard
It is freezing cold and eventually buries you.
Life is a desert
It burns and offers little relief.
Life is quicksand
It traps you and leaves you no escape.
Who can truly give me refuge and comfort?
When will God be merciful and give me a turning point?
Have I been pierce enough?
Have not my tears flooded enough oceans?
Why must I live when each day pierces me?
Why must all I have sown be left to the crows?
When, O Lord, when will I enjoy a harvest?
When will I be satisfied with a full cup and overflowing chalice?
As a ...
child I was carefree
played in the mud
football my hero
goals from the foot
teenager I had worries
imagined and real
twisted illusions
hands on the trigger
young man I searched
for a pearl in the shell
submerged in an oyster
cracked abalone dreams
midlife contender I built castles
fortresses and embrasures
aimed for dubious targets
carried quivers and arrows
midlife defender I proceeded
octopus in smudged mind
jellyfish in a broken soul
starfish bereft of shine
comet in waiting I flickered
pondered the milky way
approached reflections
condensed my approach
fading asteroid I wandered
questions unanswered
responses transcended
beginnings of ends
The path took me ...
to a compass with no needle
the chart lost on the way
with a pocketful of marbles
and a hole in my trousers
away into an underworld
a cess pool of promises
an anchor rising above
shredded sails on the mast
to a point of surrender
white flag crusted in salt
the earth as a rainbow
horizon in waves
a tool kit of memories
scraped knees once again
scabby wounds healing
shedding my score sheet
The aging child ...
needs no referee
no penalty zone
no final whistle
no chalk in the dirt
thrives in the mud
balls up or not
shelters a mussel
opens the drawbridge
back to the square root
equating adventures
the circle half finished
I pump up the ball
I moved a few goal posts
changed my position of play
removed strings from my boots
walk the pitch back to the roots
Childish or a bit wiser but carefree at last ...
16th May 2020
The Decade of Anchored Light: Living Rooted, Radiant, and Unapologetic
Dear 40s,
Now, I am 49 — about to leave you.
In my forties,
I stopped performing strength.
I began practicing peace.
No need to prove anything,
anymore.
They call it midlife crisis.
But you know what I think?
It’s choosing what finally fits —
even if it means letting go of everything that doesn’t.
I stopped arguing with clocks.
I stopped racing silence like it was a finish line.
I learned that rest isn’t laziness.
That letting go isn’t failure.
It is ok to rest
and even say “NO.”
I stopped rushing toward destinations that
drained me.
I stopped dancing for rooms that never clapped.
At forty-five,
I kept my joy private.
I stopped explaining my ‘softness.’
I started honoring it.
No need to explain.
Accept me or not . . .
I no longer needed applause to feel worthy.
I no longer feared solitude.
I became anchored . . .
not in certainty,
but in intention.
And the light I carry now?
It doesn’t flicker for attention.
It glows for legacy.
Financial independence didn’t arrive with fanfare;
it arrived with quiet choices,
with knowing I could walk away
and still be whole.
Job security wasn’t a title;
it was trust in my own consistency.
The kind built over years,
not moments.
Proficiency wasn’t perfection.
It was fluency in what matters.
It was knowing the rhythm of my own excellence.
And acceptance?
That was the hardest.
To look at my achievements
and not downplay them.
To say,
“Yes, I did that.”
Without shrinking.
Without apology.
In my forties,
I stopped auditioning for belonging.
I started living like I already belonged.
And that . . .
that was the beginning of peace.
(Published - Medium, The Healing Convergence Publication)
Damn these feelings of stress, interlacing impulsive dreams of disgrace
Can it all be over soon? Maybe, the hopes drowned in the mere dust of time
Oh, long lost lamb, I am so in need of your easing, pleasing grace
I will never let you down, even if I frown my usual frown in my youthful prime
Sulking in gluttonous grief
I need your tearless relief
Don’t mind my insanity mess…
I need your fearless happiness
Scar struck again by my mildish, childish fears
Tear away the tears from my innocent eyes
Are you ready to free-fall throughout the years?
Tears collide anyways and you utter your lies
Your beautifully carved lies
Your crooked, nestled lullabies…
You’re also scar struck by fear
I knew you’d come home since you were in a midlife crisis since yesterday, my dear
Sulking in gluttonous grief
I need your tearless relief
Don’t mind my insanity mess…
I need your fearless happiness
Scar struck again by my mildish, childish fears
Tear away the tears from my innocent eyes
Are you ready to free-fall throughout the years?
Tears collide anyways and you utter your lies
Cry me a lake, cry me a river, cry me an ocean, cry me a sea
Life’s what you make of it, my lone lover of mine of such squalid misery
I know you’re in pain, but you don’t have to always bring me down
Because I want to lift from the lows and ascend from this forlorn town
Scar struck again by my mildish, childish fears
Tear away the tears from my innocent eyes
Are you ready to free-fall throughout the years?
Tears collide anyways and you utter your lies
Scar struck again by my mildish, childish fears
Tear away the tears from my innocent eyes
Are you ready to free-fall throughout the years?
Tears collide anyways and you utter your lies
Sulking in gluttonous grief
I need your tearless relief
Even if this is a temporarily life to live before I die,
Frankly and lately, I don’t give…not going to lie
DREAMING OF CHRISTMAS
characters on chairs,
ring-a-round-the-rosies.*
in-tro-du-cing…
mr. claus, mr. frosty, o. deer, and self e. elf
silently a counselor ticks notes with a pad and pen,
occasionally, taking a one minute christmas snooze.
dully, he asks, “so what are you boys in for?”
midlife crisis santa goes first, “the kids used to believe,
send me letters. now they send emails.”
then he yells, “old man claus doesn’t understand computers!
woe is me! i’ve been replaced by amazon,” he drolls on.
mr. frosty, on the other hand, thinks himself a cool dude,
but worries all the time. he dreams he’s drowning on a summer’s day.
o. deer, chimes in with a harness shake, “nobody likes me.”
he squeaks timidly, as he takes pictures with his new red nose.
i’m trapped in a dead end job, rasps the elf. claus squints
his eyes and self shuts up.
“well, back to work boys," says santa! because you better believe me
when i say, i won’t foot another bill!”
“aww santa, you do this every year.”
the counselor wakes up to a room without decoration or a tree.
he rubs his eyes, “funny, i had that same dream last year!”
12/18/2016
*children’s song
Empty hearted destiny's.
Boats on dried up sea's.
Birds flying from here to there.
Just to find more air.
Stuck in the sand of gratitude.
Dying for a change of latitude.
Holy water still runs pure.
Everything else, contaminated by fear.
Selling off yesterdays gains.
Catch up with todays pains.
Bend the truth, not to lie.
Everyone says you've gotta try.
Build a bridge, watch it burn.
Wondering if we'll ever learn.
Midlife crisis, not meant to last.
Just borrowed trouble from the past.
Diamond rings, a heart that sings.
A promise of happiness brings.
Times, your almost out of rope.
All that's left is hope.