Short Greying Poems

Child with greying hair
Tender skin but bloodshot eyes
Enduring pressure...

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The clouds are greying
Filled with rain and thunder storms
I remain indoors....

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greying fall skies loom
summer's blissfulness is gone
shadowed clouds return...

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Ashes greying seafoam green.
She weeps.


02/22/2016
Contest: SIX WORDS
Sponsor: John Lawless...

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bulging
burgeoning
bulbous grin

widening
a widened chair
to sit him in

liking 
lotions
rubbed on chin

and greying
gruelling
sunburn skin



...

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bottle of wine shattered 
bay of my lips at the
earth shakes like an
epileptic i am turn-
ing red
closed eyes medi-
tation rain bows
on the retina
greying slee-
p ripples die...

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she came in like the wind
a brush of freedom
blowing across 
my, too soon, greying hair

I stood still 
taking in each breath
she gave
not willing/wanting
to exhale...

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wrinkled hands and greying hair
time ages us all
wisdom lies deep within
awaiting requests for advice
	
the beauty we once held
fleeting as it was
was lived, then disappeared
through the seasons of time...

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Once glistening strands of shiny gold
Curling in connection 
Seamless waves of silky smooth
Now lines of white infected
Bristled dry madness 
Strings snapping at their centers
Oil applied to try to try!
And slow down this infection...

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On dark lonely nights
I think of none else
Misery creeps in
Greying everything
And I reminisce

My heart remains
In those warm days
Of my memory
When love was near

Now no more
Love has gone
I'm alone

I know
I miss

You...

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his weight as i tried to lift him
from his last bed
beating at icicle chest
no movement from
his greying face
sitting crying
while mother screamed
wipe the snot
looking in his dimmed eye
and knowing he was gone
i would carry him
but once more...

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Paul Callus and I have finally met
It’s a day I’ll never forget
Paul is so charming and he’s got greying hair….
I’ll say no more of our meeting… I’ll leave it there
What happens in Malta stays in Malta!

Jan Allison
2nd November 2014...

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As i languish in your lunar lick
moonbows hovering in petrol scented skims
coping with copious crescent chapters
Fooling its full face with greying mists that etch like moving scars and wrinkles
Sat in your light, keep me watching while slowly stealing seconds...

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Mum asked me to make a call
I spoke to a man his name was Paul
Oh what a voice – I am in lust
Sounded as deep and rich as melted chocolate
With a lilt like Sean Connery – pwoooorrraaahhhhhhhh
But did I ask him - no I didn’t dare
Was he the man of my dreams and have greying hair

Jan Allison
5th July 2014...

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I had a lover once, just one,
espied through misted panes
from my corner loft, 
above the grocery store.
His lanky gait would pause 
for the Southbound No.3.
and though I wished, 
with all my heart,
he’d lift his head from down,
the passing years have 
have brought no more
than a greying shade of brown....

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The jagged edge of time
So unkind, cant rewind
The cruel pendulem swings
With every heartbeat
Brittle bones and wrinkled skin
Remind the mirror, time grows thin
The greying beard merges 
With hourglass sands
One more hasty sunrise ,open eyes
Lights the way for my demise
I humbly bow my head
God finally takes my hand...

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I often lie back and have a dream
Of a wonderful man I’ve never seen
Tall and handsome with greying hair
He’s in my thoughts does he know I’m there
We could share so much together
In my dreams it could last forever
But then I wake and reality hits
Sometimes dreams just are the pits!

Jan Allison
17th June 2014...

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I have a huge confession guys – here’s what I have to say
I have a real thing about a man who is just turning grey
Just find the look of the greying locks to be so distinguished 
So don’t reach for the ‘Just for Men’ or my passion will be extinguished 


2nd April 2014
~Submitted to Black Eyed Susan's' 5 lines or less contest~...

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I am
I look into my soul
through my eyes
I am beautiful

I can't see
from your eyes
I may be ugly

I look in two
my reflection
brown eyes
crooked smile
hair thinning
greying

all that 
I am and was
is beautiful
because...it was me

in the darkness
dimming light 
I was there somewhere
holding on for
life...

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This thinning pen lays
on a shed of damp grasses,
where there are no flowers
to daringly explore---
A gasping star wanes
into the ash of light;
emptiness becomes its only environ
neutral as the dunked rays 
greying the skyline.
Dreary as a poet's last whimper,
unfinished phrases gather to rest
anticipating the wake of morn's petals....

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In the tower of my soul
A cloud of gloom descends
With no rays of light
To brighten its thoughts

A glimpse at its complexity
An elusive grin of hope -
Then greying gloom again
Wrapping the soul into a rope

Life goes from light to dark
Roaming in circles of emptiness
Until its purpose is lost, then
The soul tower turns to dust...

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Matt asks me how you are
and I’m reminded of a life I almost lived:
the one where I’d know the answer. 

Here she comes gliding back. 
She sits on my chest,
runs her hands down my throat.
Her fist white, my dead fish tongue greying 
with an unutterable apology. 

I lean into her grip. I don’t 
know how to set myself free in the end....

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Old men.
Silver crowned flowers.
Shriveled crimson bloated noses.
Bow legged little clowns...  
Gait beaten down by time.
Storm battered greying bows.
Sprinkling life with wisdoms' eye.
The joy and sorrow they've spread.
A million times they've laughed and bled.
Yet they battle on and on and on.
To kiss a pair of tiny hands again.
Old men....

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Standing here
watching the gold of a greying sunset
It seems to strain a proven tale
already too hard to bear
Gold ringed with greys
is not natural
Grey delaying darkness 
is simply illusion
Colours are not meant to stray,
Illusions to live
Gold is meant to stay true
for each day it conjures
Grey to restore
Together,
prediction they relate...

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I’m a clever guy, all being told 
Greying nicely, not growing old 
Have a good heart, stone cold 
Speak my own truth, little bold 

Really bad attitude, I never fold
Worth my weight, in fools gold 
Your credit card, I’ll always hold 
What’s that I hear, a cent, Sold!

Paean on poets, for myself 
Not for Margaritas contest

By
David Kavanagh...

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