Retirement Depression Poems

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

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The poem(s) are below...



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 |
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 | Rhyme |
When I think of all I've done
Plans that kept me on the run
I kind of wonder every day
How I pissed my time away
In my thirties there was cash
Not one buck saved
Not one buck stashed
Sure I thought I could reach fame
From art or science
What a shame
For these goals I truly went
And never saved a single cent
So now it's rough
Though I'm not broke
Just don't live like other folk
My neighbors run out nights for eats
Can't afford such costly treats
When Winter comes they go away
I freeze my rear
I'm forced to stay
Yet I feel the need to try
To make some mark before I die
For in truth these other folk
Live a life that's just a joke
The men dried up some years ago
Their wives plan daily where to go
Their brains are focused on the past
No way to know how long they'll last
So my future's not to dread
Even now I'll move ahead

Copyright © Gary Kraidman | 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 | Acrostic |
P     aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A     cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N     othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I      nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C     hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
!!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.

Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.

Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.

Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.

My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.

Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
Just like closing a book without reading a page,
Or as to a child who is tired of being a kid;
Like a preacher that won’t stay in a pulpit so long
Or to a sprinter who leaves from the running throng.

No time for laughter or for returning a grin
Or consoling oneself for the pain deep within;
No self-pity or pride to be felt by the heart
Yet reserved and reluctant for another start.

Sleep is precious and so desired by the mind
Having no urge for a smoke or for the spirit of wine;
No more is the longing for a kiss or embrace
When the will of a man only needs its own space.

Like a rooster of the dawn that would be cackling no more
As the dew that would dry without wetting at all.
Or a poet who used to spend some long sleepless nights
For the mind is now stalled with nothing to write.

No more rhyming lines or a tune for a song
Though the art for the craft is still able and strong;
But to rest and to rest is what the soul ever wanted
For the spirit that is numbed and so exhausted.

Date & Time of Writing
November 19, 2011
1:32pm – 2:05pm

I had a sleepless night and feeling the pain within my heart up to the time of this writing. I am simply getting impatient of my own patience. I feel that, for such, I become vulnerable to exploitations and blatant lies. Albeit, I still strive to be fair by keeping the pain within myself and hoping that at the end of this particular writing the pain I have inside would be just a driving force of coming up another piece of a candid poem.

Copyright © Jecon B. Nadela | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
                                                                                                        written:may/30/2009
You must go,yes!
 
Go against slumber,
 
When even early birds ignore worms,
 
But the falling thorns purnish gurus
 
As the roaming anti-mother blanket kills faint gurulings.
 
Here we march marshals,
 
Along grumbling swift paces,we shall!
 
Walking-yarn appetises expectations,
 
Since many paths leads to the road.
 
Diverging to coverge,we must!
 
As swarming of the apocalyptic plague of the book,
 
Brushing along all along that belongs,
 
Into the shipping tower,we all plunge.
 
Now blinking sea-eyes of a naked mind,
 
All beholding spoons for a bloodless war.
 
Its too late to retrieve and hot to hold.
 
An often dreaded monster you face,
 
Must in "Government call" retire.
 
Yes! warm to hum,
 
like a soldier into war,
 
triumphant but not victorious.
 
When asked why? we say,
 
this is the ROAD TO FSLT.
 
                         BY:TUTUOLA MICHAEL

Copyright © tutuola michael | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
Oh, what am I going to do, today?
I've got so much time on my hands that I
Will simply go mad if I don't find a way
To fill it all up with some stuff to get by.

I try to stay busy with this and with that
And sometimes it works but at others falls flat
I think at such length that my head starts to hurt
And then I relax with a cup of yogurt.

I once had a job where they worked me to death
I grunted and groaned 'til I gave my last breath
The medics restarted my heart with a jolt
I thanked them, then, wisely, decided to bolt.

I could someday make a good living at rhymes
But all I might do is to fall on hard times
I'm cracking my skull like a ripe coconut
To pull myself up and well out of this rut.

A jack of all trades but sad master of none
Among all that's not new now under the sun
I can't just go out there and find a nice niche
It makes me so crazy I want to yell, "SHEESH!"

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse |
Bearable winter 
Blanket covered cold
Attacked by white Gas   of
Fallen Snow
 
But unbearable silent
Cripples into the home
Like a snake
To live with loneliness

Get Scattered past
Comes like a shooting star
Burning and blasting 
As a thunder bolt 
To the vulnerable heart

Like a novel keeps turning pages
Last chapters of the age
Tries to be active
Like a butterfly
While the birds are vanishing
Letting to the cold

Heater in the home
Makes warm the room
Cooks once in a way
Finding the present to share it
At the evening table

Cold darken lumpish light
Turns to here and there
Trying to realize 
The nature of life

 A sigh of pain 
Or a sigh of relief
Unconsciously comes
Likewise something missed
In the life of four seasons

Udaya R. Tennakoon





Copyright © Udaya R. Tennakoon | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Days and nights napping to sleep.
Night after night to day again, life is becoming shorter and shorter.
Day time naps seem to be getting longer and longer.
Naps so deep, they lay parallel next to only endless sleep.
Naps that protect from the bedbugs and welcome all sheep.
Naps so stuffed and suffocating, you won't even smell your favorite home cooked
   plate.
Naps that are dominating and so in charge that they only give you permission to wake, 
   under strict circumstances of suffering caused by the urgent pressure to urinate.
Naps so dark and black they devour they're pitch rite from beneath home plate.
Naps so intimidating and scary that even a yawn will make you weep.
Naps so determined and dedicated, its only guarantee is to eventually transition into
   forever, permanent, endless sleep.
Nights and days napped to sleep.
  
Tony Dean Driskell

   

Copyright © Tony Driskell | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
O Lord, I bring not calf nor my first child,
My palms are empty and my pride is hollow.
Leaves have fallen with this winter that has walked
the face of this earth to find a hermitage in me,
and I seek solely thy grace to till my barren soul.
These lips know hundreds of hymns of wretch,
This tongue confesses how life is a tangram of a thousand ends,
These eyes harbour a lake of salt
and each teardrop is a prayer you already know.
Every leaf browns at the feet of its mother 
As every parched heart falls at the feet of its father-
These feet know millions of miles,
My knees are heavy and I fall before thee;
O potter of the universe, patch my heart; 
Patch this heart every time my faith leaks,
Rid this querulous mind of the fear of contentment
And keep it chaste from the lust for coin.
Free me from this chess of mindless might,
Free me from these weevils poisoning the bumper crop of global peace;
There is a hopelessness sucking on the succulence of my life
And this melancholy of mine is of a harp before an empty throne.
The lantern of my heart sits devoid of flame;
O sower and reaper of breath,
May these last ounces of breath buried in this breast
surrender before thy feet the mayhem within my graceless life.


05/04/17

Copyright © Kunda Chamatete | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
Didn't see it, creeping in door at first, wasn't bothered much chill appeared, quite pondered emptiness, a painless touch. Daytime now resembles dusk no birds welcome light of morn bad news just another thought feel no joy of baby born. Eagerly wait hours to pass what's next, I don't know windows view, lifeless and grey Nature's beauty, nor to show. Never rush, no being late freedom is what to fear nothing to solve, no complaints meaning fades from proud career. Reminisce of long times past useless with no one to share wasted is knowledge of life cause, Loneliness doesn't care.

Copyright © carl jent | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
The worst part is waking up
With wispy, fleeting, figments of anxious dream
Looking at the clock and realizing
It doesn’t matter what time it is anymore
Then there’s the coffee
It tastes so good, but no longer has allure
Then mindless counsel with my laptop
To free my mind and replace the sad fog
That doesn’t leave, but dances, taunting
Into deep dark corners
Where it can continue throughout the day
To bug even the simple code

Copyright © Alison Wimmer | Year Posted 2017