Retirement Beauty Poems

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

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The poem(s) are below...



Details | Free verse |
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
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.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
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.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia

Copyright © Laura Hamilton | Year Posted 2013




Details | I do not know? |
The Beach of Promises


1.


Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,

strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.


2.


Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,

walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.


3.


Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,

lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,

my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,

wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.



Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

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 | Quatrain |
old post from last year.....

"Music Maestro," the conductor turns-
 The curtain rises and the ballet begins,
People sit on the edge of their seats-
Tasting the sweetness of the violins-

Dancers make not a single sound,
As their slippers touch the stage,
The audience, still, gazing forward,
Quite intimately engaged-

The music pitch is soft, then loud,
Creating a somber mood,
With cabrioles, jetes, arabesques, plies,
An ambiance of mystery, the dancers all exude.

Painting a captivating canvas,
Gracefully moving, white sylph-like silhouettes,
The "Prima Ballerina Assoluta" twirls,
Executing perfect en-point pirouettes-

This ballet tells the story,
Of how a peasant girl, from a broken heart, dies,
Her last dance - a spectacular performance,
Brings tears to the audience's eyes.

Nearing its dramatic ending,
Dancers complete their last entrechats,
Spellbinding, flawlessly done,
A standing ovation for them all-

The music stops - the Maestro takes a bow,
The curtain lifts, then falls,
The applause of the audience demands,
A number of curtain calls-

Ballerinas retreat backstage to celebrate,
Their "Prima's" last dance was today,
Inside, the dancers weep softly,
Outside, people praise the ballet-

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2015