Dr. James E. Martin
Now that I’ve reached a ripe old age,
I sit on the porch and sip sweet tea.
Some may question the wisdom in this,
My response is simply, “It works for me!”
Jealousy is undoubtedly fostered in some,
For that matter anger may surely arise.
I simply continue in my well designed plan
And know that many my life they despise.
I wake up at 5:30 most mornings
Before the sun has a chance to rise
Head for the bathroom as fast as I can
To get rid of yesterday's Mai Tai
I let out a great big sigh of relief
As I wipe the gunk from my peepers
Stand in front of a full length mirror
Like Tarzan, in my trap door sleepers
I sure am ruggedly handsome, methinks
Could even grace the cover of GQ
That's if they publish a special edition
For overweight, balding yahoos
Maybe I'm being too hard on myself
I've still got a surprise up my sleeve
Like running a mile in two hours flat
Quite a feat for old guys to achieve
Now here's a lesson, so listen up good
To this fatherly advice that I share
Take care of yourself or you'll wind up
As a old guy without any hair
©Jack Ellison 2012
Great idea here
Let’s open a Haiku Shoppe
They go great with beer
Easy to find I’m told
They hide under nibs of pens
Don’t let them get old
To make a great stew
Take a limerick or two
Mix well with Haiku
If all has gone well
And your mix has turned out right
You’re ready to sell
One more thing to do
We must put them on a bun -
Sit and have a few
Written by John Posey
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
sitting on my rocker
waiting for mail
with my first fast elder walker with seat
they say that this fast elder walker with seat
up to ten years to the day
I do pray
that this walker
is not my last
and that it and I
don’t go too fast
Retirement in the Mountains
There once was an old mountain man.
He hunted and lived off the land.
He always felt fine.
When he danced in moonshine.
So he danced and imbibed like he planned.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 11, 2010
Poetic form: Limerick
click click, click click, tick-tock, tick-tock,
the clock seems to tick not as fast as one wants,
the air conditioner stops now they can hear you chew,
after the first week, you knew this wasn't the right job for you.
two years go by, collectively this repetition makes the time fly
but each day feels like two weeks in the mind,
a backwards reality, a 21st century tragedy, too much of this will make one mad you see, its just not natural - self destruction will take place gradually
in search of a new end goal, something nourishing to the soul, perhaps a little creative control, a bit more spiritual, and a little less ritual,
how about less them, and a little more you, knowing you have the ability to pursue anything you want to do, but for now you keep your head down just trying to see the day through and then forcefully recoup - praying the IT department doesn't notice you scrolling down poetry soup:)
Thirty years in the work force,
I might have stopped earlier, of course,
but kept on working with my hard-earned skills.
It kept me out of trouble and paid the bills.
Eight hours travail, then home in time
to do the "rest", which was nothing of the kind.
Friday night laundry and pushing the vacuum, Say?,
'til two in the morning so as have a free Saturday.
How did I do it without risking a seizure?
As stay-at-home writer, do I have any leisure?
You guessed it: my busy life is out to get me.
I'd like to quit, but my Boss won't let me.
for Andrea, who asks where I've been
Before Jack retired
He promised that
He shovel the snow
He'd feed the cat
He'd fix the roof
And mend the sink
He paint the
Bathroom sunrise pink
He'd build a den
And repair the phones
He'd set the yard
With patio stones
He said he'd dig
The garden plot
Clean the attic
Extent the lot
He'd clean the windows
Eaves and spout
Get all the soggy
Dead leaves out
We'd buy a trailer
Jack and me
And then go
Visit cousin Dee
We'd jet away
To sunny lands
Bask on warm
And tropic sands
Spend our days
In hottest Reno
Night time jaunts
To the casino
Dance the tango
Dine out late
Sleep in peace
At motel eight
Fly to Paris
Greece or Rome
A day at home
Now old Jack
Has made it clear
Lies on sofa
Jack is finally
here to stay
And much alive
Jack sure is
loving sixty five