Age Poems | Examples

List of Member Poems

Youth Is

Selfish young youth has brightly beamed faces
And beautiful gleaming gold hair as loose lace is,
Like balmy books with pale prefaces
Its intrinsic inceptive and prompt paces,
Soon, sad torrid time replaces
The sunny sparkle with gentler graces
And young youth with those tacit troughed ages.

Premium Member The Cool Down Period

Golden  fantasy 
Crispy like a falling leaf 
Waits for a new birth

What Matters

My Cheerios are lined up - wow!
In very straight a row
I can count to 20 now
But after that ... don't know

A handsome boy sits next to me
On him, I have a crush
I'd like for there a kiss to be
But Mom says not to rush

I finished school, got a job - boon
I've had a steady man
If he won't ask the question soon 
then I suppose I can

My baby birds are growing up
And some have left the nest 
We'll miss each other sorely - yup!
But know it's for the best

My parents gone. Spouse, Heaven's gain
And many a dear friend
I'm grateful a few still remain
On them, I will depend


I Once Was

I Once Was….

I once was young
Fresh out of school
The future lay at my feet
And everything was cool.

My face was void of wrinkles 
My body flexible and strong
There was nothing I couldn't do
And my dreams inspired my song.

I never thought of aging
Of growing old
Forced to give up activities 
Because my limits were sold.

I looked at older people
And felt a sense of relief
I had years to enjoy my life  
Was my misconceptive belief.

Day after day
Year after year
I took life for granted
And lived without fear.

One day I woke up
And I looked in the mirror
I saw time had dwindled down
And my age was suddenly clear.

I was no longer young
With years stretched before 
me
My body stiff like the tin man 
My bladder the size of a pea.

My memory has faltered
Simple things playing hide and seek
And I faced the fact
That time had sprung a  leak.

I once was young
And ready to take on the world
But time somehow got away from me
Like a newspaper age curled.

Loving and leaving

I loved you 
But God, I had to leave 
It wasn't you but it wasn't me 
We just didn't work and I had to leave 
But I need you to know 
It hurt me too

Premium Member Flight Patterns

Some birds fly south in Winter climes,
and they may have their reasons.
There are other birds, sometimes, 
who fly by different seasons.

Duck feet led me to the toilet, south -
welcome partner, shut my mouth. 
I'll be making that southern flight
six more times, each vexing night.


Melancholy

Melancholy


In the day light of warm summer,
The old lady  gone out of her home,
Toiling hard and walking barefoot ,
No slippers to wear
The feet became warm with pain strunken over her ankle ,
She could not walk properly,
Crying and walking 
She doesn’t have money to buy ,
So she went to look for some work

Her life became miserable
Sadness and poverty curtailed ,
Everyday she had to go without slipper,
Her feet burnt and became swollen,
She remained starved without having food for many days,
Yet she had a hope,
One day life would change ,
Brings about prosperity and wealth ,
She would buy new slippers,
And nice food for her.

Premium Member The Ageless Vine

The ageless will blush from the wine

Their memories hang lush on the vine

Where riesling romantics

Meet dry red fanatics

These vintages will ferment just fine

Premium Member Knuckle Syntax

Written: September 24, 2026

           **********

The house grows quiet, voices fade away,
Empty chairs wait guests who won't arrive.
The telephone robotic rings betray,
Silence that surrounds me, makes me strive.

My knuckles built up their own syntax,
Every joint and bone is mapped by ache.
A display of pills on the top of the tacks,
A week of tunnels and no house break.

Friends as stones I've gathered over the years,
Some polished smooth, others jagged, worn.
Doctor's waiting room now calms my fears,
No mantelpiece gatherings, no morn.

Feelings of loneliness are as thick as rain,
Its monotonous, never-ending of night.
I speak to screens, endure the loop again,
For comfort in the artificial light.

Yet dawn comes, the kitchen window stays,
Coffee still holds a flavor, rich and deep.
I'm still here counting on my numbered days,
Still someone's father, still the love to keep.

For children's names I'd memorize, their needs,
Through every darkness, through hardest falls.
The body is tired, but love still intercedes,
And life, though shaking, still recalls.

The Receipt

Saw a friend for lunch; we meet
To talk of health and aging.
A cozy booth; we schmooze and eat,
Our changes up for gauging.

The negatives of age contrast
With pics of a vacation
So beautiful that they surpassed
Our senior state fixation.

Until at last, we split the bill,
The credit cards extended.
We signed our names and knew the drill;
Our lovely meal had ended.

I folded my receipt in two
And in the bag I carry,
I stuffed it, like I always do,
So very ordinary.

We said goodbye and headed out,
Where home for us both beckoned.
About the check, I had a doubt;
I’ll look at home, I reckoned.

An hour later, no receipt
Appeared, despite my searching.
I sadly must admit defeat,
A getting old besmirching.

she's a river

SHES A RIVER
 Her life is like that of a river,
persistent and unpredictable.
She carved her life in the California mountain peeks 
following the creeks,
 creating her own current at just fifteen—
forge on
she dammed fears and tears that tore at her spirit 
childish emotions raged inside
Forge on
once she would fall 
many came to see the wonder of it all
but eventually a comfortable place called home.
was the place she felt most alone 
forge on
All that trapped her today would eventually be torn away 
resurfacing through the cracks of where she had been,
forge on
She smiled glistening to see the sun, her old friend
 to be united with something so bright and warm again
then fog crept in to elude her 
and the sun crept out to remind her 
Forge on
And at the fork of her life’s journey,
a paradise awaits—
one worthy of envy.
Forge on

Premium Member Learning to Love Dancing again with Hypothyroidism

I am still the girl at forty
who loves the shadow
that never left her

James Barrie knew more than me:
sometimes a shadow needs soap,
or sewing, according to Wendy

I learned to appreciate the change
because so much of this body,
softer, speckled, and true
still works and runs its cogs
regardless

I lose control
where the wheels turn
too quickly,
Charlie Chaplin

We share the joke
of frenzied 'Modern Times'
"A day without laughter
is a day wasted"

I agree
My shadow and I
have learned to dance
on the assembly line

Premium Member Reflections on Youth

Written: September 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Sara Kendrick

         *************

We were young enough to trust the light,
Courtyard dust and sea-salt sang at night.
Monsoon rain stitched alleys into sight,
Grandmothers folded dusk with quiet might.

Doorways breathed bread, bells rang in delight,
The world was vast yet wonder made it bright.
Time has taken barefoot hours in flight,
Still they bloom beneath the years in spite.

A vanished garden lingers in our sight,
Long after children forget their own light.

World Ages

We've had; the Stone Age, Bronze Age,
Iron Age, Ice Age, Industrial Age too,
a thought about what man hath wrought
and the not-too distant future view.
It's now the AI Age we're living in,
yet, wouldn't take much persuasion,
or a second guess, to believe it's somewhat akin
to nothing more or less than an Alien Invasion.

Premium Member Behind Shelf Edge

A curled pink nail,
 tap on navy blue,
garment I wore,
 benchmark blazer,
and matching pants,  
whilst idly gazing,
at top shelf luxuries,
with lavish design,                             
a tinctured twang,
“beyond my grasp,”
that felicitous plead,
from ethereal elder,
whose finger points,
 to green leaf motif,
breakfast tea box,
tucked between,
medley of brands,
behind shelf label,
“your lofty stature,”
“towering boon,”
her citrine whisper,
my wobbly lurch,
I self adjust now,
before the setting,
of caffeine boost,
in basket mesh,
hug swops usher,
vanishing in lane

Age Categories

Read wonderful age poetry on the following sub-topics: 40, 50, 60, 70, coming of, different, enlightenment, exploration, funny, middle, new, old, romantic, stone and more.

Definition | What is Age in Poetry?

Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.

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