#aged
time sagging on your hands
OH YES! grant me skin like the bark of the Oak!
aged over watching the ground
as I trundle around Eden once again
-spring time a hundred times!
to leap into all my senses
as I watch and await
- my own time of reaping.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 10:26 AM UTC
flailing in deep
a lost mind
full of forgotten moments.
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 12:06 PM UTC
Washington Crossing the Delaware
by Emanuel Leutze, MMA-NYC, 1851
Who we aspire to become, always
we aspire to get out of this deception we made
when we believed Stephen King, that liars prosper.
The drama is we know we are lying.
Original intention is subconscious suggestion.
delicate what opposed to balance merest of whys...
All along, we know, this is it, this is life, we see,
we think, we breathe, okeh, so what, why do it,
why sort people by values nobody knows, we see
we become the entertained, we make believe,
we see so, we know, we can do that, too, act like,
we both know, how and why, we have come so far,
edges are smitht intentionally to cut days apart.
Consume or produce, presume nothing, just adjust
being a flex connector, left behind believer regrets,
sorry don't fix none o'that, contracts, riches in advance,
all at once, won the lot o' that confidence, make believe,
sister, every child oughta be convinced, not persuaded.
Shelly Berman made it clear, said
tell him he's a boy, before he makes an arbitrary decision.
Assisting Intelligence Truthb'toldentimes, we wished for this.
Such a time, sit in church, wonder if, Isaiah was sawn asunder.
Last thing Jah said was prove me now, herewith, tithe and prosper,
the way of selling appetites, desires and earnest wishes, believe,
prove the power of the offered ten percent, get it back in slaves.
Then the drama is we don't know, the mysterious why are we here plot
develops
as we sleep,
but gut response, visceral intuition,
adjusted for recent referred sufferings,
amygdaling Jungianding ding bleibe doch
hiccup a wait
hold it, wait it out, hiccups are old codes,
hope to die from rotgut burpies, prayers.
Escape, eh, scapegoats dream realized.
Yep, where all Jah's promises are premised.
in truths you never suspected, because,
at birth you were offered up, to science,
Dewey decimal educated sorted science,
finders of ways where no ways are science
heros slippery as gnosinsnot knots picked.
Wiped upon my pants, its all caked
in layers, More again, its alright,
there, we prayed were here somewhere,
over the spectrum we populate in order,
to seem as real as wasery once in poems.
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 6:27 PM UTC
At a funeral recently I met a lot of people I hadn't seen in ages
Like from a hundred years ago (so it seemed)
What got me was, some of them it looked like they'd hardly aged at all
They looked....they looked nearly exactly the same
Now Me! I'd changed... I'd aged a lot
The trials and tribulations of this life had taken their toll
I said to one of them "Y'know you're still as young looking as I remember you
Is there some kind of Dorian Gray thing going on here
You don't have some mysterious portrait hidden away up in the attic"
I went on "Y'know you could do a movie and you could play yourselves
And when you go up to the attic and unveil the picture
Me! I could play the part of The Portrait staring back at you
You'd recoil in horror O! It's my true self, it's... it's so decrepit, so terrible looking (LoL)".
Me! when I look in the mirror all I see is a ghost
The very distant memory of a once beautiful looking kid.
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 10:04 AM UTC
(Farewell to an aged brother, RIP).
His good ole days are still to be,
In football heaven, in eternity,
Looks at the face of heaven, does he,
He rewound his music, so country,
He got them all back, you see,
His wife, his old dog, his car, no needs,
Pray his good ole days are still to be......
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
As we age,
let us not forget
to share the wisdom
we have gained
with the coming
generation.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
When you become old,
grey and withered;
I’d still display you in a vase.
Aug 21, 2020
Aug 21, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
O how we have aged
mother Earth...
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 11:07 PM UTC
Yellow journal
Aged in fondness
Worn by the weight of powerful words
Forgotten upon the shelf
Neglected despite your cheery shade
An artist leaves a piece of themselves within their art
A fateful discovery
Thats exactly what you are
Beaten up, broken,
torn weathered-
By years of dry land and drought of inspiration
Made alive by Christ
And awake in its pages
Your cover is worn
Your pictures dilapidate
But once you open up
Magic careens
Unveiled under your dusty pages is joy
Romance
Poetic trances
Art of divine nature
That is exactly what you are
Worn yet beautiful
Aged and reminiscent
Evoking fond warmth
You are the yellow journal
Beloved yellow journal
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
My grandma is an old woman
With shiny silver hair
Like the queen's hat
I go to visit her on Sundays
Her face lights up like
Night sky from the old moon
She smiles the most gorgeous smile
Her teeth make a little window
To her heart
Love finding its way back
My grandma prepares
All the dishes that make my mouth water
She begins at Saturday morning
And finishes by evening
Slowly, bit by bit
My grandma is aged but
her love is like wine;
The older, the more intense
She feeds me with her fragile, shaky hands
The paneer tastes creamy
The jalebis are like her skin,
Brown and sleak
It has been 6 weeks
Since I have been meeting her
Every Sunday
Today when I checked my weight
The machine pointed at
Sixty four point five
From fifty eight point seven
It is her love that has found home
Within me.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC
Drip, Drop, Splash
Drip, drop, splash...
Water, as it finds its final resting place below.
Falling with fellow (drops),
Falling off the cliff side, (drip)
Falling to form very special, beautiful waterfall, (splash).
Coming out into the light.
Waters from storms aged years ago.
Making their way through the tiniest of sandstone cracks.
Having been inside the mountains above for eons.
Not seeing daylight for all those years,
What a surprise, when finding themselves
falling and falling,
to make,
Drip, Drop, Splash...
Brian Hill - 2019
Inspired by Poetry in the Park @ Zions
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
Old women
Old women
Bent over
Or straight
Bony thin women
****** women
Soft but deflated
Old women
Sitting alone
Holding a plate
Of half-eaten food
Of all-shattered prospects
Of blowzier days
Romance and contexts
That never materialized
Or did
But then vanished
Or slipped away
Leaving so many
Silenced and banished
Useless as pennies
Sitting in corners
Under old women shawls
With little to do
But hold onto plates
Old women
Old women
Boarders in
Somebody’s house
Or some institution
On somebody’s orders
Or out on the street
In old woman confusion
Holding a plate
To hold onto something
Old dried up promises
Lingered impressions
Of young women hopes
Things that once mattered
All in the past
Leaving old women tattered
Trying to atone
For young women sins
For whatever they did
To be so alone
Or whatever they didn’t
In those
Rare lucid moments
Old women quicken
Still holding their plates
Old women
Old women
Hide old
Beating hearts
Beneath sour old garments
Old women scarves
Hide old women failings
Hold old women tongues
Against old women wailing
Of things that have gone
With unsteady fingers
Still gripping plates
To show themselves living
To avoid being left
- Tho’ some old women prefer -
For the old women train
Taking old women wherever old women go
To never return
Around an old women curve
The young never see coming
Are never prepared
To face old women shaken
By old bodies broken
Of old women forsaken
Hold onto your plates
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 7:11 PM UTC
This fragile body hosts an infinite soul
whose human form may not be whole.
What may appear a tragic rift
is in fact a precious gift
to those whose spirits are attuned.
Extending our own body and soul
to others is what we truly know.
Often outside walls close in
with loneliness and credit cards spread thin,
as advocacy with officialdom weighs in.
But nothing will change what you do,
for this is what carers know.
Each body hosts an infinite soul.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
(a cluster of 10w)
><
daylight glares...melts shadows
revealing those stilled,
and those living
><
puffs of breath
could signify a desire
to still exist
><
some breathe erratically
amidst suffocating airs,
fighting,
unwilling to die
><
there're those breathing,
but, oblivious of everything,
themselves......deliberately,
forgotten
><
senile...scared...lonely
committed to indifferent homes
left languishing
abandoned
><
no longer exhaling gratitude
for, they're considered
dead...and...gone
><
what're they thinking,
when they're with that
loneliest faraway look?
><
while wilting in confusion...do thoughts
about tomorrow visit them?
....aiming....meaning to defy death?
to again, catch precious breath?
><
><
><
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
I have aged,
Nearer to the ledge,
Remaining years are bonuses,
No more onuses.
I am grateful,
Life is more peaceful.
My hearing loss,
Is God's Gift of a rose,
My hearing aid I pretend not to wear,
Shrug off, like I don't care.
When I want,I tune out the family,
And be happy,
I frustrate people sometimes,
To repeat themselves many times.
About me what they feel,
Has made me almost change my will.
I now walk with the aid of a walker,
They made me wear a pamper,
In a way good,
No more frequent trips to the loo.
No more errands,or picking kids from school,
Put your legs on a stool,
Watch T.V or doze off.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
Life as a high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo…
a gent tulle mandate from my late mother uprooted me
from mine kempf familiar bedrock level road terrain
which venue offered a groundswell
to blossom forth into golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise (this an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from the moors of formality
and lit figurative saint elmo’s sesame street fiery dance
allowing, enabling and providing this shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
thy self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzing like a yellow jacket
thus liberating spontaneity that je nais sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward venus
from healthy pistil packing overflowing bin
laden well nigh testosterone erupting *****
toward opposite gender
whereby bravado donned as key
to *** field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally rooted rutting squeal!
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC