Short Matures Poems

pain matures sorrow
trimming each firm will to try
reducing labor...

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our body matures
reaching perfection until
golden years have come...

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Aging is not for the faint of heart
smile lines bags and cellulite sags
Your butt begins to fall apart
As your mind matures wisdom hacks....

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Our Love is sure, as sure can be sure.
Our love is pure, as pure can be pure.
Our love matures as we mature.
Our love endures as we endure....

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a thousand seasons

     undisturbed the tree matures

     timeless summer shade


       08/19/2019

     Checked with howmanysyllables.com...

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tides post

watch me
as for to yourself human

certain everything,behold

haul from later call me

irresistible but pains
after a moment

man  matures,behold...

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When love matures in you! Everything is of its own. Love never loved us yet we love to love it to love the ones we love.

Love is uncertain.

Love the spoken word... 
Love me for me!...

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The aging of time,
each year to endear
from cradle to grave
the future unclear

The aging of time,
whose toddler matures
to crawl and then walk
—as moments endure

(Dreamsleep: April, 2022)...

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as the time grows reaches its goal

                                  as the time passes all grow and matures
                            
                                        with in time whole game exists...

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Pink flamingo had a flaming personality for sure.
The highhanded words he used were always so pure.
He kicked off a shoe and it landed smack into manure.
This made him a little less uppity, but a bit more mature....

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From at to eye imagination alights and explodes.In another's minds eye..matures,excites,ignites..impregnates,conceives..birthes a new creative impulse.

the melodic effect
this beauty of sound..
stays upon the ear...

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From at to eye imagination alights and explodes.In another's minds eye..matures,excites,ignites..impregnates,conceives..birthes a new creative impulse.

The melodic effect
this beauty of sound..
stays upon the ear...

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Christ consciousness in each awakes
Bliss magnetism, like a snowflake
Gentle caress, heightened rapture 
Love lotus blooms, our soul matures
Gently flowing breeze; no handbrake

05-August-2021...

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THE ETERNAL ROSE

Yes a rose has its beauty
Only seen by the eyes 
But as a rose matures 
That beauty fades and dies 
But a women 
As she matures 
Only grows more beautiful day by day 
For unlike a rose 
Her beauty is in who she is 
And that never fades away 

By Mr. E. Jones...

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Datura(belladonna perhaps in another form)

Matures the galaxy in jealousy despising love

Releasing jasmines death twisting Aphrodite's heads upon loves rewinding failures

Creation in question

Call from my mouth your kindness

Respond silence

Squander obnoxious craft

Illness requires me

And again

I disappear your vapors...

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The love we had
The same love we lost

What was given from God,
You soon tossed

Took me for granted
We said goodbye

I wish you'd recanted,
Given some sort of reply

I was yours,
Every part of me

Your pain matures,
Mine is set free

My heart is open
To everyone, but you

The love I gave
The same love I took back from you....

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Every woman has in her interior
A flower-bed in her fertile heart
That grows green and matures
For every man in moody life
To harvest the choice in awe

But there is sharp knife in hand
To cut open man’s bone heart
That in it a hut she builds stiff
To live there to serve and nurse
The vacillating mood of men
That knows no limits of action...

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I know that God
would not create me
Less than perfect
(a Good Father
always wants best
for His Children,
more than Himself
when possible)--we evolve
in Love

and as understanding
matures we grow in Spirit,
Mind, Soul and Body—
nearer His Likeness

We are substance of
God—nothing existing
outside His Being,
Omnipotent
and Immortal…....

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The moon light dimming 		
                                               Helicopter up above 		
                                                Matures too enjoy 		
		
                                                Baby claps like man 		
                                           under the ceiling Dim light 		
                                              grasshopper's chirping...

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A curious stream of light
penetrates a tiny puncture
through the window blind
lending vision to sight

At first I just glance
but very quickly 
it grows in height
directing all my attention
like a guiding moon
supervising the night

These moments unborn
time slowly matures
light blinks away
taking a pulsating dive
perception of light
projected on my wall
makes me feel alive...

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If we notice that this world
will change over time
because cities rejuvenate
with the years...
If the landscapes change
before our eyes,
If green turns yellow
when it matures
that white, darkens in the sun..
Why don't we portend
that life will carry on
in due time,
or with another time...
life is already eternal
such a long time...
Life is poetry within and a poem...
Poetry is God,
God does not die...!...

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Since I was blessed to land here,
One matures…….as a young deer.
To be popular, is not my desire.
But to grow in desire, for poetry’s fire.
To be above all, graced with humility.
Do I try new forms in a mad frenzy?
For me, that simply…is not my style.
Truth, beauty, but never high profile!
The rain kisses the earth, as I now write.
Unable to pen of matters, rude or too trite.


12/2/2022

...

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Going against the norms
Standing for the odds
Attracts its query
Whiles a baby's cry matures into speech
Odds are norms, for all reason to it
Although was not emphatic, now a fact
Brave hearts may shatter
Strong hands may wrinkle
Minds of steel might melt
Visionary souls might fade-out
That is the quest of standing for the odd
The very one to enforce breaks the norms
On this path much is lost
Respect is gained

©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah...

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When the hunted becomes a hunter
Surprising,  it may seem
Unbelievable , it may look
It overwhelms the soul
Must I say more

When the victim becomes a victory
Anxiously, it may formulates
Unwired, it navigates
It conquers what meant to be done
Wiping the sweat from the face

When the story becomes a reality
Narrowly, it leads
Moderately, it progress
It matures as it grows
The writer writes until it cannot write no more...

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Can I write
Until my pen dries
Until my pupils dilate
And my brain itches
Until my fingers rust 
And my glasses dust
Until my heart twitches

Can I scream 
Until my throat sores
Until my lungs shrivel
And my voice disappears
Until my veins bulge
And my overwhelm is capitulated
Until my eyes tear

Can I love
Until wars end
Until the universe bends
And death revives
Until a child matures
And hatred cures
Until forever dies...

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