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Best Age Poems

Below are the all-time best Age poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of age poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Age Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Age poems are below this new poems list.

Man is not an age but a rate by Kagiri, Amos
AGE IS JUST A NUMBER by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Dawning Of The Age Of Aquarius by Faries, Marissa
NEW AGE by SEREO, KHOMOTSO
OLD AGE by Trifiatis, Demetrios
I Age by julien, nahomie
ICE AGE by Sutar, Neelamani
Reflections of Age by Price, Franklin
Before Age by Chalise, Deepak
The Transition Age by Ellison, Jack

View all new Age Poems

The Best Age Poems

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Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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These Eyes Have Often Been Solaced

These eyes have often been solaced by twilight's cotton candy pllows moving silently towards a sky's velveteen blanket and angels'silver gowns By gazing over hills to where old country church bells and crickets play harmonious sounds These eyes have often been solaced by honey coloured shadows pouring moonlight zest across the rose plum of my cheek By little antique lamplights which illuminate my soul 's dark cobbled street By winds carrying sea-salts to a fragrant golden sand By tides washing out corals to a distant land These eyes have often been solaced by your return to this vacant room inside my heart By the hush hushed whisper of your voice By the embrace of your arms By the way you love me By the way you need me By the way you want me Like an autumn bonfire before next sunrise'dew fall By the way you lean on me


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

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Old Lady

Listen to poem:
"bag of bones"


I wonder if when you look at me
You can't bring yourself to like    the  vanity
Lost  somewhere  inside - 
I wonder if beauty lives..... in you???

Poor old lady; 
-perhaps you should not pass judgment 
For one day
I might be
Just 
Like 
You!

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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The Shadow of Me

It was a long time ago, in another age
Where the shifting of the wind
Knew where I began
A place so far away, 
Somewhere distant, in childhood country
Before the fog had set in,
Before time lost all trace of me

Where have they gone?
Those merry dancers with whom I played?
When we were queens of the carnival, kings of the parade?
Before being dethroned to mid-life corners
Hearing the music, without playing the drums
They tell me to take this age with grace
Yet everywhere I turn, is young

I'm still the same, I have not changed
I lived a time where love was wild and thoughts were too
With high regard, when eyes were glued
Now inside I'm torn in two...the old and the new
Trapped between this nowhere place
Myself and someone else
Until each barrier becomes a bridge...
Have I been shaped too square by passing years, to fit in circle's place?

My memory recalls those beautiful tomorrows
Now long buried in yesterday's ground
There are other ways to measure time
Besides growing older and graying hair
Recorded music fills the room
Left playing from an earlier time
When October skies showed fading traces
Of empty days and sad old faces
The "others" of whom I had no fear

Now those shadowed remnants from my past
Are stalking at my heels
Will somebody care to ask?   Will anyone need my mind?
Is there something they want to tell me?
Will they patronize, or just be kind?

Care enough, make me useful, give me value, call me beautiful?....
Not yet the age I'll someday be
Still, I feel the sting of losing me
How I ache for all those love songs
How I ache for someone needing, someone pleading...
For advice....for my worth, for an answer, will they want me?
How it haunts me.....Will they see me?
Touching me....reminding me of who I am................not just who I was...





__________________________________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

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Jesus was Turkish

A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes

His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed

Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind

When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home

You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut

Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing

You loved the universe




Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.

Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone  lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.

No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness. 

Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships. 

Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.

Thank you, for helping building a better world!



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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one broken monoku

one feeble couple barely survives a broken gate swings in the wind
Sponsor: Rick Parice Contest: One Broken Monoku


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014

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It's only time

For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.

The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.

Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.

For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.

With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.

For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
 Now Care free and full of fun.

For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.

Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.

© N windle


Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2014

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Expenditures

Time is boundless when you're young. You want school days to fly so in summer you'll be sprung loose upon the world. Touch sky, Butterfly! Vitality is yours; songs unsung will surely come by and by. One day you go away, leave home, friends; finally. . . Youth. Some tread steadily; others stray from convention's pathway, and truth unfolds to you its grey. Life quickens its pace. You'll stumble or run or walk with grace beneath a waning sun. Midway a rut confronts you. . . Worse, an unexpected cut. Those surviving keep arriving spent. This is one PD will never have seen for her contest. It is a form that requires six parts, and the form is not listed at Soup. Stanza one uses six lines with six words per line (not syllables, but words). STanza 2 is a five-line stanza with five words per line. You continue in this way decreasing lines and number of words in the lines until you arrive at a single one-word line in the bottom stanza! Maybe I will try this form one day in a contest!! (I rhymed this, but it does not have to be rhymed)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Wayward Child

Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.

Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.

Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.

We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief. 
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.





Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

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Dust From The Past

Looking back again, back into the past, 
it was written in sand, all those questions we asked
on those last days of summer, something was wrong
as the leaves started turning, and shadows grew long

There was dust on the tables, and the clutter remained
where never before, .... had it not been restrained
You were known for your grace, now your pride was at risk
Quickly swept, polished fine, brushed away with a whisk

This just wasn't you, having bricks without mortar
You were never unkempt ...now a life out of order?
You would never have allowed such things out of place
Something so small, would have been your disgrace

There was something to blame, something was strange
Even small tasks, we noticed, had changed
Another piece of a puzzle, fell into place
Your trace of bewilderment, when a name was erased

Your memory lost, and a world gone absurd ...
Then, once it was you....alone and disturbed 
Lost and afraid, but mostly confused
Forgetting the day, many things you would lose,
or someone you loved, so much undefined
shoved back to blind spaces, your words couldn't find

Dust motes collected where never before,
would settle, make home, in your mind evermore
Without any warning, without any sound
until you were gone, and the years fell around

Dreams that you had, were drawn in the sand
into the traces of dust of a far away land

_________________________________________________
Inspired by Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: "Pick a Title"
10/31/14


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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Polar Opposites

We are polar opposites trying to connect,
Walking through a field of land mines.
Sometimes we don't make it through
Without becoming a bit maimed.

I am the steadfast flower in your garden,
The one that always grows back.
Even if abused, I find a way to blossom.
Tethered together by an invisible cord
Our deep love somehow endures.

We knew how different we were before
We felt compelled to share our lives.
We told ourselves opposites attract.
Now as age and illness becomes entwined
We have become shells of our vibrant
Selves who once took on the world united.

I refuse to succumb to the harsh winter
As I cling to the hues of our harvest years.
I will keep it at bay with songs in the sun
Warming both our hearts 'till winter comes.

© Connie Marcum Wong



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015

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A Painter's Pine

The void calls through gossamer veils and widow's peak. Shifty-eyed now of necessity I lie, bone-wrapped in rosaries black as my rheumy eyes, death speaks. Uncomforted by down or velvet, role trapped corseted, board stiff with age like calf skin vellum peeled and bloodied by the dual edged knife of man. The scene is set and I shall not whimper, as do some, or call to God, or blame the fates of those whose clans remain earth-bound, when I have left this mortal glade. Pigment on canvass, linseed loosed, stretchers taut, displayed, all of this, I've had a plenty, and been royally paid. My life was art, and it was art that fanned my life's flame. So, stretch me on the pine boards and lay my edges down; monochrome me in umber, drench me in shades of brown.
Self Portrait See About the Poem


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013

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Become

I close my weary eyes
I quake and tremble
The meaning of life losing its hold,
Losing its wonder
In this magnifying, mystifying Sadness

Where is the river, 
Where is the ocean
To drown these sorrows...

The dry formations in this barren land stay tall,
Pools holding life drying in the dinosaur wasteland 
I am bones...
I am bones sinking in the waterless chalk

I keep these eyes shut
To hide inside my meditations
My ears have grown accustomed to the silence,
And sensitive to the drops of tears
They dry too quickly,
For the sun is against the moisture
And all for the fossilization of my soul

Where is the river?
Where is the ocean...

I do not ask with hope-
I am too ancient to beg for miracles
To dream, yet, too long I have slept
I ask on account of who I once was,
A land so lush and plentiful
See now only the dryest thrive

I am bones on the brink of history...
The elements have claimed me
Life will return elsewhere
I am become by the rock and the sun



Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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The Winter Blues

The Winter Blues
Robert J. Lindley 

Winter blew in with a scant little whimper 
Fall skulked away with hardly a peep 
Deep cold, blowing winds fit some's temper 
Yet others they sadden enough to weep! 

Snow brings its beauty and shining charms 
Frigid air sets furry critters about 
Blizzards blasting forth set great alarms 
Where frozen forested cries ring out. 

Nature knows best and gives as she pleases 
Hardest season sets the coming stage 
Death and pain, of which Spring then eases 
Time for each, says the wizened sage! 

Cold chills, hang glisten silent through the night 
Decembers solstice sets the stage northbound 
Jack Frost pretends to be Earth's white knight 
Dark days of winter winds; ice-kiss the ground 

Autumn renews chilling barren vows, 
Wonderland enables the sun on numb 
Icicles form, a voice shared -leaving nature roused 
Winter's blue melodies washed down with rum 

A cold peril storm, enjoying the winter sky 
Frostbitten dawn, desolate sunset of worthlessness 
A leafless desire to intensify nature's supply 
Loss from exposed skin, of hopelessness 
*** 
Snow, Sleet, and hell; patients needing detox 
Atlas Spring gives way to the Viral Equinox 

(Robert Lindley and Poet Destroyer co-write) 

~ ~ A Poet Destroyer Collaboration ~ ~
----------------------------------------------------

Contest: Collaboration Celebration- subject- Winter Reflections. 
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Life's Fading Light-Part 1-Heroic Crown of Sonnets

Youth

When orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow
to hold emotions locked in deep repose
in young desire and love warm thoughts will show.
Affection holds its ardor as it grows
to burn inside young hearts in evening tide.
In darkest night the heat will burn and rise
till naked, love's sweet flower blooms inside
and once again my love the past implies.
I'm not the dreaming soul you think you've known,
this willing need that cannot be denied,
is naught if not in love my feeling's grown,
as sad, the winds of change cast hearts aside.
     
     Is not the pain of youth our last great stand
          as time, with heavy brow, is nature planned?


Time

As time, with heavy brow, is nature planned,
to start the quest the instant life began.
It ticks each moment past with second hand
through infant life, to youth, and then to man.
The years go by as sequenced seasons pass
and miss each gentle touch of mothers breast.
As hair of grey like waves of grain amass,
we enter life's most cruel and crucial test.
How quick the mind in once unfettered thought
is now but clouds of muddled pother dust,
and as the time moves deep in minds hard fought,
the turning wheels soon slow to so much rust.

     No thought for life and love can further grow.
          Too soon the beating heart begins to slow.

Passion

Too soon the beating heart begins to slow
as passion spent prepares to take its toll,
and shooting stars burn down to subtle glow,
the mind's illusions dream of heart and soul.
Yet warmth and need can still ignite the flame
if sparks in coals of burning love remain.
Though slow the beats count down each ardent frame
our need for touch and fervor we retain.
For what is good without loves sweet caress
on lonely night or stormy sullen day,
to tightly hold each moment we possess
and guard the heart from anger and dismay.

     The light of heaven's long goodbye's unplanned
          when passion's ember burns the gentle hand.

Love

When passion's ember burns the gentle hand,
so, too, pure hearts can suffer in loves pain.
but lessons taught, no matter how well planned
can lead us down this broken path again.
Emotions find the cracks in crystal yen
then ebb and flow in watered essence's glow,
and grow the seeds of doubt to wonder when
through chinks in life's burst dam our love will flow.
But fill each crack with heart's warm trust and truth
and once again love's flower starts to bloom
like soft bright petals only found in youth,
we feel the sun burn past our time of gloom.

     Through life the warmth of pain awaits each day
          with flames of love that flicker old and grey.

Age

With flames of love that flicker old and grey
the hope of life's sweet nectar I once gave.
With you in pleasured touch we both would lay
and from my lonely heart my life you'd save.
As time moves on, though wisps of shadows fade,
like honey to the bees love yet tastes sweet
but tender touches lost in dark of shade
remain recalled reflections of conceit.
Let not the scourge of time erase the stain
of need for heated pleasure so ingrained
and loves mosaic tender heart's refrain
then end to end our love we'll share unchained.
     
     As brown the leaves float free from trees unmasked.
          but moments gone, as youth filled questions asked.

Sorrow

But moments gone, as youth filled questions asked,
no more of young loves wonder we request,
for in our soul the answers are unmasked
when stars align to find the lover's quest.
In length of day, like shadows, darkness grows
engulfing heaven's promise lost in fear,
and clasp strong hands of those we hold so close
from moistened cheeks we wipe a lonely tear.
No soft and tender touch upon the brow
when, tick, the clock calls out the lonesome hour,
can change the path of fate we follow now,
when life's sweet taste turns bitter, tart and sour.

     As we in fervid dusk filled evening lay
          the feelings lost to seasons never stay.

Feelings

The feelings lost to seasons never stay
and life  grows cold as little sand remains.
But, o'er the heart the mind has little sway
when strong emotions bleed through burning veins.
Does anger, love or hate in time still lie,
awaiting passion's burning deep inside,
or ease in mellowed thoughts as days go by
to tarry in the place where senses hide?
The smile upon my face may turn in joy
though deep inside my heart my feelings burn
as eddies swirling lost in loves sad ploy
awaiting their frenetic fierce return.

     Like comet's tail our hearts burn bright and fast
          for in the end it's just one soul that's passed.


04/19/16


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2016

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Life's Fading Light-Part 2-Heroic Crown of Sonnets

Alone

For in the end it's just one soul that's passed.
Alone I'll lie in sod of greenest grass
to answer for the sins that I've amassed
at gates of gold I'll see if I may pass.
In to this world I entered all alone
in cold and dark and dank so old I grow,
on thoughts of younger days I bitch and moan
with little hope of changing what I know.
But, now as time reflects upon my skin,
the lines of life grow deep upon my face.
I feel the fear of darkness closing in
and of my soul it leaves but little trace.

     So lay my corpse upon this bier stone cold.
          The end of life so often is foretold.

Faith

The end of life so often is foretold
from storms of pained emotions we retreat.
When colors fade to black as we grow old
we search for gold from rainbows we can cheat.
Through lonely thoughts of our demise we trod,
yet try, we still, to save our lives from dust
With souls we've fore to sold we offer God
if but in his creation he would trust.
In promise lost we bide our time, we cope,
for what remains beyond our short lived lives.
The heaven of our father's faith's our hope,
inside of us is where this hope yet thrives.

     Is our eternal faith enough to know,
          when cold the winds of fate speak soft and low?

Moments

When cold the winds of fate speak soft and low
I hear its voice sing smooth in morning dew
and all of life on wings aloft will go
and fly on breeze of gentle pastel hue.
So sweet the taste of life will linger on
with rainbow flavors left upon the tongue,
like cream filled candy, but too soon it's gone
dissolved like so much piles of beetles' dung,
I know that life is precious as fine gems
reflecting each new moment that we live
with flowers' petals sweet upon their stems
our time in life is all we have to give.

     As years in life pass slow like buds in cold
          in warmth and light the blooms of time unfold.

Lies

In warmth and light the blooms of time unfold
to search through lost emotions is our goal.
In hope that we shall keep from growing old
we capture fading thoughts to keep us whole,
but when the final sunset has gone dark
the memories we cherished are all lost
and only ghostly photos leave the mark
of lives that pass like melting winter frost.
I can not bear the thought of you alone
when life has passed for me and I am gone.
What good of all the sweetness you have known
if lonely night awakes to lonely dawn.

     Forever lies I've promised, you will see,
          as petals fall, my life will cease to be.

Doubts

As petals fall my life will cease to be,
yet time goes on without a moment lost
and still the winds of fate persist and blow
without remark or care or pennies cost.
What worth am I but in your care and love
or have I lived my life in selfish need.
I've tried so hard, for you, to rise above
but in your eyes do you just see my greed.
For am I who you wanted me to be,
the perfect man to share my life with you,
or did you wish for me to just be me
and give you love and promise to be true?

     When end is near I know in you I'll dwell
          in whispered songs of love my heart will quell.

Life

In whispered songs of love my heart will quell
so soft it beats when broken scars are healed
yet pain of loss for you I can't dispel
when left to dream of all that you've revealed.
The secret  words of love that you have told
in moments sweet and pleasured touch exposed
to me are bits of life for me to hold
when fantasies of you have been reposed.
Now laid to rest inside my very soul,
I've loved you strong and deep for oh so long
for in my life you've played a leading roll.
Without you dear this life would be but wrong.

     Though many words as yet I wish to tell
          with tender tears to you, I say farewell.

Death

With tender tears to you, I say farewell,
my sweet, my life, my love, my need, my soul.
From you the one for whom my heart once fell,
this world of pain will now exact its toll
Too soon my corpse in death will lay stone cold
and tears from you will be my sole repose.
The troubadour whose words sing songs so bold,
alas, is left struck mute in death's last throes.
Will loves last flower fade without perfume,
to die unsmelled with human heart's adieu
its fragrant scent to linger in my tomb
or heaven sent, will stay and comfort you?

     At end of life my love I hope you'll know,
          when orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow.

Life's Fading Light

When orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow,
as time, with heavy brow, is nature planned,
too soon the beating heart begins to slow
when passion's ember burns the gentle hand.
With flames of love that flicker old and grey,
but moments gone, as youth filled questions asked,
the feelings lost to seasons never stay
for in the end it's just one soul that's passed.
The end of life so often is foretold
when cold the winds of fate speak soft to me.
In warmth and light the blooms of time unfold,
as petals fall, my life will cease to be.

     In whispered songs of love my heart will quell,
          with tender tears, to you, I say     ...farewell.


04/19/16



Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2016

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I Am Mortal Man, Made Of Mere Flesh And Bone

I Am Mortal Man, Made Of Mere Flesh And Bone

Sad and lost soul walked in his old worn shoes,
dark clouds covered his bowed and forlorn head.
Life had beat him hard, made him pay heavy dues,
cast jagged stones into his every night's bed.
He looking back at all his dear family now gone,
his broken soul cried- God release me please.
I am mortal man, made of mere flesh and bone,
my every path hard, nothing comes with gentle ease
Yet the spirit was strong and his heart held dreams,
hope that another day would great blessings bring.
Each night's prayer he found new flowing streams,
such that morn's new light made his joy sing

As each day brought its bricks and falling stones,
Hope, his greatest shield, prevented any broken bones.

Robert J. Lindley, 4-15-2016 

Dedicated to all my friends here that give me hope each day.
Hope that life will give future blessings and my family will
be well and safe when I am gone.



Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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In The Eyes Of Age

Inside your eyes, I feel a world.
Night and day, eyes of a world.

Time has healed wounds, or forgotten them.
Heaven is closer with each breath you take.
Emotions wax and wain like the motions of the moon.

Early to bed, early to rise, life continues.
Your hopes and dreams have came and went.
Every hour ticks by, tick, tock, it reminds you.
Some memories will not fade away, for this you are glad.

Open the doors the last days of life.
Fear not the other side, for it comes.

Age has brought you wisdom, stories and bred new life.
Gifts now to be given are those of your stories.
Entrust me with your stories, your legacies, your memories.

In the eyes of age I see time is but a grain of sand on an endless beach. We are one with the spirit of time let memories of your lifetime teach. I will listen.
08-23-2014


Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014

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Out of the Sun

              Stayed 
             in the sun 
              to long
               today
 The skin became the bark of a tree
 the soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             my face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones 
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
               Stayed 
              in the sun
               to long
                today
the mind has smoothed over 
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
               laughingly.

Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place 
where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heartworms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the briar, 
till the jewels of memories soothe 
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long
                today






Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013

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Gary's Yard Sale, the story

Gary's Yard Sale, the story
                                                  Authored by Chuck Keys

Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed, 
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.

Those in the hood
And outside,
Meet and greet among 
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
Maybe everythings,
For important that evolved into history.

Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.

During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
To each,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.

The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made.  As is today.
Bravo! Bravo!

*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and 
their Yard Sales age forever!

© Charles H Keys, 2010.  All Rights Reserved.  V1.4.09252010


Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010

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A Dog Gone Tableau

“You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.” from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince Though he yapped and whined, I still loved him so. He was my dear friend. He'd turned old and blind when we let him go. How can my heart mend? Written 10/15/14 by Andrea Dietrich For the Design Your Tableau Contest of nette onclaud


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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NINETY SOMETHING


She is ninety-something
A tiny old lady with wizened eyes
She says the hot dog on her plate looks good

“It reminds me of when we roasted them over an open fire.
They tasted so good, hot off the stick.
I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.
I waste so much food, and my mother would never 
have approved with so many starving children in the world.
Would you help me put my leg back up on the chair rest?
My body doesn’t work too well anymore.

I wasn’t always like this.     I wasn’t always this old and crotchety.
I was young once too, and so was everyone else.
I was a child at my mother’s knee.     I was sassy and a brat,
for children of six have such confidence.
I played with an Irish boy two doors down in Illinois.
He hit me in the forehead with a snowball wrapped
around a chunk of coal and I rubbed his face in the snow
until we were wet and cold and our mothers were mad
because we stayed out too long.

I am not as different from you as I seem.
I too had dreams, although I admit
they did not include the events I lived through.

The flu epidemic which swept the land, 
where so many took sick, with children dying out of hand.
The big war, the first one.     I was still a fairly young child,
but I knew the young men were dying, heard the mothers crying.
Then the depression came, with no jobs, no money, no food.
Each night on someone’s table there lay a posting of jobs,
but there were too many looking for work and too few jobs to fill.
No jobs were fat jobs, you were beyond lucky to get six bits a day.
That is seventy five cents, by the way.
I learned to make do with what I had.     There was never any excess.
Not like for the generations who came next.
When World War II came we already had practice.
Only this time my generation was dying, and I was one who was crying.

Look in my eyes, I am still a young girl inside.
A young lady with plans to be a bride, to have my children at my side
and be the loving mother like mine was to me.
But my son took too many risks.     I told him to slow the cars down,
don’t drive so fast.     He did not listen and he died before me.
That is not supposed to happen.

I did not plan to get old and infirm and alone.
Everyone is gone.     I told them goodbye, each and every one.
No one left to hold my hand.
No one left to understand the memories 
prompting bursts of girlish giggles.
I never planned on being the one left for last.
never planned on my future becoming my past.
So much history remains alive in my mind.
I lived the events which shaped the world that you found.
Lived them time after time for ninety some-odd years.

No, I was not always this old.
I was young and fresh and in my prime, for a time.”


Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2014

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Sunbonnet


She shuffled by our house, so slow and bent,
No second thought of where the lady went.
On her return, no one around to see.
A shaded path, she blended with the trees.

We children always giggled, as she passed.
A group emboldens others to harrass.
Our high pitched jeering from a hidden niche,
The frail, sunbonnet lady, we yelled "witch".

One day a fever kept me home from class.
I saw her weary shuffle down the path.
My over-active need to know convened.
I followed with excitement and unseen.

A house engulfed by weeds grown thick and tall,
As vines of every species claimed the walls.
Around the side, a window to peek in; 
A man in bed with twisted, throbbing limbs.
.
The lady rubbed a salve to ease his pain.
And hummed a long forgotten song's refrain.

I blurted all I'd seen to mom and dad.
He stood in shocked alert and mom grew sad.

How soon the path was plowed into a drive,
A grocer truck and red-light cops arrived.
I last recall a fancy bike, brand new.
Events seem blurred, with growing up to do.
.


Gene Bourne.
07-17-14




.


Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

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Growing Old and Brittle

To wake up with the rising sun
Wishing me old bones stay in bed
No longer do I feel to run
Life is all but over and done

I look in the mirror feeling blue
Front teeth no more, leak like a canoe
Getting old, this is no fun
Spending my days inside, away from the sun

Ricky called, hey Arty lets go out
Sorry Ricky, I am too old for that
Ah come on Arty lets go to the park
Leave me alone Ricky I am staying right here in the dark

Ricky was persistent, come on arty the park the park the park
Art replied, I am old now I don’t do parks!
Why not? It’s a sunny day; we always have fun at the park
Cant, Stevie told me, I am too old to go out and play

Why he said I am too old for toys and my trucks
I am too old to play even with the ducks
I didn’t wanna be old but there you have it
Stevie says I am one big sissy with my toys!

Ricky, not to be deterred
Come on man, I love toys too 
Lets go the park, come on come on
You are only seven years old Arty!

I feel older Ricky and missing all these teeth
No one will want to play with me, no one at all
I do Arty! lets go, besides haven’t you heard the news?
Seven years old why that’s the new five!



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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A message from Emilly

A message from Emilly
By Angelo Casiano


A message from above to those of you I love.
I love you more than you’ll ever know,
Even more now that I’m gone.
And my love for you will grow and grow,
Like the chorus to a song.
I had to leave much sooner than
 I thought, I must admit.
But you know mom, until I’m done,
 I’m never gonna quit. 
I left behind some parts of me,
 I have so much to give.
Because of you I’m strong enough,
 to help some others live.
So Daddy when you think of me,
While you watch the Phillies play. 
I’ll be sitting next to you. I’ll be with you every day.
 You’ve given me the best of you.
And now I’m giving back.
I will love you for eternity. No matter were I’m at.


Copyright © Angelo Casiano | Year Posted 2014