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Tommy Randell Dec 2017
you know how it is
finding yourself in a room
looking around
desperately wondering
what you came in for
in the first place
so you just stand there
and wait
you're in a poem
but can't remember
what it was
you wanted to say
so you just stand there
and wait
Tommy Randell Jan 2018
So, is it ears or eyes I'd rather loose?
The terror would be having to choose.
Thankfully, ageing grants no choice
Scream as we may in the silent darkness.
Tommy Randell Dec 2017
Living is repetition in the flesh and in the bones,
The season of growth ending with the forest newly combed.

Repeated days of dry not dry then wet,
The fields knowing the dark to come drawing breath.

Fog laying over the hills like lovers' arms in bed.
Frost paving our dreams, carpets of spider webs.

It is what it is and I am happy to feel the bite
Of the wind's teeth on my cheek as I age into night.

It will be what it wants to be this Life as it spins,
It will be everything and then it will be nothing -

But what goes on into my future only this I know,
What goes on of me after my Life, is not flesh but bones.
Sara Kellie Apr 26
Forty seven coloured leaves
have fallen from the tree.
Some were green,
some are gold,
each one of them is me.

She knew where she was going,
she knew where she had been
and all that time
when she was young,
she knew she was still green.

Add all the springs
and all the falls,
the winters that have past.
This leaf of gold is 47
and she is ageing fast.

Falling from the tree of life.
Everything costs money and you never have the time
Want to be an artist, but your poems can't seem to rhyme
Much disputed master of the obscure
Much opposed disrupter of the order
Guess the experiment went wrong
Just because your style is different, won't mean it's gold
Such a working actor
Such an active wreck
"So I think I missed my chance" you foam
Cause you're ageing and your Oscar ain't yet home
Truth be told and lies be laid
Youth eternal, at long once and once again
Too late you find your life a bore
Turning it all back is irresponsible and wrong
Don't beat yourself, cause their ways don't match with yours
You just haven't found that thing to make you less alone
Isolated, mocked and wrongly painted
Bereft, crestfallen, hardly tainted
well listen, i aint a real poet and this one I don't even really remember working on that well, so please be gentle on me.
Tom Balch Jun 2018
Fly so fast the years they do
and my mind is not as once it was,
forgetting things such as dates and names
and going round as though I´m lost,
in every room I stop and wonder
why did I come in here,
what is it, that I´m looking for,
not a clue I fear.

Have you seen my reading glasses
Yes! she says, you´ve got them on your head,
and what about my car keys
I´ve looked everywhere, including in the shed,
and when I bend, why is it
that I always grunt and groan,
and my back today, is not the best of backs
I am so racked with aches and pains.

My eyesight´s not as sharp these days
and my hearing, Sorry, what d´you say,
no longer do I walk upright
and my thinning hair is turning grey,
but although the body´s ageing
and the memory´s fading fast,
my brain still thinks I´m eighteen
and I can do things, as I did in the past.

So I´m off to run a marathon
and the channel I shall swim
and when I get home from clubbing
I´ll be heading for the gym,
I´ve parked my zimmer in the corner
and my pillows I have plumped,
the douvet I have pulled up tight
as I start to snore and dream, and trump.
nja Jan 27
She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.
My grandmother is a withering icon.
sara Apr 2018
Cover up the mirrors and I'll find somewhere to look,
rip me into pieces like the pages of an old notebook,
smudge me into ink stains, stick a needle in my eye,
scribble over my mistakes and cross me out with lines.

Turn me inside out to wash and
hang me out to dry,
drown me in a dried up lake
and cool me down by fire,

spit me out like sour grapes,
then leave me like an ageing wine,
just now, I've quite the bitter taste
but I still need a little time.
Catharsis in a poem- felt very grounded after spitting this out
By Jennifersoter Ezewi

We eld daily not knowing
Who will take care of us
Until the time comes.

If we care for one,
Another will care for us
Even when the beneficiaries
fails to reciprocate
Because we are also benefiters.

The things we do counts.
The moves we make presents
there costs.
Our decisions records our fate
in the midst of all.

Echoing the promises of our
Before the counsels of time
Whose duty ensures that we
savour the fate we deserve.

Wherewhital our conscience
Who sends us on certain errands?
Will they be able to exonerate us?
Before the unusual timing
Who stirs at our actions.

The children we bore
may disappoint.
Our expected saviours fails
But the help we render
Stands the test of time
When nothing else counts.

They come as visitors in
different forms.
They come surprisingly
Putting smiles on our faces.
They come as rewards for
Jobs well done.
They are the now!

But we are the things we do.
We are the things we see.
We are the time and season
Yet we ask: "how?"
ACAC Dec 2018
hold on, wait, what, what similarities?

I sit in the group looking around, the grey plastic chair crushes my ******* spine as I cling to it for dear life.
the tutor comes to me last, two weeks in a row I don't get time to talk.
great, I'm already an outsider, now I don't get time to talk.

I listen as the group in the nicer, cosier and brighter room next door laugh and joke.
they are all young and pretty, a feeling of longing pulls me down like a giant magnet, why am I not in that group. have I not got the skills to be young and pretty anymore?

for almost one month now I despair.
how can I ever find my voice in this group there are all so strong, strong women.
this week she comes to me first, I speak, it doesn't help. can they even see me, understand my accent, it seems I'm more different than similar.

the next week I don't go, avoidance wins 1st place gold trophy as I sit alone in bed.
with other groups I'm so strong and proud, can I fake it next week, or maybe just conform and comply.

and so it goes on, am my question remains, what ****** similarities?
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
It's inevitable.
So why do I fear it?
Why am I drowning in an ocean of thorns whenever I think about it?
It's as if my heart is having an earthquake when I realise I'm ageing,
Because I don't want to grow up.
But time goes by so fast,
Maybe if I look the other way it'll all pass?
Nigdaw Jul 2
Said the girl who sleeps ‘till noon
Long past ****’s crow,
Through dawn’s chorus
Rush hour, breakfast news
Until the lengthening of shadows;
“You need to live a little”
On the edge, close to the perimeter
Blade of a knife, cutting life
Do the drugs, drink the alcohol
Put the time in, whenever you can
Then sleep ‘till noon
Long past ****’s crow,
Through dawn’s chorus
Rush hour, breakfast news
Until the lengthening of shadows;
Night is where it’s at
Out with vampires,
Following the werewolf’s howl
Where creatures of darkness prowl,
You don’t need light
Darkening skin and bleaching hair,
Ageing you beyond repair;
Here you can party
‘Till there’s nothing left to party for.
PC classic Mar 2016
King Kong Monster trucks once roamed earth and
the hills are
giant tyre tracks left behind

mostly its green spaces
manhattaned places

concrete freckles
on the face
of a mother

roads stretched
like a smile
from town to town

touch down
to unfortunate apartments
along the runway
We did it younger than ever,
We discovered how to escape;
That sincere claim
of every next generation,
The undying theme never ageing.
Such is the way.

Just run! The adult-world's awaiting
and I won't yet be taken,
Lost in a maze of adolescence,
There I fear my gaze will ever-remain.

Skins touch the soul, in the depths of it
I know; Love Here.

Have we finally surpassed
that teenage haze
in which I was encased?
In which I was amazed.

I can never give up those memories,
Hence, I dutifully make these recordings.
This data keeps me dauntless, reinforcing my character.
I feel at ease to know it will remain here.
What is inexplicable now
perhaps I can decipher in the future.
That shivering empyrean was committed
to the darkest recesses of my mind,
And there it shall remain for the rest of time.
Tommy Randell Jul 2017
I've never looked good in a bath
The bits sticking out make me laugh
And no matter how many bubbles
I make with my chuckles
I'm embarrassed on my own behalf.

The shower is much better for posing
I do so enjoy a good hosing
And as I sing into my loofah
Like an ageing old crooner
Who cares if I'm over-exposing?

Altogether now...
“Sauna Enchanted Evening ..."
Kenya83 Mar 2017
Oozing charm and fluency, over exuberantly, without vanity or pride or an arrogance of mind
remaining humble and kind
looking just fine
Not with the fittest physic or perfect teeth, manicured hands drenched in gold leaf
Or a sharp suit and tie which underneath emptiness lies
But a beauty that shines bright like a beacon
signalling hardship, success, failure, determination
Strong and truthful
Unapologetically flawed
Lost youth and adult gains
Ageing memories and hunger pains
slight wrinkles, cheeks with dimples
it's quite simple
perfection is meaningless
It lacks personality and taste
Humility, humour and good grace
The hard times you stared point-blank in the face
However, on the other hand
It's like you're from another land
Im lost
In your perfect imperfections
Filters and airbrush aren't a true reflection
Of the life you've lived of the story you've told
When you've been weak when you've been bold
what made you happy or caused you stress
How you like to chill and rest
Or put your mind and body to the test
I want to see what makes you, you
I long to see it all
For its what makes you beautiful
दाई म झ्यालको सिटमा बसुँ ?
जब नम्र  नारी
आमा उमेरकिले सोधिन

अनिमात्र थाहाभो
आफू जेष्ठ नागरिक भएको
(एक मन)
कि भन्दिउ
वहाले आखा
जचाउने बेला भो
(अर्को मन)
शैली : क्लिनिकल प्रयोगात्मक
विषय: अब गर्छु बृद्धभक्ताको कुरा ||मनै त हो
Fọlá Dec 2018
I doubt,
Therefore, I think
Therefore, I am.

I see.
I take in the colours around me.
The patterns, the lights, the rainbow.
I see the night, and the stars that glow.
I dream.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I smell.
The perfumes, the roses.
The stench, the rotten, the putrid.
The aromas, cooking.
The green, the forest, the trees.
I inhale,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I hear.
The noises. The people, the cheer.
The wails, the screams, the tears.
The rejoicing and happiness.
I hear.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I taste.
The sweetness, the fire.
The treats and savoury delights.
The sourness, the bitterness.
I eat,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I speak.
Short messages. Long speeches.
Quiet whispers. Bellowing noises.
I scream,
Therefore, I think,
Therefore, I am.

I feel.
The despair, the fear, the anguish.
The joy. The pride. The seething.
The envy, greed, and jealousy.
The cold, the heat, the shivering.
The pain, the sickness, the ageing.

I die.
Therefore, I lived.
Therefore, I was.
This poem is a spin of the famous saying by René Descartes. Enjoy.
Johnny walker Jan 23
Upon the morning light It to there briefly l would wake to turn and snuggle Into my wife so warm and cosy
my nose filled with her beautiful perfume so safe and protected laid there basking In the radiating warmth of her beautiful body
but sadly then she started to get terrible pain In her back which eventually
sadly ended the snuggling In
never again would I be able to do this my wife had to have a separate bed designed especially for her needs
I took the settee opposite her so could tend her every need as 24/7 carer for ten years I slept on that settee never being able to just hold
for fear of hurting and causing more pain Helen's bones they were crumbling thinning at a fast rate
she required a wheelchair for fear of falling and breaking a bone which would have been extremely difficult to
but I loved her and would have gone to hell and back for her but now she was gone I think I'm already there Hell that
Sad story of a poor girl who suffered so muck In life that poor girl was Helen my wife
It is easy to write being in the beauty
As it is easy to get a job in the town
When the train comes
The heart gets to beat
I smiled head down

I said
You let me write
What debts I have
I only have thanked you
You have not seen the poets rubbing their eyes

Dr Baljit Singh
Saturday 16 November 2019
Michael Mar 13
When your muscles are starting to let you down,
When your hearing what is not being said,
When the staircase at home turns your smile to a frown
When the shopping fills you with dread;
When kids use words that you don’t understand,
When on trains and buses you’re offered a seat,
When you feel that your life’s getting quite out of hand
When you fear the dark in the street;
When people ignore the advice that you give,
When the young deign not to notice you,
When every thought sours the way that you live,
When you can’t see the point of the things that you do;
When it’s all too hard to comprehend,
When there seems no point to even try,
When all you want is to grasp that end
When its finally time for you to die.
Barry Sep 2018
Dear life
As I look from the outside.
Observing just for one moment.
As I  sometimes look for ways to escape the so called norm.
As you take me and change me one day after another.
With this friend you call time.
And as I write this letter unsigned.
Where you've gone so far?
where it is you are yet to take me?
what adventures are yet to unfold ?
yet do you ever stop to look at me ageing along the way?
And what will happen when I'm gone?
Will you remember me?
So I write to you life just to say,better get the best out of me.
Cause I'll be taking everything I can from you.
affi Apr 2018
I want you
But slowly
Like a good wine
The aroma pouring into our times
Ageing it
with patient desperation

I want to savour you
Like the moments that led up to now
And these, I'll remember
when I leave your lips
Reminding me why those who left
At lanes end
where churches sit
black and white,
In rare afternoon
stillness, trees rigid
as statues shield
St. Peter’s yard.
Nations favoured bird,
the red-breasted aggressor,
gambols gracefully
across the gentle
arcs of ageing
gifting movements,
radiating elegance,
flitting from sight
in a burst of most
powerful flight.

© Richard Duffy. All rights reserved
Brief moments shared with a robin while visiting churches in Bywell, Northumberland, on an autumn afternoon cycle.
Vexren4000 Jan 2
Is the destiny of mankind,
In the modern day,
To die glued to a hospital bed?
Bravery and honor dashed by father time,
Taken away by ageing reapers hands,
Time spent in final moments,
A normal day like any other,
Yet it is the last of days.
Spent with such brevity,
As if there would be more.
Maybe this is the fate of modern man.
To not be felled by blade or bullet,
Only felled by failure of organs.
Yet the mind stayed intact.
A young mans mind in an aging body.
Is it the fate that awaits us all?

Technosmith Jan 28
The fluttering curtains. The rough stone wall.
The rhythm of the leaves in concert with the wind chimes.

A fertile space, bombarded by life, love, tragedy.

The thin film of perspiration responding to the warm tea.
The cup cooling to ambient.

An ageing body shaped by rich diverse experience.
A backward glance to a faraway waning peak.

Countless journeys guiding me here.
Tomorrows destinations biased by passion and purpose.
Mystery, uncertainty, yet infinite clarity bound together.
An unconscious knowing, omnipresent.
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