Senescent Poems

Pair o' D's

    "The moon’s crescent is prescient"
         sigh I to my love
     "presaging this lovely night's evanescence" 
          
     "Your eloquence is senescent"
         she parodies

Where did she go?

Where did she go, that girl in the photograph?
Suspended in time, preserved like a fly
petrified in amber, and petrified by life.

Where is she now, that girl with furrowed brow?
Beautiful yet fighting for survival. Youthful
but prematurely aged by her woes, no highs

just lows and a catalogue of disappointments 
to carry in the portmanteau of her existence.
Not a flicker of happiness as I look deep into the frame. 

I avert my eyes and look  into the mirror, and 
there she is staring back at me. Older now
but recognisable; softened by the years somehow.

Yes, older now, and perhaps a little wiser.
Her beauty has matured like a vintage wine
and there’s no sign of the girlish angst that

once wrinkled her temple, or caused her to
hide behind a mask of false confidence which 
covered the insecurity and fear that she felt.

Now she is strong, a few wrinkles of experience,
a little stiff and aching from the marathon of life,
but graceful and elegant in her later years,

and happy, yes truly happy now. The reflection 
replaces the senescent photograph in my mind, 
and reminds me that I’m safe and home at last. 

All Seasons Come to an End

Winter's breath makes the willow weep with grief
for leaving her branches bare as frigid winds blow.
She cries for her leaves demise. Life was far too brief.

It's the season when sunlight casts a deep amber glow.
Ochre leaves have fallen to the ground without a sound,
landing in rivers and streams where icy waters flow.

Withered brown, they floated in swift currents til drowned.
I pitied them as Spring through Fall elapsed too fast.
The evolution of seasonal changes is quite profound.

I too, am senescent. Years of life have I amassed,
but do not etch my epitaph on death's granite stone.
I cling to life, and my demise has not yet been forecast.

When my season finally ends, I will not moan or groan.
Winter's frosted breath will not sever me from my limb
until there's been a ripe harvest of the seeds I've sown.

When my ears fail to hear, and my vision fades to dim.
I will give thanks that my life's cup was filled to the brim.

Ode To a Fallen Leaf

Image by: Kimberlee Baxter
The nonpareil of a a violin plays late into a golden era
its "An Autumnal Farewell, by Debussy"

With magnificent beauty in dazzling colors of dying
she spindles and pivots in outer space flaring her
senescent brittle frills into thin air *
Unmasking after a long summer dream she drops from a tree
prepared for the deep mulch, free falling
she is beckoned to the ground  without making a sound
Transcending a seasonal time she lives within my memory
this little leaf that clung to my childhood sapling;

Oh I remember many many things, but what I recall the most
is the way she trembled, just before the big fall.

Written by: Mystic Rose

The Best Name For a Hotel

Does Hotel’s Name, have to be Crescent’?
If it were ‘Demon’ to still look descent:
Retain her glass windows translucent;
As ‘Crescent’ keep faults of high percent,
To remain so Staff once senescent!

Should A Hotel bear ‘Phosphorescent,’
Poor Services eighty-five percent,
Customers battling with her rude scent,
Vowing to not tip Waiters A Cent

Any reason for one to bear ‘Ascent,’
No Hotel from Peak of Mountain sent
Or, for that matter, incandescent
While she could not Darkness stand against?

Ask me The Best Name for A Hotel:
One which does not Stupid Stories’ tell!

Autumn's Breath Brings Grief

Autumn's breath makes the willow weep with grief,
for her leaves dangle as brisk winds begin to blow.
She cries for their demise, whose lives were too brief.

Fall is the season when sunlight casts an amber glow.
Ochre leaves fall sorrowfully from trees without a sound,
landing aground and in streams where cool waters flow.

Crimson and russet, some have withered and browned.
For them, Spring and Summer have elapsed far too fast.
The evolution of seasonal changes is quite profound.

I too, am senescent. Many years of life I've amassed,
but do not carve my epitaph upon a granite stone.
I still cling to life, and my demise has not been forecast.

When my season finally ends, I will not moan or groan.
Autumn's chill breath will not sever me from my limb
until there's been a harvest of all the seeds I've sown.

Even when my eyes fail and my vision grows dim,
I'll give thanks that my life's cup was filled to the brim.



July 14, 2022
Five Stanza Terza Rima Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins

Unrequited

Each gesture lent
to conceal consent
  if reveal intent

Look-back's lament
undetected signs went
swift fireflies senescent

Now Is the Winter of Our Discontent

Now is the winter of our discontent,
For our sins, we shall repent.
Not a soul can escape this torment,
Slowly turning us all senescent.

The cold wind in the east thus blows,
Falling are the petals of that frosty rose.
Our hearts have come to froze,
As we try to cast our minds to our woes.

Harm is the reminiscence of summer,
When we doth celebrate midsommar. 
Oh the sun! What has now become of her,
Hiding in shadows, no radiance from her.

The hail hath come to end one and all,
The white rain on the earth doth fall.
How does one remove this hovering pall?
When the limited will cause them to brawl.

Sinking below this sheet of white,
Numbing our body, this frostbite.
Will we ever again see a twilight,
Or will this just be an endless night?

Decay of Friendship

Lone regale of corpse plant rot.
Leaden legs on streets of dust.
Crevices of six feet ill.
Long nails hanker the earth’s crust.

Gray roses laid on tombstone.
Senescent-fade of best buds.
Repast to pay its tribute.
Petrichor release of studs.

In morrow brittle thorns stink.
Unmanicured foes dig deep.
Writhe of vermin circle box.
Quondam insomniac sleeps.

9/22/2020
Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France

Cinder Man

To ignite a life
within an empty fireplace
where the glow of the flame
reigns supreme,
reminds me
of a life time,
born and death
so, it seems.

For when the flame dies
and to rake through the ashes
sends a shiver down one’s
senescent spine,
knowing that one
similar day,
those embers
akin to mine.

© Harry J Horsman 2018

Plastic Surgery - Inspired By Susan Ashley

PLASTIC SURGERY
~~~~~
The now senescent sands, lost beauty, 
suffering plastic surgery two tides a day. 
Back when, the tides revealed its beauty.
Man, so remiss, it hasn't stayed that way.

Metaphorically speaking, as sand can't age
Biologically speaking, but its density,
It increases, and quickly when storms rage
From rock to mud, ongoing, relentlessly.
~~~~~~~~~~~

Re Susan's poem 'Chalice of Ambrosial Dreams', WHAT! were you thinking?

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/chalice_of_ambrosial_dreams_991815

Chalice of Ambrosial Dreams

Bespangled 
she sashays up the shore 
from a sequin gowned sea
wearing the undulating waves
of aquamarine and ambrosial sheen
adorned with shimmering and shivering seeds of excitement 

A thousand beaded fingertips
trace her coral curves
whispering sweet nothings
in the luscious language of brine and blue
drizzling down 
her sea-salted soul-case
teasing and tempting
her cooled honeyed patina
to passionately impearled pertness 

Enraptured as he is
enticed by her dreamscape 
the yearning senescent sands sigh~
longing for relics of rose-water regrets.


Susan Ashley
February 8, 2017


~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: #400
Sponsor: Brian Strand

Ode To a Pillow

Ode to a pillow

Oh pillow ! Your dexterity astounds me
You bolster the head of the destitute and the deep-pocketed
The hangman and the internee
The blooming and the senescent
The caretaker and the tsar
The analphabetic and the scholar
Yet none could serene sleep savor
Except those with a clear conscience ardor.
           Abdelwaheb Dhaou.

Love Justice

"For I, the LORD, love justice. I hate robbery and wrongdoing. I will faithfully reward my people for their suffering and make an everlasting covenant with them(Isaiah 61:8)


                                                A life house in ruins
                                          A broken down city shrieks
                                    From womb to womb bleeds the son
                                                 Believers are born
                                          God's wish fills the bluest air
                                             Under the senescent sun




                                        Love Justice - Poetry Contest
                                            Sponsor	Justin Bordner
                                                15 January, 2015

I'D Forgotten To Count

I'll make a way and seize the day
if only my heart would learn,
the morning dawns a canvas drawn
the hope for all we yearn.
Awake and shine
a sprightly twinkle 
lingering round aging eyes
as seeds of joy furrowed in wrinkles
release the sorrows of sleepless night.
Back casts the image
A journey hardrock washed
a life bent senescent
of years best not forgot.
Weary legs lead the way
to pretty wild flowers scattering 
Carpe Diem, let wisdom say
for that which youth is scavenging.
Smells and sights and sounds so ravishing
amble the aged called glory bound
prudence discovered mysteries foreshadowing
a time for the blessings I'd forgotten to count.

• Short Senescent Poems
• Famous Senescent Poems
• Best Senescent Poems
• Read Senescent Poems
• Long Senescent Poems
• Senescent Quotes