I might make a noise right now
There will be a time when I go silent
Will you miss my racket?
In those days of silence?
I will no longer yearn for your presence
Like I do at this very moment
Will you wonder?
Will you wish?
For that good morning?
I might be a nuisance right now
I might ask you the same thing over and over
My voice will go silent
All I ask today is be patient with me
Please love me; with your ears
Please love me; with your time
Before all you will have
Is my grave and the memories…
"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate "
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015
You see him at the store sometimes
He doesn’t walk too fast
His stride has slowed throughout the years
He slowly moves on past
The hair upon his head is white
If there’s any there at all
He may be stooped or bent a bit
A cane so he won’t fall
He smiles but you don’t know his name
He waves a weathered hand
You might smile back and say hello
There goes a nice old man
What you don’t see beyond his face
His life of ninety years
The wife he met the kids he’s raised
The joys and work and tears
The letters won for high schools sports
The girls he used to date
The time his father grounded him
For coming home too late
The war he fought for freedom’s sake
Tales too hard to speak
The friends he lost the wounds he bore
The tears upon his cheeks
The job he worked for forty years
That kept his family fed
The home he built with his two hands
The church group that he led
Time and youth have slipped away
His mind is not as clear
His friends have mostly left this earth
He’s lost his wife so dear.
When next you see an aged gent
Who passes through your day
There’s more to him than leathered skin
There’s much that he could say
He doesn’t want your sympathy
Nor pity could he stand
Don’t treat him like a feeble child
Approach him as a man.
He still remembers all he’s done
He hasn’t lost his pride
Respect his years for you’ll be there
And know his heart inside
Copyright © John Curtis | Year Posted 2013
On this October's mild stirrings
I watched ached nights flicker, to glow
Around his hair like angel wings
Recalling joyrides... so mellow.
That in hushed tones,I called Gramps' name
Enshrined within my youth's warm space...
My hands folded with love aflame,
While prayers spilled through chill's embrace.
Though failing heart quivered in ticks,
Faith...way back then when I was ten
Gripped, he was nearing sixty six
As prayers trailed,wafting amen.
Until spring came, Gramps' flare restored
With new life blessed from harbor's ward.
Way Back Then When I Was Ten
Kelly Deschler's Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013
Mother Nature has all but consumed
Their little graveyard by the sea, where
Sands bleached white, slide
Across the cemetery floor
Drifting like pale capsized hulls
Floating between tablets marking
The long forgotten dead
It was here, fifty two years ago that
I held my Grandfathers weathered hand,
More so for the want of a brace
Than the sympathetic touch of a Grandchild
My little hand lost to the wrist, gripped
By a generation lost to the elements
I watched him kneeling by their angled stones
Tracing their names; first his father’s father, then
The mothers, with a finger crooked by age
The sandstone letters crumbling in the wake of his trace
Grit sifting through his heavy fingers; history, being erased
Returning it back – to where it all began
I followed behind his shuffling shoes
Kicking up dust that settles on the bones of ghosts
My Grandfather’s voice lost to an ocean breeze
Is he speaking to the dead?
Whilst our shadows lengthen, then dwindle into dusk
I imagined, back then as I do now
Of a graveyard full of pirates and thieves
With their ship resting - just out there
~ At sea
But for the stout chimney and hearth, beyond the grounds
Baring testimony to pioneers that
Once toiled this barren coast and now
Standing defiant, resolute against the
Advancing flotilla of sand
He is buried just beyond the little graveyard
My Grandfather, next to my Grandmother
On his farm; or
His father’s farm before that
My farm now…
On a hill
Overlooking the sea, where it all began
8 Dec. 2014
Copyright © Mark Trichet | Year Posted 2014
Hands, aged with sun
Rings grown too tight
Feet, wrinkled by walk
Eyes drooped with tire
Hair stringed with dye
Teeth yellowed with coffee
Each grey hair
Filled with experience
Copyright © Anashe Bartonia | Year Posted 2014
It seems a long long time ago
there's no way that I could see.
The dreams I one time chose to dream
that were not meant to be.
Like looking through a darkened glass
much more carefree than some.
All the changing, rearranging
and the man I would become.
With childhood days behind me
and the roads that lie ahead.
I think of lessons one time learned
and things that grandpa said.
Be kind to those around you
and have a tender touch.
Share what you have plenty of
with those that don't have much.
Be kind to kids and animals
right up until you die.
When you shake a strangers hand
you look them in the eye.
Stand firm when life's demanding
and take it on the chin.
Times when something knocks you down
you get back up again.
Don't lend yourself to evil
and mean the things you say.
Don't let the things that all go wrong
stand in your dreams way.
With time and trial I can see
more clearly now than some.
The man that I was meant to be
and the man I have become.
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
-Dharga Nagar Safa
Planting a mango tree,
Smiling the grandchild!
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014
When we get old with arthritis in our bones we make thoughtful decisions about the use of our time. We can amuse our grandchildren while our children inhabit their jobs. We can volunteer to help others like a wolf that knows how to hunt. We can do something creative with our hours and work toward an outcome that warms people’s hearts.
We have options about what to do with our days. We can sit alone in our homes like the last drop of water left on a rock, or we can behave like practiced magicians who can slow down the clock with the snap of two fingers and live like an elder who is not afraid of the dark and be more inclined help our family and friends as they voyage down the highway of time.
Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2014
His evening’s at hand
For me it’s midday
The world rushed bye
Nothing can stay
Confused and befuddled
He’s still dear to me
As a toddler of two
I bounced on his knee
The down on a thistle
Has blown far away
But this morning great grandkids
Did roughhouse and play
Copyright © Douglas Dicketts | Year Posted 2014
The moon shines so beautifully in her misery
Grace the world with thousand ribbons of silver rays.
There was a young man,
A pleasure slumber seeker
Eyes bares love and faith
The hands grip the dreams and expectations
Steppin definitely in spirit
To the unknown life ahead
Forty years have passed
Two young men sit together
One with gray hair and wrinkled face
Other, a fresh and naive young soul
A bond of flesh and blood
Talking about life and living
And the moon..? A loyal companion in solitude
For the happiness of every soul, she craves.
Copyright © Shirley Candy | Year Posted 2013
With walker support he enters the door
He’s there every day, from 10 to 4.
Orders coffee and bagel’d cream-cheese
Then sits there for hours with hands on his knees.
He sits near the window and watches his past
Within his mind as old shadows cast
His vague recollections of sweet reverie
Which only his fading memories see
A smile now and then becomes his vaccine
Against reality’s attempt on the scene
To interrupt the flow of the past
Which for decades he worked to amass.
Loneliness he constantly wears as a coat
His only companion: memories remote.
So … solemnly, quietly he spends his days
He rewinds his memories into replays
Aged and wrinkled thin hands so frail
Around 4 o’clock his walker assail
Again he shuffles out the front door
Tomorrow … he’ll return, and be there once more.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
Thumbnails of memories we rewind.
Reel of real life has come to halt.
The old age is the time for
Shaking hands, blurring eyes
To share one's know-hows
And prepare for
Copyright © Kiran Bantawa | Year Posted 2013
I wish I didn't stop to think,
about the man who cherished me.
My childhood so fun and fair,
I remember your cologne drifting in the air.
The days we went to the Space museums,
showing me pictures of your trips to new Zealand.
The greatness achieved when in the service,
giving lives a better purpose.
Just thinking of your voice is hard enough,
I wish that I could be more tough.
It hurts to think that now your gone,
Grandpa I just can't be strong.
That day in the rest home I hit my peak,
the fear so bad I couldn't speak.
I had to leave because I just cried,
and cried, and lost my chance to say goodbye.
I wish I could have let it out,
and now I have to live without.
I know your looking down and see,
this pathetic thing I've grown to be.
I just want to be like you,
but I could never amount to you.
Please help me through this pain I'm in,
and help me to feel alive again.
I miss you so much I just want to scream,
I hope you visit me in my dreams.
I love you Grandpa with all I have left,
there is not much there but shame and stress.
I want to honor you and become better,
find my peace, if I can ever.
I hope on day again I will see,
the man who truly cherished me.
I love you so much Grandpa and I am so so sorry.
Copyright © Del Cammack | Year Posted 2013
Beneath the deep furrows
and the facial lines
cheeky little girls
''Many a time when I have talked to old people who I love, about their childhood, suddenly
something magical happens. Their eyes sparkle, and they become children again.''
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013
When I Was Young
When I was young
I walked 30 miles in the snow to school
With no feet or hands
I was nobody’s fool
We crawled about and lived on dirt and faith
Our only friend was Jesus
He gave us everything we needed
Work, turkey on Thanksgiving
More work, death and taxes
What else could a person want?
You youngins don’t know how good you got it
When I was young
And walked 50 miles in the snow
Or was it 30?....I don’t know….
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
“She was mine” was all he thought
His spark was gone, forever had seemed so long
The gleam in his eye, dulled as days went by
He’d been trying hard to carry on, she was two months gone
He could no longer cry, all life was now, was a lie
His sadness growing deeper, as the world continued to fly by
His girl was gone now, his reason and purpose no longer around
For years he cared, he couldn’t show, but those actions spoke louder than any words
she would’ve known
His poor tired soul began to appear on his face
His heart numb from losing the one love that who with, his life had begun
Now it was his time to start, for in his heart, he knew……
They wouldn’t be far apart.
Dedicated to the memory of my Grandparents
William Lee Neeland Sr. 02/22/27 – 07/10/04
Pauline Sue Neeland 07/27/46 - 12/24/03
with all my love, #2
Copyright © Tonya Jones | Year Posted 2014
The Old Orphan
here he came in need of love
sadly,he found himself orphan
it was the wish of the one above
like a musician without his organ
he felt a small baby inside his chest
he searched for his beloved toy
he found it ... No, not yet
couldn't brook weeping though
he brought her picture out
took his time looking at her eyes
his heart by her name shout
he couldn't forget her voice nor her smiles
at last he joined her in peace down deep
under the four seasons they sleep
Copyright © Arabian Poet | Year Posted 2015
-i could still hear our tired feet passed this plain,
wind chills our bodies soaked at early dawn rain-
i sat at the side, eager to absorbed, all what I heared from my old man's tale
cold breeze breath and made us shivered,
as if a ghost from the past, sat in
under the acacia, as if it was ready to hear the pain-
"we are at war, nineteen eighty nine, and in the late seventies
most of the boys lost their lives, including mine,
that, i was long gone with them,
I don't understand.
-inside a small house, we call' a war room'
my old man were dead few years back,
we talked about politics, it could be a new walk
can you walk with us? they asked, eagerly
though I'm skeptic, i nod-
we went out on the streets, after few hours dancing
in the air, sat on the side, placards lay on my tired hand
throwed a long glimpse toward the sky
i think rain come tonight,
one of us, positively uttered.
we look at him, and all eyes raised up towards the gathering
of the moonson clouds,
still i don't understand.
Copyright © Herbert Siao | Year Posted 2014
Living One's life
Just to end up shriveled and barely breathing
In a hospital bed
Touching so many people
and creating a grand family
To forget it years later
with a horrible disease
I am so sorry
That you have to go
But i won't make you stay
Because you suffer so
I am so sorry to let you leave
But i know you would understand
For so long, we have grieved
Goodbye, know that we Love you
Now, close your eyes tight
We will never forget our Grandfather
So, please just rest tonight
Copyright © Maz Zie | Year Posted 2014
The baby is reciting memory sequences to itself
talking to itself
adults minds are fixed
so they made it about themselves
I’m mama, I’m dada
birthing alzheimer's to the baby’s health
he giggles, slowly forgetting about himself
lost of consciousness
he forgets about himself
baby begins to grow
personality begins to show
an adoration for lilac and pink
dada said no, you're a boy
boy's favorite color is blue ----not pink
birthing alzheimer's to the young boys health
slowly forgetting about himself
grows up to play little, boy blue
no pink boy
sad but it's true
playing the role of someone new
he forgets about himself
birthing Alzheimer’s to his feeble health
he grows into a macho man
anti pink, real, blue macho man
marries a submissive girl
yes sir, yes mam
plants four sons in her
yes sir, yes mam
his tribe is completely blue
all boys, no girls
no room for the color blue
still playing the role of someone new
birthing Alzheimer's to himself
lies deteriorates our mental health
one day, had to face himself
too old to run, had to face the self
travels back in time
loosened the control he kept on mind
his heart can finally speak
a 'lil weary but she's not so weak
he starts to think
my favorite color’s not blue
it 's actually pink
family believes he's losing his mind
he's not, he's back in time
going mad removing all the blue
wife calls the doctor
doesn’t know what to do
"this is not my husband
this is someone new."
she believes he’s forgetting himself
he’s not forgetting
Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016
"Eh? Sigourney's Beaver?"
Grandad's hard of hearing
"Weaver, Grandad, Weaver"
Deafness. How endearing.
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2015