Free Verse Retirement Poems

These Free Verse Retirement poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Retirement. These are the best examples of Free Verse Retirement poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |
Strolling around town 
At prohibited time 
Ignoring the church bell sounds
While I see people hurrying 
Down the sidewalk
On their way to work 

Think maybe I'll find 
Pen and paper
And have a coffee somewhere 

Or maybe not

Copyright © Steinar Gismeroy Olafsen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Creative writers are never given flowers while they still breathing poetry.

Biters wait patiently for the last breath to pay their respect and get paid with your work.

Claiming being sent by callings to keep the legend's work alive till infinity.

No doctor has the cue for this sick world.

But guess what we writers do care.

We keep writing spiritually we don't care.

Atleast i don't care, i know you'll be speaking my language with your theft.

Evidently i do share.

You are that invisible disciple i recruited to speak for me in my death.

It's the life of an artist who cares.

We don't seek recognition.

Recognition come to us that's why we endlessly spread.

We are angels with no wings heaven is closer to us we don't fly.

Paradise is home for holidays filled with dead writers.

An escapism from you hooligans.

Its a crime not a mime when you speak rhyme in my rhymes.

Thank God i'm still an infant in this poetry, i have a chance to fill up the grave you dug for me.

Your patience will have to patiently await my departure patiently.

I have enough time to unleash these constipated rhymes.

You think you got me.

I speak better in my rhymes like a machinegun tone spraying pee.

My skeleton is covered in mics louder i do speak rhythmic bones.

My skeleton is made out of cables transporting poetic stones.

My soul will be kept in your brain's museum.

There i said it.

Ye i meant it.

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A Better Day After All

A ring of the phone announced
A holiday call to say “hello” 
The news from working days,
Days sometimes bringing nostalgic yearning,
That feeling of being a part of things,
A desire for the perception of good old days
Days when accomplishment was joy, and
There was news of friends gone by,
There was news of politics and meetings,
And then, then, the realization like night arc lights when
You’re gone, you’re gone, left behind, but
Today you didn’t have to drive on slick streets,
Today your frig had a grocery, and you could stay in;
Today you could write this little offering.
A better day after all.

Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
In Oxford we watched for three months
the old man, his leg in plaster,
lean against the wall outside the building
where the Simon people cared for him.

He always gave a friendly greeting,
with his Irish accent, putting some life
back into our tired bodies,
as we rushed by on our way to work.

His younger mates preferred
the benches further down the street,
where they drank the bottle of cider,
hidden away from the night before.

Later in the day, senile old ladies
gathered on benches and listened
to the lilting of his Irish brogue.

Copyright © Mary Guckian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
To live a talented retiremant,
i dreamed of a normal retirement,
Meeting classmates again coincidently
Getting together for a cup of tea or coffee,,
To be with the church,
When I retired that all began,
A storytale retirement,
I did participate and did things,
 I have never done before,
I wrote two books, "Living with God",
The next good book"The Sounds of Christmas",
My poems were well-liked by the seniors at the residence,
I gave them as christmas presents one year
Blessing my relatives and friends,
I was featured at the Open House as a guest poet.
They praised my accomplishments,
We had a lovely reunion with my relatives,
The sound of music came honestly,
I taught myself as a teacher to play many songs,
A friend came up to me and said, 
That they would like me to play for the birthdays,
I played the piano for the birthdays and socials,
Previously I had sung with the choir,
I participated in bazaars,
A well-respected poet and pianist,
I said to myself, perhaps I have practiced all my life ,
Just to be featured today as a senior today,
I met a future mayor of our city and a bishop of our church,
I had friends that were ministers and lunched,
I thank God for the many accomplishments and blessings,
We have a beautiful conservation area nearby,
Many hikes and lovely walks guested with relatives and friends,
A retirement that is blessed by the Lord,
To have been blessed to share my retirement with my father and relatives,
To have discovered my favorite miracle singer,
These are the many blessings of God and I am truly thankful.

Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz

Copyright © Gwen von Erlach Schutz | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Silent tears as friends hug restricted bodies,
Lingering awkward silences for moments long gone.
A hugs breath on his cheek as friends leave him alone,
Lingering smoke and whiskey shades tints the mind.
A parting quip and a crystal tear shivers in the air,
The gesture wave of failing friendship walks unsteady.
A lonely discomfort nips the soul, a hugs breath,
Clutching a card stained with friends pain,
He leaves for home and retirements reign.

2008 © B.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
angst, feelings, immigration, racism, retirement, slam, today,

My Cloud Nine by Didee  ©

Eh, get off of my cloud you silly narrow minded fools
I never put out a ‘for rent sign’ and I make up the rules
My fluffy pure white cloud may leak if it becomes too reedy 
Many free-loaders climbed today saying they are the needy
I was the original caretaker making this place float upright
It is my inspirational thoughts that bound and kept it tight
As a one-man sanctuary with a (all-time) lease signed My Cloud Nine
Circling here and there with no stops making for little lost time
I, I and I are just ‘we’ and carry on well with no house keeping
It is you, him, her, and other hitch-hikers causing this here meeting
Take all of you off and far beyond and be gone from this man’s space
And find another cloud to 'share' and feed upon from your own human race.

Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
All results of

Copyright © Laura Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
I am not afraid of middle age                                                                                                                    Let the inquisition of cunning smiles begin                                                                                    My ambition is not conclusive yet                                                                                                                       My passion is not devoured by deliberation in the night                                                                                  For I know that I am the profit margin of my dreams                                                                                                                  And that my vices are as real as my virtues are strong                                                                 No, I am not afraid of middle age                                                                                                      For I have only just begun to rediscover this miracle                                                                     That I am

Copyright © Michael Ainsley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
In Oxford we watched for three months
the old man, his leg in plaster,
lean against the wall outside the building
where the Simon people cared for him.

He always gave a friendly greeting,
with his Irish accent, putting some life
back into our tired bodies,
as we rushed by on our way to work.

His younger mates preferred
the benches further down the street,
where they drank the bottle of cider,
hidden away from the night before.

Later in the day, senile old ladies
gathered on benches and listened
to the lilting of his Irish brogue.

Copyright © Mary Guckian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I need a day off
from this irritating cough
i need a day off
from the snickers, smirks and scoffs
I really need a day off
from all these butterflied up moths
will I ever get a break
from this sickness, keeping me awake
will I ever get a break
from admitting my mistakes
could I please just get a break
from confusing what is fake 
I wish I could get a rest
from this god forsaken test
I wish I could get a rest
from all the weight upon my chest
I wish I could get a rest
from getting myself so depressed
but I need to step it up again
to restore my word to what its been
but i need to step it up again
never ceasing my conditionin'
I mean I really need to step it up this time
in my life, my brain, and in my rhyme

Copyright © Eric Schojan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Vampires suck, they drain my life
it feels like that in this god damn place
A pound of flesh I'm sure they'll take
but even then they won't be full
not satisfied until
I'm worn and I'm weary
they chip chip chip away
then I'm nothing but a shell
I wish I could enjoy this time
on the short path to the inevitable
A pension not too far off for some years of frailty
but what's the point shall I give up now
to stop the pain of being a zombie
I'll carry on because I'm programmed to
but the vultures, the leeches and parasites continue
to bleed me for my life

Copyright © Rob Carter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

(This is an evolving story. I keep adding verses until I'm done.)

When I was 
I went to live alone 
knowing the money would 
forever be coming. 
Going away felt appropriate 
for a man my age. 
The closest analog 
to the womb 
and to death. 
To be alive, 
clothed in the 
warmth of certainty 
amid my own unchallenged opinions
during the age of ending, 
out of the business 
of a bright, moving planet 
my own part in the world 
outdated and roots 

I found a place
in the middle of the trees 
with a thin asphalt egress 
that made it easy 
to cycle to the village. 
I was surrounded by 
the aliens of the earth 
with their secret languages 
and concentrated lives. 
I truly lived among strangers, 
not those wanting to know me 
or able to know me. 
It was like the world 
before I opened my eyes. 
It was here and far away.

Delivered here in a storm 
under which the taxi 
and me 
and the driver 
were as tiny as sugar molecules. 
The driver introduced himself as Charles. 
He is a black man from Aruba, 
Charles an English royal name. 
I ran to the door 
holding a newspaper on my head 
as Charles soaked himself 
carrying my black bags.

Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Protected from the past, 
insulated in a box 
made of star-dust, 
closed where it 
points to the earth 
but open toward the 
vacuum of the sky,

why does he
bring the old world back 
when he creates his dreams?

Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
To live is to Learn. To learn is to grow up. But at our elderly Age that doesn't mean much.... AAAhhh... The choices and freedoms that age does bring... They open the world of childhood again. This childhood is filled with fantasy and such… Including Dragons, and Trolls alive to the touch. I wish, I wish, you could see them with me. We could laugh at their antics, together you see. To live is to Learn. To learn is to grow up. But as my body grows old, my mind’s still young. My husband and I are like the two parts of the moon. He comes from the light side to pull me there, too. His reflections of love keep me there, each day. To live is to Learn. To learn is to grow up. But never stop smiling, along the way. It’s your reflection of love that’s given to the world, each day. It makes everything brighter, and everything OK. To live is to Learn. To learn is to grow up. To learn is to find how to give your own reflections of love.
For contest: Reflections of Love

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Retirement and the remote control,
This sounds like a whinge in an ode,
Retired men and remote controls,
Includes, "Who gave old men phones?"
Is this what 'golden years' meant?
Defensible violence to retired men?
You'll be getting good manners for tea,
And not much more from me!
Don't you turn T-Rex on me!
I want a turn on that remote control, please,
You've turned into a sook and a toad,
My 'golden years' whinge in an ode!

Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
There she sat all alone in her recliner
Pondering all the days of her youth
Canoeing, climbing trees
And yes! Catching crickets!
She would catch them by the dozens and then sing to them
Then she would set them free
It was all in a day’s fun as she danced and pranced in the sunny meadow
She would wake up and head right to the same spot every day 
Starting all over again as she had to get to her quota
She had a certain number she had to meet
The number was twelve!
Twelve cookies made a dozen!
Jesus had twelve disciples too!
She had to catch twelve crickets and then entertain them!
After she sang her little heart out she would release them back into the wild
She was the one who God sent to entertain the crickets
Boy did she like to sing!
As the old lady sat in her chair she pondered the days of her youth
She pondered the songs she sang and she began to hum a happy tune
All of a sudden in the corner of the room she heard him
It was the lone ranger cricket
Her heart began to dance and she began to hum
She had relived one of the happiest memories since the time the doctor placed her on oxygen
Everything is gonna be alright now she felt
She knew Jesus sent her the lone cricket to show his love for her
She stopped to pray and a tear streamed from her aged cheek
“Thank you, Jesus! Thank you for sending me this little cricket!”

Written for my dear sister Beatrice 
Gwendolen Rix

Copyright © Gwendolen Song | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
No farewell
Crossing boundaries all
On and off the ground 
Testimony of breaking records
 In domains many as well
For whom responsibility 
And not simply duty was but God
Scaling heights many
Turning living legend
Master though with dream and
Later achievements massive.
Born with a promise to run
And lead others to run after-
Friends or foes.
Soft and cool
Tender but bold
With passive resistance 
Sans complain and no pride 
Crowned but with no crown
In hearts all adorned 
For years long and ages to come
With humility all
Confidence and pride of nationals all
And respect commanding from opponents too,
Saying good bye to self, 
The first ever love
Who I think had considered
“Sarbadharman parityajya”
To achieve Nirvana
And turning God 
By complete merger in 
Cricket-God’s call
“mamekam saranam braja.”

Copyright © GOBINDA SAHOO | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Now I’m retired, free of bosses
And fools and spinners of bull;
Now I’m retired and free:
“Working”… was being trapped in a
Spinning washing machine

Should I explain, or let you imagine?

Now I’m retired: targets have gone;
Together with days and “time”…
Time is now, today and “about”
And coffee

Now I’m retired I’m a “slouch” in good 
Health with cool, friendly, funny friends:
But the friends who still work have that
“after the funeral look” about them

Now I’m retired, I’m inspired, when twice
A month, money falls down from heaven…
A thousand here a thousand there; and no debts 
To pay, (except perhaps a shirt or two).

Now I’m retired I have time to eat and write
And Photograph, and chew the fat with you, 
My loving, pretty wife: ….. now I’m retired.

Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
No more faxes, no more phones                                               
No more “It’s too early” moans                                                    
No commuting, shouting, tooting                                          
No more shirts & ties & suiting
No service station breaks and bites                                   
No toilet queues and car park fights                                    
No CRUISE  control or heated seats                                       
No glovebox filled with fuel receipts 
No more hotel revolving doors                                                  
No concierge, no polished floors                                                                                                          
No battered cases, weary faces                                           
Sleepless nights in far-off places
No bacon fat, no butter pat                                                       
No “Why have I been charged for that?”                                      
No checking out or checking in                                                    
Or moans about the room you’re in     
No ‘silly hours’ airport dash                                                    
No feeling for your foreign cash                
No passport checks, departure times,                                    
No Coke machines that don’t take dimes
No drinks or pastes, no sprays or gel                                                                  
Lens solution? - banned as well                                                                             
No plastic meals or plastic smiles                                                                      
To carry you across the miles
No luggage queues, no business shoes                                          
No funny, foreign, TV news                                                        
No laws by which you must abide                                                
No driving on the other side
No local customs, scraping, bowing                                             
Baffling greetings and kowtowing                                              
No horrid coffees, tepid teas                                                      
No pidgin English; ‘Thank you, please’
Meetings, musings, tariff choosings                                         
Hushed asides, so oft confusing                                        
Remembering their children’s names                                           
Tax returns, expenses claims 
You’ve toed the line your whole life through                                 
But future plans are up to you                                                        
Bin the laptop, scrap the email                                                   
Make time for your favourite female

Copyright © Bill Lindsay | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
The distant past
whishpers across
the lonelly valleys echo 
with fear and distrust
It captures the heart
And takes it to a ride
Their echoes sre heard
In that distant past
The valleys listen
And bow down in honour
Their red tears
Afraid of wiping them
Reality hidden far away
Far away in the distant past
In heart muscles they align 
Just above reality
When the echoes open their heart
We get dismayed 
Lonesome bewilder our hearts
The hearts that soon crumble
They soon meet with the ancestors
Who in a rude shock wonder
How soon and young we join them
The echoes remain still
Untill the valleys 
Stop whispering
but our hearts are a battlefield
Where emotions fight
the fight of unending battles
 untill soon we depart

Copyright © john ngugi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
it's broken, the tarmac's crooked,
and it's full of gaping mouths,
and you have to dodge them, 
to save your wheels,
and God!...Jesus! the stink of 
fly-blown fish hits you like an
honest politician;
in the nose and mouth:

and you want to parachute away, 
into the gaping mouths and your 
dad's best memories and the 
stories he told;

then relief comes, in about a half-mile 
down the road; and you pass the tall 
palms and green feminine rice fields,
which like a girl, smell good;

and if you want, you can touch and fondle 
them, and they won't slap you or make you 
feel small, or say "honey, let's have a ball!"
so your'e free to carry on, into town;

and you say cheerio to the feminine fields and 
gaping mouths, as they lick you with their 
thousand country tongues:

and then you hit the city; and  everything changes.

Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
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:)

Copyright © TY HU | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Sonnet, you beckon me with your allure.
Valiant ship from a distant shore
Resting, no more sojourn
Basking in glory of a distant past
Lowered mast once battered and blown
An emblem of pride and place
From boundless rushes, to a windless pace
Now laid bare of all innocence
Meekly, humbly retired

All aboard was the captain’s word
As the crew came rushing on
With hands on decks and the compass set
To carve a story not yet heard
A seafarers’ life of no regrets

While cavaliers seek their bounty
And fortune favours the brave
You set sail from old Blighty
Sending  the good and mighty 
To watery graves

Now in retirement you bask and bathe
As the tides doth ebb and flow
Rising and descending your mood does shift
Whilst along your flanks assorted remnants drift
In the silted bed of the Thames your now reside
Dancing to the rhythm of a seasonal tide
Whilst aboard, there is a tossing and a turning 
In the warmth of comfy beds
Lays the bodies of weary heads

Painted lady, red, gold and green
On my canvas you are drawn
As on the pages I do scribe
Of a beauty and a guile
Never to be erased from my memory
For your dye is truly cast,

Copyright © Reggae Magnet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
It's safe here, I suppose,
and the rents don't climb too often.
I may ho hum in perfect peace, to the credit
of no one in particular. 
Pleasures are in short supply and "they"
won't let me feed the squirrels--
some nonsense about diseases;
in my youth I was a master at that,
every day back home
upon the courthouse lawn.

And what's the point, you ask?
We dodderers need none.  There are
our waiting graves to make excuses
for us.  They are eloquent enough.
Silent for the nonce, they speak
in hints, apologies and metaphor.
(I find I have a special need for those)

All is not lost, however.
I'm about to release my report
on an important new project:
If fingers can twiddle as effectively reverse.

Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

We live in a little valley
once famous for cedar trees. 
The name is no longer a label
but celebrates the past
as do most places in this country.

It is a place with monuments
old but not ancient,
unkempt mansions that
cling to use,
solemnized as party sites
for weddings.

We can't deny its beauty
that lives beyond the ruins,
the joyous harbor that
harmonizes generously with sun and clouds,
the great meadow, the people with their
strange but utilitarian costumes
who build their bodies along the road.

Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Time has a strange way of sliding by silently,when you are not watching,
Next thing you know it is a new year,that you have to survive and get your family through.
 Mirrors are no longer a looking glass from which you gaze upon your reflection,
You just glance as you rush to and fro.
losing even more time,and it feels like even your mind,as you notice a gray hair growing in plain sight.
Your children are grown up and on their own,and fear of the unknown comes to live in your home.
My husband and I sit and rock in our chairs veiwing the awesome sunset,
When he smiles and says We have loved each other through good and bad ,raised our children well, as we grow old together, we have more love to show,and share,
Until we move on, and no longer care.

Copyright © angel new | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
It's early November '91, 
and I quite can't remember, 
feeling this humbled, seeing
Magic stumble, 
off his shiny crown, 
and the little boy
Who once glared at 32, 
fixated by a dribbling
Rhythm,        so compulsive, 

    so majestic, 

so unattainable, 
by his own standards, 
that he had no choice, 
but to glare, 

It's different now, 
A leather cacophony, 
dribbling dissonance, 
laymen lay-ups, 
Leading us to believe
it was a mere illusion, 
but I believed in Magic.


Copyright © Suburban Lovechild | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Here, I dwell in no man's land,
On the flip side, there's men unwomanned,
They can be a miserable band,
Desperately seeking a hand,
I read their profiles for online dating,
Is this pulp fiction they're creating?
"Honest, sensuous, sincere men here,
Tactile and reliable...", Great, my dears,
All searching for affection,
BUT, I want your ex's true opinion!
Can I have her phone number, please?
What do you mean she's overseas,
Like forever and permanently?
Oh, really, really, really.....
What does your ex say about you, please?
Why complain about her to me?
Honestly, why are you unwomanned?
While, here I dwell in no man's land.........

Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2016