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Being a child seems so WiLD As time consumes that CHiLD, you become more MiLD Being a TeeN seems so MeaN That TeeN is always in BeTWeeN Being an aDuLT seems so much like an iNSuLT
growing was slow, then sudden like tectonic plates drawing near, then clicking together, leaving a trail of collapsed buildings in its wake-
My mother always measured aging by the spots on her hands. These came from the sun. Sometimes I look at my hands to find my marks, to see if the sun has left any kisses on my skin.
I remember deciding I was awesome, and that was all that mattered. I remember thinking others were bossy, Crying because I was called the same.
growth: forced, quick, and sudden. The first born; I am made to showcase possibility, hope, and opportunity.
Not smiling at smiling me from the DMV. Not watching an R without all of the PG. Not even checking the squares of democracy.
As we mature and lose Softness Of face, of spirit Seeing With an honesty of our own Self Under the angular, unforgiving glare
I have always been afraid of aging This fear often has left me raging Funerals have always left me scared They left me with the burden to bare
What is it to be seventeen And grow up wishing For abstract things What is it to be seventeen To not know who you are But know who you’re not What is it to be seventeen
Time won’t stop running. My bed remains unmade, the freckles around my eyes still move when I talk. My heart still aches during love songs, And my eyes slide shut with the sound of rain.
What we once fully embraced on our young skin Is now what we retract from at first contact. What we once tipped our heads to the heavens above for We now bow our heads down as if in a prayer.
Every time I write I just want to find a way To tell you the same thing With words that are new Every time I write I hope this time someone will hear me differently Every time I write
Dear Grandpa, I have from you a stack of letters. Nobody else does it better. Each word written drenched in love, Creasing me softly like a dove. These letters mean a lot to me.
Age seems a treacherous monster You bargain with her as she lays her hands on your neck She tells you nothing’s going to happen for a while And the very next day, your hair’s gone gray The love’s gone away
dear you things never really went wrong if you consider that we're still together I know it hurt when she found out when she kicked you out over me but you told me it would have to end
I thought I was safe here, So far from the truth, I see myself lying, To escape my own youth. A fragile thing,
In the grass up on a hill Outside the city, I see you Dear empty onion house Peeling and the feeling I get Unwrapping you For brighter insides, scrap the outsides
Dear Juvenility, If only, only when Could I have returned to your restful face Could I, being you protect you from the troubling journey of Adulthood. Protect you, holding you
I'm not sure how it happened, but I woke up one day to realize I haven't aged in a very long time These bodies don't define who we are
I reach down and take your hand in mine And it is cold but still comforting As we look down from this hill Together We can stay here, if you want At least until kindergarten
my Mind was young, innocent, and hopeful the prospects of Life shone brightly in front of me but Tragedy struck; rapidly, abruptly
This spring is dry It’s cold on a summers day The leaves are still Although they are not here to stay, Humanity dipped in grey dye
My alarm clock goes off, time to wake up. Before, waking up was difficult but, now its time to wake up.
Image: Aging Hourglass by Muskan Srivastava She is cold on the ground, I think. Her body has not reached decomposition, yet And that is good for the funeral director.
As a kid I often picked dandelions Because I loved to watch them fly away. As an adult I always picked the pretty girl
Oh, Ode to heels and the height they offer. Ode to my four inch stilts underneath me. But, in my four inch stilts, A struggle to create movement exists; Even as they raise a giant in their wake. My four inches have becom
The rhythm of my heart is no rival For the movement of your wandering eye. Her lithe figure signals her arrival My cadence lulls, watching, undignified
All I need is someone to take care of me. Someone to be patient with me. Someone to hold me, feed me, and change me. Someone to teach me and play with me. All I need is a bicycle!
O wait! Is it real? I am looking at the mirror, is it real? O my life, what did you from me steal? O wait! Is it real? My soul, my love, or even myself. What is in me real?
"Flight of the Impatient Snowflake" by Naomi Wallerson Snowflakes fall outside the windowRacing each other to the groundBecoming one as they reach the endThe end of their flight from the sky to the ground
Fleetingly she flies Leaving us in her wake She hears nothing of our cries and pleads to brake For continue she must and turn us all back into dust Yet she bears no blame for Time is her name
existence is fragile every moment is fleeting I can not help thinking this will all be over soon days pass so slow but one day you will look in the rearview everything's behind you
Time passing Seconds Minutes Hours Days and Weeks and Years
My thoughts Are falling down my throat -- I didn’t want them to tip over.
We play simple games These days it's just simple From Monopoly to Candy Land And Scrabble, too Stratego, Risk, you name it We play simple games We get older, and the games go away
Growing up wasn't kind to us. It wasn't kind, and yet,
Before I was born, everything was okay,
I gaze into the mirror, wait that isn't me Someone else is looking back at me An eldery man, clean shaven with striking brown eyes I then realize, they are mine. Sunken cheekbones of slow death
Why do old women wear musky perfume? They are not mothballs yet
If life is like an open book, My pages are made of glass. As I carefully make each turn, Time continues to pass. A rip is like a crack, In the story of my life. Any kind of peril,
The legend of the koi fish goes that if the koi fish swims up the waterfall it one day it will become a dragon. Since I was little,
I'm my own mind,thoughts, and process Creating thoeries from my past Asking why did I turn out the way I am Thinking sullenly like the dark clouds in the sky
I am from the cicadas of hot humid summers
The streets are collecting dust and so are my friends, and I just don't see the silver lining anymore on these wretched, sunless days. All I see are silver hairs, and people too rigid to change.
she points to her old teeth. she asks me if she should get them all pulled out, all at once, or one by one, a process. partial dentures? full dentures? not yet sure. my slimy tongue slides around
Candles multiply, like a fire spreading in our hearts. A fire of passion, a passion for life, that keeps on growing, as we keep on going. It simmers down after a certain year,
Did I grow too fast? Was it suposed to be this way? Youth is a state of mind. Yet we dwell on the physical. We are an embodiment of the costant reminder that we are nil.
Two new tires Every little rock gets stuck Between the ruts And we cry because they hurt. The smallest vexations Vary our routine. Change of plans
Angel hands with long and nimble fingers Smoothed with age, paths of wisdom along pale skin They comfort and soothe
I used to be in love Now I'm not He used to be so sweet Now he isn't We used to be so young Now we're old Eighteen is old When your heart died At fifteen
Sometimes I still dream Of the days When my hair was the color of Straw When my cheeks were Red Because the blood still ran I dream of days when I was a Child
Wished my life away, Now I’m trying to live back my days, I use to wish I was taller, Now I get that I should have shut my mouth. I wanted to be smarter, But sometimes you need a little doubt.
Look down at the pocket watch Time slips past. From boy to man, Much too fast. With swash buckling books, You dreamt once Of distant islands Filled with mountains,
The long, luscious curls of innocence,
Author's note: While Power Poetry covers a multitude of causes, I've noticed that there are two in particular that are largely avoided--elder care and death.
I am the freshness that takes everything up. I am the delta of barks that carries a life source. I am the clear blue horizon. I am the green that protects every step you take. I was once everywhere and everything.
I tied lavender teabagsto my whittled whitefingers and pretendedI was Virginia Woolf.However, Virginia sankinto the River Ouseand I,into my bathtub.I wanted to sleepand sink
It is she….The quiet one who isn’t necessarily muteHer mind is loud, and I wonder how she does it.How does she maintain such a typical face?Yet her mind is circulating with all of these negative thoughts…. It is she….That girl who is self-deprecat
Young with conditions. Hands all over anchoring our dreams. Up all night, laughing with magnetic hope.
Gymnastics is coaches That are strict and precise. Gymnastics is warm ups That make you drip with sweat. Gymnastics is ropes
When my Great Grandmother was near death in the hospital I was curious to see what an old person's butt looks like, so I kept standing on my tippie toes to catch a see
soft fur fat cat from twenty pounds to ten at twelve years old and still a fat cat in my mind with baggy skin who can't eat and softer fur protuding bones watery eyes
The sun above me sings a lullaby, The rain mimics the tune, Roses dance, Glitter strikes from each and every beat,
Here I amand there I was.When dress up was just a game,Ambitions a dreams coursed through my veins,And even light bright couldn't measure upto the surreal ambience that encompassed my life.
As I crawled from beneath the jagged shards of my dreams I wallowed in their fragments just to remind me why I bleed Temptations of a shallow soul Break to the surface of my self control
Step into a new life.Emerge into darkness,walk into the chill, unknown underpass.Quickly, lights and color whirl by,gigantic masses begin to take form.
Clock As the tail drops, I listen quietly yet sadly. How well it flows. What makes the time go? The sound of footsteps tells me people are coming. What does time hint? What is it that comes?
Mom’s hand vices around tiny fingers, because tiny toes should not tread into traffic. But Mom’s grip slackens as yours tightens around a wheel that steers you onto the turnpike.
Like the spring flowers blossom in, so shall our lives begin. We are born innocent of violence and suffering, and from all the screams that the world is thundering. But from these ignorant, feeble minds,
College is coming oh me oh my I have no idea what I'll do tonight Applications, Dead Lines and Work When in doubt I should just twerk No that won't help me get in college Maybe I should just quote hamlet
forward roll-the promise of more cartwheel clumsy around hope to never fall down! cause life is a backbend round off now, warmer, stronger. independence on beams- seems life is a backbend
a finite beauty; youth is giving way. the diaphanous spirit does not remain naive, tender, passionate. Time erases the smiles and etches a crease between the brow.