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Age Son Poems | Age Poems About Son

These Age Son poems are examples of Age poems about Son. These are the best examples of Age Son poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |

Coming of Age

My eldest brother, nine years old,
Thought he could break a horse.
Our mother strictly forbade him.
A mother’s right of course.
Her young son mustered all his wiles,
Hoping he could sway her.
Unwilling to be defeated,
He vowed to disobey her.

He gathered a rope and bridle,
Went to the big corral.
He was there to break a wild colt,
Three brothers there to yell.
Our youngest brother, four years old
Yelled, “I’ll tell Ma on you
Unless you take me up there
And give me a ride too.”

In his eagerness to hush him,
His big brother agreed
And lifted him to the bare back
Of that big, trembling steed.
Our father came in nick of time
To salvage little brother,
Then watched as his son rode that colt.
No one told our mother.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Quatrain |

Average Age 19

Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for

Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain

Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin

I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail

Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled

Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss

How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run

I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance

James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

My son

Aged four and half, first day at school
he was going to prove he was no fool,
through boredom disrupted his class
which continued each following day alas,
by luck or fate proved he was not pathetic
my poor boy was diagnosed as dyslexic,
many years past struggling but determined
With this unfortunate disability he burdened,
art and design he found his path to success 
through art college he did quickly progress,
at age of seventeen discovered with fear
a life threatening heart condition did appear,
after medical procedure, an electrical bypass,
returned to college awarded top of his class,
to university success predicted by forecasters 
proved right after four years collected his masters,
with determination, belief, support and direction
Proved to me everyone can produce perfection.

Composed 02/03/2017.
Contest:- young people who have  inspired you.

Copyright © Roy Pett | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |


Born I was, still alive today, down, but I'll be back to say Even at a small age, when our house burnt to the ground Disorientated, confused, in it's smoke filled surround With no other place to go, to a Caravan we called our home It was the events after this, that allowed my mind to roam Little me playing in a field, on a broken bottle I fell Crimson fountains erupted, I survived, as I'm here to tell That Monday night so special, Boys Brigade we headed to be I tried to run faster, but my brother was faster than me Out of the opening he went, boy running, was he skilled He was there, but gone the next, knocked down, my brother killed My mind now in roam and wander, fathers health started to slide Where does a seven year old turn to, to whom does he confide Pillar to post I headed, fostered out, and to children's homes Six years later many more tears, my father in deathly roam To my father I kept my promise, to the Royal Navy I would go Whilst training, caught under a raft, my life nearing slow Pulled from the water was I, nearly drained of what little I had A release of water, a gasp of air, hours later feeling so glad Eventually what I'd always wanted, to be happy and family be Married to the girl whom I'd know, would love to marry me But to a colleague I'd declared my worries, of a phone call I'd take For History would repeat itself, to awaken to a possible wake That call finally arrived, to the telephone, speaking to my eldest son Liam his younger brother, knocked down, my tears in run I'm blessed that he was saved, which cancelled out that call I only wish that technology was, that I'd have a firewall This is me up to date, apart this last weekend Again I thought I lost my youngest, once again relieved of strain Hours up at the Hospital, the first human skull I've seen A serious cut to his head, but what it could have been This my life's chapter, around the corner we never know But all I can say to the above, around me continues to glow .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

The Happy Dress

It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative 
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.

So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened.  “Ta Da!  Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked?  Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.

You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.

It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”

“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.

So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.

She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open.  “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”


“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Happy 50th Birthday, Son

Happy Birthday, Son!
on your 50th year.
Celebrate while you can
and be of good cheer. 

Son, don't be alarmed
as the years seem to fly by.
just five more to go
and you'll be fifty-five!

"Now, I'm one of those seniors,"
you'll mournfully say,
as coupons and discounts
fill your mailbox today.

AARP will be sending you mail.
And sellers to seniors
will be hot on your trail.

Soon, there'll be less partying
and painting the town red.
Instead you'll be welcoming
a warm bath and your bed.

May God bless all your days, Son, 
with His wisdom and ever present love. 
He'll always be there when you seek Him in prayer,
Your Savior, your Redeemer from above.
     -----Love, Mom


Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |



                             The Apple PASTURE

Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.


Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

Details | Epic |

Statutory Rape 101

Everybody knows that it's against the law for grown men and grown women to date all of the underage boys and girls,. let alone a 14-year-old boy or a 15-year-old girl. The law also states that any adult who tries to have this so-called "intimate sexual relationship" with any of the underage boys and/or girls would likely go to jail for a period of time and upon release, they'll have to be register sex offenders for the rest of their lives. It seems that those teen girls would rather date men in their 20's or 30s than guys their age and those teen boys would rather date women twice their age than girls their age, as well. but luckily, their parents (the mothers and the fathers) are here to prevent these so-called "May-December" relationships from ever happening, especially when they're protecting their teenage offspring from dirt-bags like these would-be pedophiles. But no matter what the parents do, no matter how hard they try, their teen sons and/or daughters, they secretly continuing dating older men/older women, even at night (midnight, 2 am, or 3 in the morning, e.g.). And the next thing everybody knows, their parents, they will have found out about it; thereby finding them in bed with the adults; their parents should make multiple police reports and pud the cradle robbers behind bars for good. Boy this is starting to look like an episode of "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" (Season 6-Episode 19-Intoxicated featuring Danielle Panabaker) and an episode of "Snapped," especially when Sarah Johnson killed her own parents in cold blood because she was afraid that the late Mr. and Mrs. Alan and Diane Johnson would send this guy name Bruno Santos to prison or have him deported back to Mexico for statutory rape (by way of dating a then-16-year-old girl). There's no way that those teen boys and teen girls are ever going to get into a bunch of serious, intimate relationships with a bunch of would-be cradle-robbing adults. They need to concentrate on their education and they need to be with guys and girls their age. I mean, one teen boy dating a n adult female? One teen girl dating an older man? My God, their parents will be seriously upset about this. Who on Earth would be dumb enough to fall for an older woman or an older man? And if these would-be pedophiles in the form of grown men and women even attempt to rob these teen boys and girls of their innocence and whatnot, the parents are going to have a problem up in here.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

''What is a Son''

                              What is a son to a father
                           But youth and strength as no other
                        That props the sagging failing man
                               With vital energetic hand
                          That makes him glad within the heart
                              To know that these are a part
                         Flesh and bone that came from me
                            And love excelled by none but he
                           Who made us all to live and love

                            A GIFT DIVINE from GOD above

Copyright © Jai Bankson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

My Son

My son the years will come as they will go 
I want to tell you something I thought you should know 
The day you were born 10lbs 0oz and I heard your first cry
Before I even laid my eyes on you I knew I would lay down my life and die 
The moment you looked up at me as to say you needed me and you loved me equally if not more
At that moment I was absolutely sure that God had blessed me at sixteen no matter how young.
Because he felt I was worthy of you...My Son
You know what my heart sounds like from the inside as well as out, and
Your heartbeat matches mine without a doubt
You are the blood of my blood, flesh of flesh; we are one in the same.
If I ever had a doubt I’m glad you came. 
Watching you grow and learn is an absolute delight you see
Because I’m your mommy God chose me.
To raise you and teach you right from wrong.
Khristian Isaiah you are my brand new song.
But no matter where you go and how old you get... We aren’t done
Because I’ll always be mom and you’ll always be... My Son

Copyright © Alberta Richardson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Son, I know you by heart

My memory fades like an early morning fog
But you my son I know by heart
The impossible miles you alone have trod
An uphill climb from first breaths start

Fluid filled those vacant places 
Where only your brain should have claimed
Of a viable life the prediction was traces
For a life that would be horribly lame

Those Doctors didn't conceive you
You were mine from beginning to end
I said "he's my son not a knot to undo
When termination was suggested and penned

I loved you then and I know you now
Every obstacle you've overcome
A 3.7 GPA you've made it to manhood somehow
I knew to that prognosis you would never succumb 

Of every therapy under the sun
You would never quit or complain
Though your struggles were bitter and stung
You took pride in the promise of your name

Josiah - Healed by God - 
A humble man in the kingdom of men
Now I see you promised to a beauty
The wife I hoped for you then

Soon your quest to be a teacher
When you've earned your final degrees
In the eyes of our future you'll be a leader
The proof of what belief can achieve

Your spirit is tenderness
Your ways are sweet
You abound in being real and generous
And acquire the love of all that you meet

My son with eyes filled of turquoise and brown
Know this... if my memory entirely in time depart
My pride in you will forbear my lips to frown
For my son, I know you by heart! 

Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

How Old I Am

My oldest son's birthday was yesterday he turned 45; 
it sure lets you know how old I am
I’m tired of getting old and tired of being tired, 
but I would do it all over again

Eve Roper

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |



Just a reminder before I start…
This comes with Love from your Mother’s heart

It was Saturday September 1987
When my prayer specifications arrived from Heaven-
You see, long before I was your age I asked God to Bless me one day with a son
And that was how the thought of you had first begun
So, Twenty -one years ago to this day
You arrived…perfect and handsome in every way-

As baby and toddler you were way ahead of your peers
Showing wisdom and intellect beyond your years
Added to that a head of hair to astound
Made you without doubt, the best looking kid around
At 6 months old you said your first word-
Wait for it…”Ninja Turtle” is what we all heard-
This was hardly surprising in retrospect though 
As your love of sword’s and sword -fighting started to show
You started to question us on everything in sight
No doubt in our minds, you were exceptionally bright

When your sister arrived you were almost three
Chat to Keelyn, and you will find she’ll agree…
That having a sister was no issue at all-
In fact you were her protector and mentor from the day she was born-
The love that the two of you share,
Is unique, very special, and extremely rare
As young adults you still nurture this bond with each other-
You make great siblings as sister and brother

I could write pages, so many things to relay
But here is the important stuff I need to say…
You care about your Faith, Family and Friends...
 And still-- the heights of your Academic achievements know no end
From the day you could speak the sentence we heard most of all-
“When I grow up a Dr. will be my vocation and call”

Four years into your Medical degree
We realize how seriously you took that first plea
You learnt to discern from an early age between right and wrong
I am pleased to acknowledge in God’s Kingdom you firmly belong

I love you so much…a love that has no measure
To have you as a son - a gift from God I will always Treasure-
So as you celebrate this milestone age of Twenty-one
It goes without saying- you make us so proud to have you as a son

(Footnote: My son is now 25—a qualified Doctor, and firm in His Faith)

Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |


Coming from the misty lake Lough Leane
Came a beautiful maiden of the name of Niamh
Upon a mare, for she is not from the world of man
A seraphic princess from Anwnn
Upon the shores she claimed around his kin
"I have came for Oisin son of Finn"
"Maiden you come to me so alluringly 
I am he, if we marry for all eternity!"

And so he rode upon her horse to the secrets of Anwnn
For he and she, they'd be happy for all eternity 

Come with me to Anwnn
I am she, your queen Niamh
I have come for you Oisin, son of Finn
Don't leave me or you'll see 
The age of man
The age of man
The age of man

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |

Youth n-Age-a

A young dark haired girl playing jax upon a sidewalk
The Bronx, 1930’s, oozing ethnicity and a strange sort of talk

Wrist cocked, jax spew, red ball bouncing, bouncing
If time stood still, we can see her rejoicing

What happens next is the only matter
No thought of anguish should Doris or Joyce choose to scatter

A young woman finds her man, her narrow purpose becomes clear 
A family of four, suburbia, a job without a life, yet there is no fear

The tumultuous 60’s see her blossom, wanting to flourish
Yet never discovering a path she could nourish

She enjoys friends, she gives love, she lives stress
Short of patience, delighting in ignorance, accepting of less

Yearning for more but with no clear vision
Accepting her destiny without derision

Her grandchildren revitalize, oh what treasure
Exceeding rewards felt from her own, by a measure

Years skip past, they never seem to last
Life advances at an increasing pace, carving long weary lines upon her face

In her son, she leaves a legacy of confidence, pride and hunger to achieve
All because it was her who did believe

She has earned our love
A gentle caress, never again to feel distress

As the end nears
Stripped of her dignity and her fears

She has our love, through any imperfection
At this moment of inflection, she should go
Each of us will pray, for your time is today
Youth n-Age-a

Copyright © Anson Decker | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |

Letters to my unborn kid

Letters to my unborn kid
If I do die
And my unborn kid be born
Then my spirit of my kids words  to them  would be you’re  the prince  the princess and you’re my legacy .
If I had a son
Then I would   teach him to be wise and not unwise.
My unborn son doesn’t need to be gangbanging
He doesn’t need to go backwards   .
I want my unborn son to go forward and not go back to the downfalls.
Even if I die my son will never be alone as long as my spirit is touched among him then he will be all right.
Letters to my unborn child is my prophecy it’s my  future my vision of what I see .
If I had   a unborn baby girl 
Then I would teach her to respect herself as a lady and not be weak against men  that takes advantage of women in the streets and on the corners.
I want her to act and be decent.
I want her to be a lady
Not to be put up against men  deceiving  sex and thirsty games.
I want her to be bold and avoid these cold streets and corners.
Visualizing the future and your unborn kid means you’re being prepared and  trying to create those images by making your unborn child become better and not falling and failing dreadfully. 
When you’re dead   and your unborn is already existing then there’s a chance to make your child become decent and prestigious.
Just because you’re dead and not around physically don’t means  your kid can sense and hear your spirit and your existence.
If I die   my sweet unborn kid
Then I say I love you eternally
If I die my sweet unborn kid
Then you’re my legacy.
If I have a boy
I teach him to be a man 
If I have a boy
I teach him to be wise and not unwise.
If I have a baby girl
Then I teach her to be a lady and not a disrespected girl on the corners.
My unborn child
Is my vision
My legacy
My new blood

My creation from my semen
My blessings.
My teaching
And lastly my love my joy my happiness and my spirituality sent from upon this gate beauty of Heaven.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

My Son's Birthday Memento

At 1-year-old, your first ever party
First birthday cake, gorgeous and fancy
My first ever speech to the crowd
Proud as a father, I avowed

At 2 years old, with chubby cheeks
Full of motion of hands and feet
Gathered around, relatives and friends
Cheers and greetings in full length

Sickly but trying to be happy at age 3
Your condition, we lifted up to God as plea
So much to be thankful to have you in our life
Cheering you as the capable type

Playful kid at age 4
Fond of magic, I began to explore
Magic tricks to show and made you wonder
At the end of my show, revealed the trick’s pointer

At age five, you are lively, breathtaking chasing as you run
The hide and seek game has been so much fun
Avid fan of robots, transformer is what you like
Wandering around the park, you pedaled a bike

My little buddy, you were amazing at age 6
Read books about animals and situation problem you fixed
Asking questions was your way to communicate
I am learning and still searching just to relate

Made stories for you and your cousins at age 7
Even I don’t have training for writing, it enlightened
Creating stories where you and your cousins are heroes
It never fails to entertain, riding your dreams wherever it goes

Happy birthday, now at 8 years old
Wobbly upper teeth had been pulled
Changes take place anytime as you grow
Prepare a wish for candles are to blow

April 19, 2015

Copyright © Noel Villarosa | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

I'm so sorry

I can write with my hand that I'm sorry,
but it's hard for me to say it with my mouth.

That's why I wrote this poem.

Boy I know I've really made you a clown,
but not only a clown a joke of the fools.

I know what I did was wrong,
that's why I'm asking for forgiveness.

I can't even eat,talk,face and sleep,
because I've made you a joke.

That hurt me too much than it's hurt you.

For me and your mom you are a foxy rose,
a rose that grows in a light of God.

What I did is wrong,I know
that's why I want you to forgive me.

Copyright © Tokollo Kalake | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |


It is summer,a summer in autumn
This must be true,this must be true;
Those flowers are never late to blossom,
Because of the day I found you.

But does my love befit your grace
When your heart is far away and unfree?
And can our fear see the better days
When we are comfortable with misery?

It is summer,summer in autumn,
I've found this to be true,
If God is giving you a sea to fathom,
 Would you? Could you?

some velvet briars

Copyright © Robert Velves | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

Games 'Father to Son'

Monolopy,Trouble,Operation too
All those games I played with you
As time went on and you started to grow
Yathzee,Uno and games on the floor.
Poker,Euchere, Casinos.....WOO HOO!!!
All grown up....
Now "What Do We Do"??

Copyright © Agnes Bugeja | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |

Song for my boy Freddy

I remember back when I was young. I was a difficult kid who spoke outta tongue. 
Now I got a song that has to be sung. Wish I could go back when the school bell rung.
When you age it's only about money. Regret not going because, my nose was runny.
What bills is next the cable, or internet? Get my school work done then I'll be set.
There's so much on my plate no free time. Rainy days we would play in mud and grime.
These words and, dreams are all that's left. Gloating about my jawline, my unique cleft.
Now I worry if I will survive another rent? I'm dead broke and the moneys spent.
At least I can be happy inside this mind. Don't regret the childhood can never rewind.
My bodies unhealthy need to take my med. From inside this stomach. My kidney bled. No more  soda and take away the beer. Dad needs stick around to hold my boy dear.

Oh how I hate being trapped inside the prisoners den. For you my son I'll always win.
Oh how I hate being trapped inside the prisoners den. For you my son I'll always win. 
I'll shall never fall shall never cave. Just promise me. You'll never be a used up slave.
I'll shall never fall shall never cave. Just promise me. You'll never be a used up slave.

I give my all everything I possibly can. Kid your going to grow into a upstanding man. 
Don't let this world tell you no you can't. It's something society will try and, plant.
There gonna tell you this is how it has to be. Forget there ideas form a beautiful tree.
Your first job won't be the only. Kick them to the curb say you will never own me.  
Your my child you came from me. I already know the greatness that they will see.
Do this for yourself and not for me. Unlock your mind and, set those dreams free!

Oh how I hate being trapped inside the prisoners den. For you my son I'll always win.
Oh how I hate being trapped inside the prisoners den. For you my son I'll always win. 
I'll shall never fall shall never cave. Just promise me. You'll never be a used up slave.
I'll shall never fall shall never cave. Just promise me. You'll never be a used up slave.

Copyright © Shawn Padilla | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

The Other Side of the Tracks

I suppose there are two sides of the tracks.
As I became older I learned,
learned that there was
a good side and a bad side.
I guess that was clarified for me
as a rich side and a poor side.
I never realized that as a child;
there was only my side, 
the side I lived on.
I had a roof over my head,
regular meals, a mother, a father. 
I had my own room.
If I wanted a toy
I did work for the neighbors.
Paper towels were not what you dried your hands on;
if you used one you rinsed it out,
laid it on the counter to dry,
saving it to be used again,
possibly again after that.
I’m not sure what side that put me on --
I was just there.
One day I found my father,
he was on his hands and knees.
He wiped a tear from his cheek.
I asked what was wrong.
He said he could not find a coupon
he had clipped from the paper.
It was for frozen chicken, my favorite.
“We might not have chicken this week,”
he said as he stood, 
trying to hide a sniffle behind a smile.
I smiled saying “okay” and went on my way.
I realize, now that he is gone
that the coupon was money,
it was something he needed,
something he wanted for us, for me.
I still grab a cloth towel to dry my hands.
I think twice before I use a paper towel.
I’m still not sure what side of the tracks I’m on --
I’m still on the side that I am on, just being me.

Copyright © JP Armstrong | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

A Call From A Son

A Call From A Son

When you called today
I sensed in your voice “sweet smiles”.
I heard a slight hint of laughter
Sent out to me, all of those miles.

You were driving on your way home
After working so hard, a long day.
It was so very thoughtful
For you to remember me that way.

I hoped you drove with care
Not distracted by something I’d said
Distracted is worse than drunk driving
Or so in the paper I’d read.

I laughingly said: “Hang up when you must”
I’ll finish telling this story to myself
Then I closed up my trusted flip phone
Placed it gently on its charging shelf

You asked what I’d been doing
The choices you know are few
This time of day, we think about food
With home cooked meals of stew.

I think often of my old truck
I so often wonder where it’s been.
For the charges on my Visa
Show it has been “filled” again.

I look for it out in my stall
But it’s seldom there in its spot
I’ve thought of calling the cops
Reporting my vehicles “hot”.

The family seems to enjoy
Sharing my truck with a friend.
Their neighbors and co-workers
Are also a part of the blend.

It seems having a truck in standby
Is as handy as the local U-Haul
But mine doesn’t charge by the mile
Really there are no charges at all.

You asked if I’d seen any movies
They are listed each month in the news
The popcorn is good and the show is free.
But it’s no fun your “third” view.

I mentioned about exercising
They have all the latest in gear
But sometimes my heart gets to racing
Struggle back to my room with great fear.

Since my memory is shrinking
I can’t now leave the grounds
I try to go for short, lazy walks
Where canes and walkers abound

I’ve tried making friends over cookies
They serve them each day about two.
You remembered the nice coffee shop
They cleverly call it: “The Brew”.

But making friends here
Is like buying a fuzzy pet.
You may eventually outlast it
Then you’d stew and fret

For it’s a bit troubling
As you walk the long halls.
All the generous donors
Have pictures on the walls.

Each has lived there sometime
But no longer do they linger
For the dark cloud of death
Oft points its “ugly” finger.

But I linger ever longer
Still waiting by the phone
For that very next time
Driving on your way home

You may think of me again
Still sitting here alone
I hope you take a minute
To dial your dads old phone.

Written by oldbuck Feb 12, 2017 as he thought about all the wonderful folks he’s met at the Sr. Center, while visiting friends and the “extra” time so many spend alone.

Copyright © Old buck | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |


'You live in your head far too much,' 
said Dad, 'get into the world; away from 
all those damned books and fancy. We’re building
an orchard' 
                   - in the eastern paddock where
we had hand-raised the winter orphaned lambs; 
mothers frozen, exhausted after a 
hard labour in the top field. I had seen 
forty five saplings, their roots shivering 

in the lazy Swale winds, lined up against 
the Anderson; waiting for the cold kiss 
of fresh dug loam. Petulant and without  
the maternal warmth of the kitchen stove,

I stabbed at steeped turf with rusty auger, 
making box string homes for stupid 
fruit trees.  A bare smile passed as he saw pride -
unexpected -  in my soil caked face. Arm 

now slung round my shoulder, that brief look 
hung like old telegraph wires; pregnant with 
unseen information. 
                                Before the first shy
blossom showed, the farm had been sold 
and developed. Box string starters for 
identikit people, unmoved by wild 
romances of unruly North Riding 
orchards; the beacon that called me home 
to bitter Allerton wapentake winters.

Copyright © Will Vigar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

No More Empty Praise

I have prayed and prayed and prayed,
You don't listen ... I see the man who
Raised me, the man who worked his
Ass off day after day after 14-hour day,

The man who sacrificed EVERYthing so
His family could do and have and see
And experience what so many other
Families could not, the man who got

Up at all hours in order to fill emergency
Prescriptions for people in town, the
Man who spent what few free hours he
Had on committees and boards and

Organizations, in order to make a
Better world for his town and family,
The man who let EVERYone, some of
His friends included, walk all over his

Kindness for the sake of character, the
Man who let the townsfolk PASS on tens
Of thousands of dollars of debt when
He sold his business, all for the sake

Of being kind and understanding, the
Man who always took a back seat to his
Beloved wife for the sake of true love
And being the "good husband", the

Man who worked SO hard that he rarely
Got to see his children or spend time
Having fun or just enjoying life, the
Man who has NEVER made an enemy

In this entire world, because integrity
And kindness were his compass - his
True North - I see this man crumbling
Before my eyes, the incredibly acute

Mind that was valedictorian of his class
At MCP, struggling to grasp what's
Real and what isn't, the once strong
Legs, shuffling and buckling with

Almost every step, the once sharp
And twinkling eyes now fading - one
Gone, and one going - this amazingly
GOOD man, once larger than life

And the tower of strength and
Character, is slowly fading from his
Pedestal, and You are NOT listening
To my prayers! Please, give him BACK!

If you're going to take him, take him
With dignity and kindness and love,
Give BACK to him the things he has
Given to us and life and You! Isn't

That the very LEAST he deserves?!?
Not this slow, painful, undignified
Decay ... he is worth SO much more
Than this! Take ME instead, and give

Him back his family, and his vitality,
And his pedestal - he EARNED it,
Stone-by-stone he built it with
His hands and the sweat of his toil!

Why don't You hear me? Are you
Determined to have me forsake you
For all time? I want my father BACK ...
Is that not but a small thing for

The One, The All, The Everything?!?
The being who created the heavens
And Earth and Universe can't grant
Me this small request?? Where ARE

You?? Answer me!! No ... I didn't
Think so. Be forsaken, then ... there
Can be no good in this, no lesson,
No grand wisdom gained, no "God

Has a better plan", just the slow
Deterioration of the best man I've ever
Known! There is nothing godly or
Sacred in that, and you are either NOT,

Or you are CRUEL! Either way, I shall
Waste no more time on You!! Be 
The the useless receiver of everyone
ELSE's praises and worship, you shall

Not be mine, for there is no justice
Or glory or grand purpose in what
You're doing to my father, just
Negligence, cruelty, or The Grand Lie.


** This was an emotional poem, written out of pain, sadness, and anger
... I pray you take it as such, and not a commentary or judgement on my personal beliefs. It was a purge of sorts, and I believe those things are important to share, as well as the joyous. **

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Point of view

The old man sits on a bench in 
the late afternoon sun 
his walker nearby,
his little dog, 

the last day of summer
they watch the line up of trucks 
coming to retrieve their
boats from the water
as the sun crawls
towards the sea

Like the tide, 
the same people who 
lined up in the morning to launch their boats,
now line up in the afternoon to retrieve them 

Someone says to the old man, 
they must truly love their boats

The old man replies, 
once, I loved my boat
I remember being on the water in the sun,
breathing the sea air, feeling the wind
and the spray of the water on my face,
feeling the force of the waves, 
the pull on the heart to the open sea

Feeling the anticipation
of the day, the chance of it all,
the good and the bad;
dry feet or wet clothes,
an empty net,
or a full belly

And the freedom
Oh, the freedom
I haven't been on a boat in so long,
that I can't even remember 
when it was, son 

I miss it so, but I'm happy
just that I loved it once

Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Three Going on Four

Raising light and reversing diffident order,
Proves a puzzling endeavor in noble modes—
Its compulsive plume wafts over the boarder,
Laid low and beholden to rebellion in codes.
Show me your values! Your colors are clear!
Your preemptive ‘no’ leaves you future regret—
Substance would make your defiance sincere,
And you haven’t shown any signs of that yet.
So listen, my son, as I walk you through Hell—
For my father once made me angry as well.

Copyright © Lxnnnie Rutledzh | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Sixty plus verses teenager

Can remember when being a teenager
so free and easy could see no danger,
but things you do seems a lot stranger
mobile phones, computers, life's arrangers,

must have been boring without technology 
no google to find information like psychology ,
Without knowledge you don't have theology,
unable to understand everyday terminology,

we had books, libraries, calculators, brains,
no games consoles or any other brain drains
exploring nature without technological chains,
with social media, no community remains,

we can communicate with each other quicker 
face book, whatsApp, email and twitter,
with  iPads, desk tops, no need for baby sitter,
life's better now so don't be so bitter,

being sixty plus I'm still learning new skills
enjoying life supported with prescription pills,

being a teenager our world is full of thrills
easy access to all that's bad like illegal pills.

Copyright © Roy Pett | Year Posted 2017

Details | Dramatic Verse |


At a young age i was abandoned
most of my life i felt like nothing
Asking questions that will never be

My mind feels disassembled
not knowing what i did to deserve this
and are these growing pains really worth it
was i meant to be or an accident you see,
this just doesn't make sense to me.

Such a young age lost my innocence
trying to feel love, but only getting resistance
and the distance, is so far can't be reached by
train or car.

Did you ever really want me to be dad
how do you even sleep, i bet not bad
well im glad, im not like you
and all the feelings of missing and hurting 
are through, from your abandonment.

Copyright © antonio swider | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |


I'm old, older than yesterday but yesterday is dead. 
Sighed its last breath, stroked its last caress, on me. 

They make you older you know 
Grate on you, love you and you cradle them and they spit on you. 

Like I did to them in turn out of purity 
Oh the innocence, malevolence born evil and they kissed me. 

They will breed and destroy me. 
Age, you're in my eyes weighted lines now in my face cracking and splitting at the seams. 

I hold him close to my breastplate drawing a bridge to shelter me.
Building a wall that will break me

Copyright © T.R. Sevrens | Year Posted 2007