I've aged, but grown up? No.
quote by Jake Lloyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
In Silence No More
Aged 1
Aged 2
Aged 3
Aged 4
At 5 my life changed forever more,
Aged 6
Aged 7
Aged 8
Aged 9
By 10 he’d touched me a thousand times,
Aged 41
42
43
44
But now I’m not suffering in silence,
In silence anymore,
For now I’m chatting and talking,
Not crawling I’m walking,
Even though he’s still stalking,
I’m not suffering in silence,
Suffering in silence,
I’m not suffering in silence,
In silence no more.
poem by Darren Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aged tree
Under the aged tree
Where we use to sing
Who is in the garden
The tree of my forefather
The unforgettable aged tree
Under the aged tree
Where we listen
To the story of our land
The dove and the jackal
An unforgettable story
Under the aged tree
Where my forefathers
Wept for freedom till death
May there soul rest in peace
And may the story of the aged tree lives in me
poem by Towobola pelumi miktobz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My writing day has grown shorter as I've aged, although it seems to produce the same number of pages.
quote by Anne Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The old one is expert
I bring my sexy buttocks;
Them, boys don’t know to act on.
You, the aged, must be an expert.
Turn me around and ride.
I bring my two sexy breasts;
Them, boys don’t know how to handle.
You, the aged, must be an expert.
Hold me under and kneed.
I bring my hot rosy lips;
Them, boys don’t know how to lock.
You, the aged, must be an expert.
Lift me up close and bruise.
I bring my burning lobes;
Them, boys don’t know how to pound on.
You, the aged, must be an expert.
Lay me on bed and tear.
I want a long, hard foreplay;
That boys aren’t patient to employ.
You, the aged, won’t be in hurry.
Bring me to orgasm and have glory.
26.09.2006.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forever Saying Goodbye
we are forever saying goodbye
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye let me repeat
the child who has grown into a young man
would remain a fond memory, like how we remember
a childhood friend who was always at our side
the young man who has matured into the middle aged
will remember him as someone who have looked
for so many things in thirty years only to get
only some things; a trail of disappointments to
spice up his memory as he bade the young man goodbye
the middle aged suddenly discovers that he
is not as young anymore, his eyes, his legs,
his hair, his stamina have all started to nag to him
that they are not as before, taking duties
promptly and without shortcoming; they have
all taken a turn for the the middle aged
who will soon teach his children happiness is the
best medicine of all and that life should be
focussed on finding that without hurting anyone
the octogenarian takes over the the steps
of the middled age and they have slowed
so much sometimes he cannot even do it
without the help of someone or a stick
the octogenarian who will tell us that a life
of charity is better than one lived alone;
an all important lesson from the silver haired who will
soon bid goodbye to himself, the world and us all
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Release From Locked Up Cages Aged
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages...
Aged.
Release from locked up cages.
Come everyone...
Release from locked up cages.
Come under the Sun...
Release from locked up cages.
Come feel the breezes.
With fresh air to keep!
And make it yours,
In your mind.
Get more than you need.
And...
Release from locked up cages.
Shake off the rust.
Release from locked up cages.
What's there to lust?
Or trust.
Worthy of your cussing.
Come everyone...
Release from locked up cages.
Come under the Sun...
Release from locked up cages.
Come feel the breezes.
With fresh air to keep!
And make it yours,
In your mind.
Get more than you need.
And...
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages...
Aged.
Release!
Be freed,
From locked up cages aged.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Moment To Remember
As I see your face
in your slumber
I recall the past
romantic moments
You were young then
pretty and vibrant
adoring and sweet
my dream girl
Now we are married
and we aged gracefully
our children are grown ups
still I am captivated by you
True love lingers
it became me
can not live
without you
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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On Teaching The Young
The young are quick of speech.
Grown middle-aged, I teach
Corrosion and distrust,
Exacting what I must.
A poem is what stands
When imperceptive hands,
Feeling, have gone astray.
It is what one should say.
Few minds will come to this.
The poet’s only bliss
Is in cold certitude—
Laurel, archaic, rude.
poem by Yvor Winters
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Home Grown Tomatoes
There aint nothin in the world that I like better than bacon n lettuce n
Home grown tomatoes up in the mornin, out in the garden
Get you a ripe one, dont pick a hard un plant em in the spring, eat em in
The summer all winter without em is a culinary bummer I forget all about the
Sweatinand the digginevery time I go out and pick me a big un home grown
Tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown
Tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes you can go out to eat an thats for
Sure but theres nothina home grown tomatoe wont cure put em in a salad, put
em in a stew
You can make your own tomatoe juice
You can eat em with eggs, eat em with gravy you can eat em with beans, pinto
Or navy put em on the side, put em in the middle home grown tomatoes on a hot
Cake griddle home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like
Without home grown tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes if is to change this life I lead
You could call me johnny tomatoe seed
cause I know what this country needs
Home grown tomatoes in every yard you see when I die dont bury me
In a box in a cold dark cemetery
Out in the garden would be much better
cause I could be pushin up a home grown tomatoe home grown tomatoes, home
Grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown tomatoes only two
Things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes
Words and music by guy clark
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The long, dull, monotonous years of middle-aged prosperity or middle-aged adversity are excellent campaigning weather for the devil.
quote by C.S. Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tis the Season For Reflection
'Tis the season for reflection.
Let's reflect upon this year.
Was it one that you'll remember
all the good that did appear?
Or will the good be overshadowed
by the painful times that came?
Your attitude towards those around you,
was it different or the same?
We cannot change the sins of others
but we can if they're our own.
The year has come and gone so quickly.
Was it one in which you've grown?
Grown in spirit towards each other,
grown in tolerance for all men,
grown in peaceful ways of thinking,
grown in every way you can?
'Tis the season for the carolds
calling for good will towards men.
Let's be thankful for the singing
and reflect on this year again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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So Much That I Could Learn
If only the aged trees could speak,
What tales they might have to recite.
This giant oak has stood for years,
Having grown to a massive height.
And as the decades have done their time,
So many things they must have seen,
As the centuries of human life,
Have passed across this Village Green.
Smart gentry and also tired labourers,
Staunch farmers and shy parlourmaids.
Coy lovers in their starry-eyed loitering,
Sly poachers intent on their trades.
Nannies with their precious charges
Out for a long summer stroll.
Travellers trudging through the snow
To reach their eventual goal.
Then the era of impressive aeroplanes
Bravely cruising the limitless skies.
The motor cars and the charabancs,
Each one a mechanical prize.
Wars, battles and bombs have come and gone,
Generations have passed away.
But still the stalwart trunk stands firm,
To observe yet another day.
If only the aged trees could speak,
I would answer them in return.
I’d sit ‘neath their branches, lost in awe.
Oh, there’s so much that I could learn.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Same Old Song
And the band starts playing
The same old song again
The monks start praying
To the same God again
But He has grown,
He's grown tired
Maybe its time
That he retired
He's grown selfish,
He's grown Greedy
Bless the homeless
And the needy
And the band start playing
The same old song again
The old are still aging
Its new years eve again
But they've grown stupid,
They've grown lazy
They've grown senile,
and gone crazy
They've grown new cancers,
And suffer old ulcers
There are new medicines,
which might be the answer
And the band start playing
The same old song again
And here I am sitting
Back in that same chair again
You were cold,
and you were hearltless
Still you insist
that you are faultless
You are selfish
and you were cruel
How long must you torture
this young fool
And the band start playing
The same old song again
And when it ends
I press rewind again
I am drunk, and feel so sleepy
And in this room I'm feeling creepy
Maybe we sat here too long
Maybe I should stop listening
To our Old Song
poem by Niroda Abboud
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aged.
The aged.
Shuffling, snuffling ruffling.
Like leaves fallen from a tree.
Losing their colour
Gradually.
Washed up like memories
That float in the bay.
Grey.
The aged.
Young at heart
But their house is dilapidated.
Falling apart,
Decor not anticipated,
When they were 21.
Laughing in the sun.
Done.
The aged.
Wheezing, freezing seizing
From head to toe.
And waiting is so slow.
Burning candle low.
Awaiting one last blow.
Creaking,
Leaking.
The family turning away.
Ships pass in the night,
Never stay.
You're not drowning,
You're waving goodbye.
Sigh.
The aged,
That rage in silence.
Evaporate.
As the embers
Die in the grate.
Their cry
This world cannot hear.
They wait with toes curled in fear.
But-
Love soothes their soul.
As the Lord takes control.
And they roll
With the tide of the air.
In the light
That had sprung from nowhere.
On the promise
Of long ago prayer.
So prepare.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grown Men Dont Cry
(steve seskin, tom douglas)
I pulled into the shopping center
And saw a little boy wrapped around the legs of his mother
Like ice cream melting they embraced
Years of bad decisions runnin down her face
All mornin Id been thinkin my lifes so hard
And they wore everything they own, livin in a car
I wanted to tell him it would be ok
But I got just got in my suburban and I drove away
But I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
Keep having this dream about my old man
Im 10 years old, and hes holding my hand
Were talkin on the front porch watchin the sun go down
But it was just a dream he was a slave to his job and he couldnt be around
So many things I wanna say to him
But I just placed a rose on his grave, and I talk to the wind
But I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry, dont cry
Im sittin here with my kids and my wife
And everything that I hold dear in my life
We say grace and thank the lord
Got so much to be thankful for
Then its up the stairs and off to bed and my little girl says
I havent had my story yet.
And everything weighin on my mind disappears just like that
When she lifts her head off her pillow and says,
I love you dad
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
And I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry, dont cry
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Aged Man's Poem
An aged man’s poem
Need not rage;
Peace and quiet
Calm the page-
Courage in sickness
And through pain-
Loving kindness
For all who remain.
Words of comfort
For longtime friends -
Resignation
Before the end.
An aged’s man’s poem
Should hopefully be
Blessing and Trust
In Eternity-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Bittersweet is age
In the end, we all die but once.
Most die but one time and one time alone.
But what tempers the sweetness of living long
Is the bitter sweetness
That the aged wearily carry to their grave.
The fact is, that the aged will have died
Many times over in their life
While the young and the innocent
…have to die only once…
poem by David Whalen
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Shaking To Re-Invent To Then Adjust
Never did I ever stand inflexibe.
To prove I had strength against opposing winds.
I remain open to comprehend with a listening.
Hoping that from the doing of this,
There is something I have learned...
That continues to assist my growth process.
And letting nothing stand in the way,
Of my quest to eliminate aged and rusting barriers.
My life is like an earthquake...
Shaking to re-invent to then adjust as a must.
With a removing of that which has grown old,
To then innovate that updates...
Over and over again with renewed appreciation.
Much like the coming and going of each season.
I am not one,
However...
To quote a few passages from a book,
To then believe this protects me...
With a keeping of an ignorance,
I am not ready to rid.
Because to do so would disappoint,
Those upholding fading and outdated traditions.
My life is like an earthquake...
Shaking to re-invent to then adjust as a must.
With a removing of that which has grown old,
To then innovate that updates...
Over and over again with renewed appreciation.
Much like the coming and going of each season.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Always Got on My Nerves
You always got on my nerves,
But then I saw your photo:
You are old; far older than I imagined
With the kindly look that the aged often acquire
If they are very lucky-
And I could feel my heart
Stretching out it's blue tinged fingertips
To trace your ravaged face.
By the time we have grown any real wisdom,
Our looks have all flown away
Like fickle birds, looking for greener fields elsewhere;
The skeleton is already beginning to peek out,
A promise of worse things yet to come.
But kindness in the eyes
Will outlive the longest holocaust.
poem by Patti Masterman
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There are two barriers that often prevent communication between the young and their elders. The first is middle-aged forgetfulness of the fact that they themselves are no longer young. The second is youthful ignorance of the fact that the middle aged are still alive.
quote by Jessamyn West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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