Long Wrinkles Poems
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Washing his memories he hangs each to dry
He folds them promptly so they gather no wrinkles
Takes pride in his work and packs each thought with care
And when needed they eagerly come out of the attic
Doesn't bother with lingering smells on each garment
He tries each on with fondness and caresses
He wears the sweater of his youth which recalls
His first kiss was in that sweater and he feels her lips
Fine lips
Fine as frog hair and the sweater
He looks at the football jersey and the run
The run made the jersey famous
What good is a famous run, a jersey, a first kiss
They can't be bought anew
They can't be fixed if broken
They can only dream in my attic
Two hundred ninety-six seasons have passed
since I first appeared on the earthly scene,
and with luck this season won’t be my last,
and thus with aging I won’t contravene.
The fact that my hair has turned grey and thin,
and aches and pains are the battles I wage,
like roadmaps these wrinkles now line my skin,
I now must admit, to myself, my age.
But aging is like a mountain we climb,
alternatives to growing old are few,
and not one that I wish for at this time.
So now this birthday thought I offer you…
the passing year is not something to shun,
it’s just another trip around the sun.
December 13, 2021
My thoughts reflecting on my birthday last week.
My son told me it was just another trip around the sun.
Thanks for giving me this line, Ron.
Looking in the mirror
there was my grandmother's face,
several of my paternal aunts,
but not me.
Perhaps I have forgotten what I look like.
Perhaps I have forgotten who I am.
That face looking back at me
is far older than I remember
with wrinkles and edges in a frowning furl
imbedded deep in the forehead, cheeks and jowl.
The years are not always kind.
The mind is full of memories.
The mirror tells no one lies
and offers no deception
what you see
is what you get.
The family resemblance is unmistakeable
There's my grandmother looking back at me.
She nods her head approvingly
as recognition appears,
she smiles widely and speaks
It's okay.
It's still you
and you in me
and me in you.
She paused after looking in the mirror, asking,
“When did I get so old?”
He smiled.
“Every day you’re more alluring, more beautiful.” He consoled.
“No, look at all these wrinkles.” she said
“I’m not that same girl you first met.”
He smiled.
“I shall always be your Romeo…and you…my Juliet.”
“But I was much prettier when I was younger!”
Her voice was strained…distraught.
He smiled,
“You shall always be my Guinevere…and I...your Lancelot.”
“You will always be a work of art and I a connoisseur.”
He smiled and touched her cheek.
“For age may mute the beauty of a painting but that beauty still endures.”
“That is the beauty of love”, he said…
“for when love is in your eyes…”
He smiled
“You will always see the beauty…
age endeavors to disguise.”
I looked in the mirror and I saw my age
I saw all the wrinkles and worry standing with no grace
My youth is gone,I am no longer a teen
I am in my golden years
My eyes show the pain in its depth
I can't believe I am growing old
The girl I was is no longer here, she’s gone
I see my reflection of this old wrinkled lady, if only the hands of time could roll back now ...all I want to be is 20
I wish I was still in my teenage years when I use to get admiring eyes now all I get is “maam do you need some help”…the cycle of life…I am a wrinkled old lady
I have no rhythm in my steps, only have pain and regrets
My breast was a mountain of delight now it's just a delight I guess ...I am ageing graceless...I want my youth back ...I want back that young girl with the flow in her steps…I want to be 20 again
Standing at the bow of the rugged ship,
Blistering tears cue up in the wrinkles
Of faces worn weary with anguish;
Uncertainty becoming a bleeding wound.
The raging storm swells with tormenting waves
Splashing on the shores of human dignity and honor;
Leaving the despotism of doubt and fettering fear
Frothing in the humidity of the politico-sands of time.
Yet, despite the toil and fatigue of the hour,
Hope remains on the horizon--rising with the sun;
And the searchlight of truth will dissipate the cloud of deceit
With its enlightening rays emancipating lost, stiff-necked souls
Seeking stillness of peace in the coming raging winds of change.
When they grow up
My lonely house lays spic and span now
no messed up clothes in cupboard bow,
All things lie still, where they belonged,
Untouched, unmoved, staring at me ...
Knock at the door as I run to see,
no image moves with waves of wild sea,
Midnight whispers, wakes the noisy breeze,
an empty chair watches those movies ...
Morning mirror counts wrinkles on my face,
years after years of counting days,
Smiles blossom as memories unwind,
to my cute little son's elegance redefined ...
To cherish those days I was occupied,
till sleep's embrace we could not sigh,
Those differences of opinion and fights,
trivial issues when got intensified ...
Who could imagine the time swiftly flied,
spin of fortune with every circle spied,
Bygone are exhaustion and agility of past,
tears of solitude engulf to tender soul's aghast ...
Written July 25th, 2016
By Dr. Upma A. Sharma
The face of time is full of wrinkles,
Deep lines etched by life's experiences,
The years of joy, pain and struggles,
A map of stories, trials and victories.
Its eyes hold the memories of moments,
Days gone by in its endless gaze,
Of love found and lost, of laughter and tears,
Of choices made and paths taken.
The lips hold the secrets of tomorrow,
Whispers of hope and possibility,
For time moves forward, never stopping,
A constant reminder of mortality.
The face of time may hold the weight of age,
But in its depths, a beauty lies,
For it embodies the journey of life,
The ultimate expression of human enterprise.
So let us embrace the face of time,
And all the wisdom it has to give,
For it is a mirror of our existence,
A reminder of how we truly live.
Time colors the dawn
In hues of the morning sun
Buttery soft silence like the light
That kisses gentle with its touch
Time breathes a sweet melody
Songs alive in echoes of faith
Whispering music through me
Enlightening my heart with joy
Time reflects a tender kindness
Laughing hope into my thoughts
Caressing my passion with intimacy
Praying psalms through my longings
Time enjoys teaching me to be
Aware, alive, assured – amazed
By the breeze that moves the trees
With a soundless tranquility
Time decides the dreams I dream
The desires of my heart’s quest
Where I go and how I know that
Love will always survive it’s tests
Time desires to heal my feelings
From pain, sadness and grieving
Falling across heaven’s mystery
With joy, hope and freedom
Time seeks to make promises to me
Vows of sincere acceptance
Happy, carefree ideas and inspirations
Breaking away all the dark fears
Time holds my spirit in a tender embrace
Soothing as the dewdrops and rain
Pausing to relieve sorrow and tears
Birthing a brilliant feeling of grace
Time wrinkles the skin but smooths the soul
To know more about love, God and His Son
Sparkling like stars in the blackest skies
Soaring through the heart like a fire inside
Time is wise, filled with insight into the heart
Leaving only a brilliant awakening to reveal
All the faith that comes from giving praise
To the One who answers prayers which fulfill
Time lends its wisdom, weaving through wit
To pepper the hopes with a breathless faith
Lending life to the one who felt themselves fading
Murmuring light into the soul living in shadows
Time is a gift from the heavenly creator
Who knows that our hearts need to be fed
On spiritual food – nourishment from heaven
Blessing the one who listens to His prudence
Ecclesiastes 3:1 "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Read the entire chapter for more from God's breath on time
Time Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
May 24, 2021
The mirror asks me a question:
“Who are you?”
I reply,
“I am me.”
The mirror simply repeats my words.
I smile and say,
“Are you playing with me?”
Having quietly watched me through the four seasons,
It looks at me steadily,
As if it had been waiting to show me
My deepening wrinkles and thinning hair.
The mirror lets out a deep sigh:
“You have grown so old.”
And then it adds,
“Thanks to you, I have aged along with you.”
The mirror that spent rainbow-like four seasons with me—
Yet the mirror never tells the truth;
It merely reflects me back.
Now, the mirror speaks to me in reverse:
My left hand becomes my right hand,
And the me inside the mirror watches my front from behind.
Within that reversal, I test myself:
To find the true me,
What is it that I must turn upside down?
The mirror quietly replies:
“Makeup.”
“Your other face.”