Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Crow Jun 15
time steals up soft in autumn’s haze
through fallen leaves and frosted morn
no longer smiles through summer days
bears dreadful gaze of mercy shorn

scribes lines upon youth’s winsome face
and brings the ache of stiffened joint
gives halting stride and slower pace
age piled like leaves does thus anoint

yet in thine eye dwells springtide’s bloom
in ardor’s dance is lightened tread
warm voice dispels autumnal gloom
at gentle touch are decades fled

for love knows naught of count of days
let the years flow as they will
unclouded passion’s flames yet blaze
I shall be thy lover still
Tony Tweedy Jun 6
My heart remembers there is more than this.
It recalls there being something warm and infectious.
When the beat had purpose beyond mere survival.
A throbbing and pulsating that gave power to emotion.

My mind glimpses a past that held joyous moments.
It recalls there being sensation and a fire in my core.
When every dream and hope had shape and form.
A memory made and cherished immune to times' flow.

My body longs for the thrills it once knew when young.
It recalls the dexterity lost through its aches and pains.
When pleasures could be made through another's touch.
A yearning for something that ageing stole in the night.

My soul cries for the sake of heart, mind and body.
It recalls the strength of being someone made whole.
When joy, happiness and love were something real.
A time when life was all and ending was so far away.
Fragments I am become,
Dismembered by life and time.
Getting old and feeling it
Steve Page May 21
I want those years. Promise me,
cos I want those years - it's not a lot to ask.

I want the years when you tell me our stories,
when we laugh and you sing our song,
when we dance slow and you breath on my neck.

I want those years and then we can sleep
together on our old bed. And we can keep the space
closed between us. And between us
we can have those years.

Please. Promise me.
An old couple, talking about the future
thoughts once so clear
now flee en mass like
small birds scattering in the wind...
try to capture one
and it fades to dust in my
trembling hand
my eyes teared up by the loss...
what was her name...
when was it I smiled like the
sun bursting through the clouds on that day...
where did I misplace that long-sought device...
where have all my yesterdays gone...
all escapes along the shifting winds of age
small beautiful birds
plumage so bright and beautiful to behold
loves and laughter, days of wonder and joy
crumble into dust as my forgetful fingers
pry at their edges, trying to recall...
her yesterday was my forever
do you think she remembers me? ...
as I slip into forgetfulness
I hope that I will no longer remember
to mourn my forgotten yesterdays...
age is coming for me
and iv forgotten how to tame that ugly beast
Steve Page May 12
I’m 59 ¾ in my socks, passing older in my dreams
waking in the throw of that first roll out of bed
in my scrambled strike of the percussion snooze button
and my prayer for a delay of the inevitable.

I’m 59 ¾ , but arguably younger in polished shoes,
a pressed whistle and flute
(my creased cover for my wrinkled birthday suit),
and with the adoption of a purposeful stride
to a cramped train ride, a half empty office
and a hybrid solution to a healthier space.

I’m 59 and counting, giving me a final warning
and a diary alert reminding me I have 3 months
to write my bucket list, 3 months before I’m due to kick,
to tick-off my been-meaning-to’s.
3 months of prep, 3 months to lose weight,
get fit, work out, work up a script
for an epic epitaph.

3 months, then I’m in the last quarter – maybe.
Or maybe that was it.
Maybe I’m too late for this pep talk.
Maybe too late by 10 years.
Maybe I should have just hit snooze
and stayed in bed.
I'm 59 1/2, but 3/4 sounded better
Kassan Jahmal May 11
Young are fools,
Young is love with it’s gazing wet eyes,
Young is time,— of it you still have,
Young are dreams,
Young are fears,
Young are the first worries life burdens us with,
Young are we all,—only for a time.

You are never too young of all to do,
But old in the spirits of picking whichever's when,
To start off young, and end off old.
Though life is as short,— it feels too young nowadays.

~All is too young.~
Ceyhun Mahi May 1
Milton! your youthful strife with fickle time,
Expressed with reason and an ancient rhyme,
Is something I endure at twenty-three,
Wishing much more than what I'm meant to be.
Your time was different, when art had class,
When Thought had its respect among the mass.
I know that life is short but fine, when skilled
To see past the dread of living, and ill-willed.
I know that faith is quick to end, as death
Is quick to come – just only with one breath.
And though I'm ignorant of many ways,
I am much wise, because I know my place.
This quantity of wisdom was not a lot
For you, but much for me – yes – this aware Thought.
It was at this age that I had compiled all my poems from my teenage years into a single book, and began a new collection of poems, written in my twenties. I believe beginning this arrangement with this poem, some rhymed couplets, addressing John Milton, the great English poet, who also had written verses on becoming twenty-three, is a meaningful one.

''How soon hath Time the subtle thief of youth
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.''

– John Milton
coqueta Apr 30
Your smell is home before anything else is, even if you aren’t anymore
You’re like an old shirt from middle school, I just don’t fit into your arms, and maybe it’s because we’ve long outgrown each other and yet,
The silence between us is comfortable like it once was(but some of the pauses are so so suffocating)
We slip right into old patterns, and you smell like you did four years ago
the gap between your teeth is the same
so is your smile
i forget all our old jokes, but you remember
so maybe it’s just me
outgrowing you
and that thought hurts so much more
More than the brief hesitation before we hugged good bye, then the ease with which I tell you I love you more than anything anything because you know me and I know our old jokes I promise I do, I remember the results you got on those silly personality quizzes and that you’re a Capricorn you act just like one all your awkward giggles and thoughtful silences and of course of course I know you I’ve known you so long, it’s just I might have forgotten during one of the gaps but who knows when we’ll next see each other? If I’ll forget again and leave you lonely ? If things will ever be the same between us and we can walk down halls together, feet not in sync cuz you were always so much taller (but did you know I seek you out in every new person I meet and they never compare never) giggles echoing off the school walls, will I love you like I did before? Will you still love me after all I’ve put you through?
I feel as though my poems have gotten a lot more stream of consciousness over the year vs my usual structured ones and kinda like it
I saw my knuckles in sunlight.

Seems I’m doing alright,
in that their crocodilian terrain
showed survival

I recall a science class
where they asked us to pinch skin
on the back of our hand
to see how quickly it returned

now, it appears
I’m learned

#age #skin #morphology #longevity #content #knuckles
Steve Page Mar 8
I realised with momentary surprise
  that my mirror was stuck back
  in 1985
back when I knew I knew how to smile
  and believed in my peculiar sense of style
back when my lower back was furthest from my thoughts
  and I thought my hair was the peak of good looks.

My now flipped face frowned at the trick of time
and at my lesser hair’s climb
bringing myself back to my present face
  and to continue with my routine head shave.
1985 seems a long time ago.
Next page