"maturation" poems
From youth, not unlike the love
I received from my family, I surmised,
that extended love might be everywhere.
With artless, open arms and heart,
I embraced this simple notion.
In time, sadly this childish wish
was honed to a hard truth by maturation.
Friends and loves come
and go, fleeting in heart,
and committed soul.
Unreliably, flowing in and ebbing out,
like deep undulations of an ocean,
all too often with sneaker waves
that pull us under. Breakers pushing
our ship onto the rocks, in a sea
of shallow unfulfilled expectations.
Encounters becoming disappointment,
with too many frogs kissed.
My educated suspicion is,
beyond our family of blood kin,
Faithful canine love is the only
other "truly committed devotion"
we are likely to get.
In the end, that may well be enough.
Perspective wisdom can be a bitter lesson.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
A sea of gasoline's,
Grace of novelties,
Cars and halogen,
Social disease,
Manufactured dreams,
Scream on screens,
They glean from all living things,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
Such a contumacious existence,
Results in an animistic decline,
All things that once made us strong,
Oblivion has made a meal of them,
I walk around this town,
I see the colors,
I watch the scenes,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I live in a world without a heart,
But machines keep it breathing,
And it has many sons,
Crowned with clockworks maturation,
Am I the last one beating?
I don't tick,
Not like them,
I just watch men bite one another necks from the steps of the front door,
They call me the queen of the creaking floorboards,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I have matchstick eyes,
I twist fires with my fingertips,
All of these people made of wood,
They are like smoke to me,
I breathe slices into them with teeth that have no number,
I am December,
I fight,
Take,
Hide
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
The essence of patience
The patience of light
The travel it takes, knowing
It must last for eternity,
Beaming forward, granting anew.
Patience the virtue.
The status to achieve, allowing now
So that next can just be, as it will.
The patience to leap.
Courage carries patience clear,
Fears weight sinking below.
Patience for death, for one again.
The longing for You, to know us again.
Patience to see clearly, open my heart
To now.
Moments always planned out.
Patience for the ******
Patience for the touch of your skin,
The relation of kin, of natural senses.
Of the things that flow, easy.
Of titillating tickling of the, everything.
Your smell will bring me in.
I know it well… the musk of Earth
Wrapped in the forest, deep dug in my gut.
Dug down patiently to prepare my ground
To rise my crown, patient now
As maturation continues to take place.
Dug down, spine curled out
Back arched, heart opened…
Patient, awaiting your trail
My tribe hunts and gathers,
We know we need each other,
And so we hunt, and we create
And we locate…patience for
The revolution taking place…
Cyclical naturals, cycles of nature.
Back to the Earth we all go.
All things have a cycle.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
As one chosen by God, certain attributes
are demonstrated with loving regularity;
despite one’s beliefs, showing kindness
requires a daring of spiritual temerity.
For The Lord expects His children to give
Love towards people without expectations;
know that being tenderhearted, helps one
to naturally extend actions of compassion.
Don’t think lightly, about the richness
of kindness, it may one lead to repentance;
its warm embrace softens the heart, while
Salvation overrides Death’s life sentence.
The merit of kindness can’t be overstated;
being accepting, forgiving without judgment
means not rigidly imposing beliefs on others.
As His children, one should make investments
in the individualized development of others.
With the “Fruit of The Holy Spirit”, growth
and maturation can be properly accelerated
when applying by the principle of God’s oath
to “humbly walk in Love” (as He requires).
Kindness is patient, when paired with respect,
justice, long-suffering and unconditional Love;
the value of kindness, no one should neglect.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:32; Gal 5:22-23; Heb 6:10; Rom 2:4;
Luke 6:35; Col 3:12; Prov 3:3; Mica 6:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
Self Worthlessness is a completely,
temporary phase of human maturation.
It persists within the passing ignorance of youth,
And fades with the realization of eventual
adult wisdom gained over time.
The suffering within the journey,
Builds character and worth.
It's earned, not a birthright.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
Above the wind plains roaring white
With lightning crack's climaxing light
In the prepubescent gloom
Of fear, excitement, unrealized doom
The moon appears in cloudy skies
With blissful sighs as knowledge dies
****** grasses ripped from home
As breeze embraces seed and blows
To new beginnings and new ends
Where e'er the Fates may deign to send
A rose's bud seeps from below
Mixed with sticking undertones
When innocence concedes the stage
To reside in maturation's cage
And foolish fancy takes to flight
The sun forever fades to night
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Boredom #2
I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun,
Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom:
Boredom.
“Weariness, ennui: frustration;
Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration;
Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration;
Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration;
Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.”
Can it be overcome, this boredom?
No more war - the boredom won,
Exchanged for something more like fun?
It can.
A friend who, when we speak, says,
“It’s a part of nature…has no answer...”
Reasoning fallacious,
She is wrong as wrong can be
And her reasoning a fallacy.
Awake at night: hormones, full moons;
The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices,
Radios that play a song too strong, too long..
A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results;
A knack, a shortcut worth consulting
Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain;
Travel round in, sense and feel…
Make it real – as if you really feel
The part you aim at, frame then tame.
In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject.
Boredom fled, you freed,
You and your mood well pleased, released
And taken places least expected,
Un-objected to by you,
The burden boredom’s through.
And doomed!
Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017
Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
*stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests
pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed
as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories
recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner
i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time
familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine
i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus
an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self
flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward
i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain
as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind
an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned
as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home
©2016 janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
fool-proof umbrella
covering protégé
adorning brilliance
no purple moments
folly forgotten
iniquity barred
fountain-pen spills
in lampblack Indian ink
when letting go
rose bush on fire
in the mountain
claims
rock-hard granite
heat melting
higher meeting..so fleeting
concluding well
deep
sans senses
catch scent
wrapped in sound
sudden arrival
rivers flow yet endless
such relief exquisite
still
not quite
fruition
not yet..
four leaves wait
count a quarter
at a time
yet fretless time
caught in veins
of
chlorophyll dreams
time to fill
maturation
to come..
to plant seeds
into blazing buds
just
not yet..
S T, 13 June 2013
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
I want to keep my inner child alive
The more mature I become, the faster he dies
I want to keep his wonder in my eyes
As my curiosity blurs along with time
Who he is, is getting harder to define
Losing his small hand's grip from mine
Maturation is going to make me blind
The vibrancy of my colours subsides
His childish traits are falling back inside
The outside world and him do not coincide
Hardening my heart that use to be kind
Leaving with his pieces that use to be mine
He retreats to the corners of my mind
Burying himself in memories of time
Because that is where his happiness lies
In my childhood when the world was wide
I place myself behind too many lines
Building a box using all the right signs
Growing up into expectations assigned
Resorting to a life so simplified
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 12:48 PM UTC
Have times really changed that much,
since the crucifixion of The Christ?
People still discuss personal opinions,
looking to find meanings within life –
with some reference point, relative to Him.
Are we any different than Cleopas,
when we latch onto Christ’s name,
desiring our prayers to be answered,
hoping never to be spiritually the same?
Are we able to sing new songs and hymns?
How are we occupying the time of our lives?
Are we on the road, speaking with strangers,
expecting to bump into a hidden Christ or…
angels that keep us from unforeseen dangers?
Are we just waiting for life to wear thin?
How much longer will denominational tenets
keep us from the necessary work at hand?
When will we fully focus on the coming Kingdom
and stop searching for the “Promised Land”?
When will we stop - gossiping about Him?
Are we on the outskirts of a similar town,
unknowingly headed in the wrong direction,
arguing the debate of what faith is,
without reaching a level of maturation?
Will we continue to remain - estranged from Him?
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Luke 24:13-35
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
I watched through tears
--That streamed like the one out back
And the scattered clouds
--The ones that floated overhead for years
A twilit ridge inurn the sun.
It was one of those rising hills of my youth,
One my infant eyes always thought
Gave birth to the moon
Time and again.
With its innocent face smiling
That worldly crispness is lost
And the foggy past is far more defined.
Who are these forms I've lost?
They are but phantoms,
(I tell myself)
And now intangible, those memories
Acidic and dusted with sugar
Held suspended and taunting, like
Feet at the mouth of an open casket.
The cold, bitter knives of impersonal
Reunion
And rejuvenated promises
--Only now remembered, only now forgotten—
Illuminated once again
In the dark.
Passing onward and through
--Like our time together—
Exactly like wind through these **** dead branches
And this grave: winter-bare.
I remember the vivacity
How enlivened the sky, that I
Each day for granted took
And how so much smaller, in my youth,
The mountains afar looked.
But there is no home,
It died when I left.
The poison I fought
Has become the blood which pumps the heart,
Now corrupt,
Antithetical.
Nothing is more colorless, not sky,
Nor hill, nor moon,
Or ever more formless
Than what I once called home.
Now that only exists is deteriorated
A rotting house:
Four walls and a roof to keep
Hatred dry,
Windows and lamps, so
Hatred has eyes,
And all the people that
Hatred hates most.
How cozy it must be to sleep in
One’s own bed, no?
To have some stable place,
And an ounce of certainty?
As for me, that will never be
Again.
Though the house is open,
Lock, room, and all
The home is closed forever
Without a proper epitaph.
Vain death.
Vain,
Vain,
Death.
Now all I can only turn back
And flirt with shadows
Just outside my arms
Walk with images
Shifting, growling, and oh, so dark
--mere abstraction
--future so stark--
With no companion but defeat.
I can’t hug a memory,
Nor cry on recollection’s shoulder,
Nor can my mother or sibling console me,
And I cry alone.
Maturation is merely widening a distance, so
I should let them go,
Bid them adieu
Because, I can't be homesick
For a home
I can't go back to.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
I have nothing to write
I am Empty inside.
Unsure if I have been robbed by medication or maturation
or perhaps emotional numbness has caused this.
I do not see the seasons change or the flowers bloom and die.
I see dead leaves, polluted skies.
oppressed peoples, blind eyes.
My empathy has been sapped from me by many years of life.
I am reminded constantly that I’m powerless
to aid them in their strife
women, men and children suffering through life
but someone is helping them, probably, and that’s nice.
then life goes on
again and
tomorrow I am told
suffering exists, numbness is bliss. please return to your clockwork life
Yours’s sincerely Head manager Mrs...
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 6:16 PM UTC
There's a rainbow of forgiveness
there's a sun glazed with content,
there's a sweat bead of serenity
racing down my head.
Your gaze is overwhelming,
I'm flustered by the view,
your sweet smell compels me,
this is what you do.
There's a field of maturation
there's an insect of desire,
woven through your hair-
star lily, color fire.
Your immaculate constriction
consumed by your embrace,
lips succulent with passion
I love you and your grace.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 11:14 AM UTC
1
Congratulations
on your maturation:
now our lust's "love,"
not infatuation.
2
Romantic "deficits,"
confiscatorial "trends" --
**** your "benefits" --
where's my dividends?
3
I tried to really kiss you,
not co-impregnate a tissue.
4
I must confess
I love that dress --
more or less!
5
-- I'd die for you (you said)
-- I'd mumble you in bed.
6
you me us me
us-me-you you-me-us-you-me-you
us-me-us-meyouyou-us-youyouyou
youyou-us-me-youyouyouyouyouyouyou!
you-me-us-us-me-me-me --
us
7
Three coins in the fountain?
Who in hell's been counting?
8
Nod, smile; I'm playing along
while they're "playing our song."
9
Monogamy
demands its peephole:
*Maybe we should see
other people.*
10
"The last time I saw her
she'd hired a lawyer."
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
Insecurity and emotions soaked the adolescences of youthful decisions. A quest marked by consequences of such actions that needed to be filled….I’m ready for Love!!!….then gone…..More of the same prescription same action, 4 years and 20 tries…I’m ready for love!!!….then torment….can’t sustain in debauchery even if my heart was a seamless victim…2years..…CHANGE…..I knew better from bruises then to clutch to many women or bottle instead Bible…5years….I’m strong but my bones are scared.….I’m ready for love!!!…..then gone…..why why? Hmm darkness revealed in hind light sip that I was then drinking a more deadly brew......Selfish Pride……2years….CHANGE……I’m ready for love!!….Then nothing……Selfish Pride is hard to purge it goes low in heart especially in maturation but light seeks it till it leaves it’s post of guarding fear which was the nemesis all along….now I face it……”perfect Love casts out all fear” hmmm……Love I’m not ready yet!!!…..to be continued…………Thank you Jesus
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
Where there is love, but there is no passion
There is a hearth that has gone ashen.
It is a sleep where there is no dreaming
Day will break, but there is no gleaming,
A familiar dish, lacking in heat,
A well-known dance, lacking in beat,
A complex wine sans maturation,
A photograph sans saturation.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
"Asisstant!", I shouted.
"Yes, sire?", he bellowed.
"Read me the list on the Maturation Process!"
"Ah, I got it right here sire! Right here. Uh, let's see:
Lotion, rub...repeat..."
"Uhh..Assistant, that is the..umm, the wrong---the wrong list. I do believe."
"Oh, oh you said Matur--a--tion.
Under his breath, "You think a king would need a list for every fraggle thing he does hmphh."
"Asisstant! I do not have all day!"
"Oh, got it sire! I got it right here!"
"Go ahead, read what it says..."
"Ah, hem:
Phase one...
When you are born, you are pure....
"No, no no. Read it how Grandpapa used to read it."
"Ahhh, ahhh, hem:
WHEN YOU ARE BORN, YOU ARE PURE.
The world expects nothing from you,
but your loved ones expect you to be everything.
The cruel trick that nobody tells you:
Only you can decide what you are going to be.
There is no fate without action.
Reaction.
There is no action without desire.
The fire.
There is no desire without love.
Your heart.
Phase two:
You learn appreciation.
Eloquently our superiors call it, "manners".
Manners are what matters most to Man and Her's.
A thank you can change a day.
A helping hand can change a life.
A laugh can lead to a life of love.
It all resides within:
Your heart.
Phase three:
Accepting the cruel world.
Not everyone is the same.
Not everyone shares.
Not everyone has morale.
Not everyone shares morals.
Ethics, are never prosthetic.
So perfect, your own perfection.
Be you:
For it can be found in your heart.
Phase four:
Ignorance.
We forget what we were taught.
What is this?
We become narcissists,
obsessed with the world around us and how we fit in.
A mix of sarcasim and ********
Everything is a joke yet all we can think of is ***
*** without meaning: The best joke of all.
Phase five:
We lie to ourselves.
We forget what our inner-child wanted.
We tell ourselves that this is the correct thing to do,
we are judged on this stick with others surrounded by us.
We create our own manifestation of unruly day in and day out boredom.
We have to listen:
Listen to our hearts saying,
Don't. Don't do this.
Live your dreams.
Phase six:
Accepting of our own death.
We build a life.
Follow a format.
Do this, at this time with this person to be this at this point and so on.
However, if we forget to live: we die.
We must accept the fact that we all will die eventually.
That way we can choose to live.
You will never actually die,
if you open your heart.
For a heart can pass on from person to person.
"Ah, very good asisstant."
"Thank you sire..."
"Now, you're free to go. Go and live your dreams."
And, as the King sat in his throne.
The good Asisstant shoved him off the throne and sat in his place.
They both laughed until they were on the golden tile floor laughing harder and harder...
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
that plant in the window
may well resent those roots
firmly potted and positioned
on that westerly sill
held in place as it is
by those wispy tendrils
straining outwards
desperate for growth
ever-reaching for
the drifting light
of that introverted Sun
evasive though it may be
its potential remains
dirt encrusted and anaemic
as the hidden branching is
neither its stem nor leaf
nor its bud or flower
could realise the heights
that it hopes to achieve
without these buried parts
for though this tangle
is filth-covered and
far from what any wish
to be faced with
when in admiration
of such flora
without this
the evolving maturation
from ceaseless elongation
and meristematic activity
the terracotta on display
could not be filled with
this greenery so vibrant
Dec 9, 2023
Dec 9, 2023 at 9:04 AM UTC
Broken mind Broken soul
lost and out of my control
Need appreciation and adoration
someone to step up and have maturation
Imprisoned by the pain
and lies you've told
Is there anything left to gain?
You were so perfect in my mind at one time
did not want anyone but you
but now I see a different side
Think I should find someone new
Your silence and your lack of care
means to me you were really never there
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:07 PM UTC
I regard my attraction to language as an affair,
as a withstanding relation,
a product of indecorous communication.
This devotion has demanded a life of its own,
accepting my whole as its proxy.
Others won't understand this affinity.
They aren't familiar with the curving lilt of a domestic tongue,
Nor the taste of a verse fermented in the mouths of one's ancestors,
Surely not the stuttering moans of a mother dialect,
Yet the sharp sting of a jagged vernacular,
or the mastery and art behind the articulation of a single utterance.
This discourse developed over time,
I required maturation and growing before my notions aligned.
I felt eager upon observing the pervasive movements of great text
Which delivered a high known greater than ***
It is true that I contemplated profoundly first,
before committing my desire and will to the whole of verse.
But now that my diction reflects the appeal of great literature and enamoring fiction
I couldn't be more satisfied.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:33 AM UTC
the tides that leave us here
crawl back to us in time
and by the shifting rays of sunlight
they hold us up to a discerning god
marking our segments of maturation
as we fold into the fragments
of what we have become
what life washes away
leaves us sculpted in the sands
we stand facing a wind
that has called out to us
since before the tides
or even time
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 9:13 AM UTC
Looks like smiles and hugs
and current seas for eternity,
I will cover the spread
and her head
The price of her education hard knocks
and maturation
When fully flowered before spring
and ticking timebomb within
Eyes on boys wandering from books
Broken everything and lasers for looks
Her currency never grows thin
Paid in full again and again
If only the world knew what
Made it spin
Looks like smiles and hugs
Refill my wallet *****
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
The most apparent thing
in her story though unpronounced
is as her life unfurled
she very rarely smiled
she possessed a reticence
a solemnity before her years
a maturation process
that involved too many tears
And so this Doctor she became
empathic and sensitive
a healer of the lame
configured by experience
to be of assistance to the same
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC