Old Age Poems | Examples
These Old Age poems are examples of Age poems about Old. These are the best examples of Age Old poems written by international poets.
Typical short gray curly hair
Smile
She looked away from me as I entered
I would have said hello
She grasped her cane as she sat
Starring into the distance
Her shoes look comfortable
like a nurse's sneaker
She wore jeans and a sweatshirt
I was on my phone
browsing nothing
She thought about me
and I thought about her
Yet we didn't speak to each other
Did her husband pass
Did she have children
I could've initiated a conversation
We were alone in a room
with no music or tv's
When her name was called
"Janice"
She rose from her seat with ease
and seemed not to need a cane
Maybe that cane was for comfort
I'll never know because I lost a chance
to communicate with another human being
I will never give up
Waste not a moment
There are things
That only I will tell them
I cannot stand by
Satisfied, though frightened
By the “comfort” of old age
I will teach them
The game has rules
Be it Candy Land
Or Monopoly
I shall sing
Old songs
Loudly
Cagily teach them
To chant
In a controlled
Joyousness
I shall thank them
For allowing me
To grow old
Without growing up
This is a classic story to share.
About the best grandmother ever
She was the person who truly cared.
Back when I was still a little girl
When nays are not that old
She buys me a wooden slipper.
Together we tend her garden
She's a good storyteller.
We are never bored with her.
She got our back when we needed her.
Every problem we have, she's always there.
She always carries her magic purse.
Inside there are lots of stored memories.
Bobbies pins, gums, receipts and more
Old notes, mirrors, even photos galore
Reading glasses and lipstick all in there.
Our grandmother has a magic wand
That makes us smell delicious air.
Cooking us our favorite meals to share
For every summer all her grandchildren
Will come to her house to gather
Our dinner is always full of laughter.
Everywhere she goes, I'm with her.
All the things that we do together
It is a memory that we'll always remember.
We all grew up with her love and care.
Sharing with every piece of her
The love she gave us is so rare.
In our hearts she stays with us through prayer.
Gay has a doctor’s appointment almost every day
bone specialist, heart surgeon, eye doctor for old Gay
Goes from appointment to appointment hoping to find something wrong
Breaking a bone or two would have her singing a joyful song
She has had seventeen colonoscopies this year
plus, several surgeries, next year they’ll rebuild her ear
there she goes now to another doctor appointment I’ll bet
I heard that she is demanding to have her unbroken arm set.
There was an old maid
There was an old maid in the square
Who tripped over her very long hair
She grabbed a street lamp
Performed a pole dance
And everyone gave her a cheer.
An old man was approaching the square
And he tripped while descending the stair
He did some cartwheels
Then tapped on his heels
Said Ginger, here’s your Fred Astaire.
A poet at the supermarket
At the supermarket, yes, we have one near Faro. I met a poet.
The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers.
From time to time, they chime to remind us why we are
Here, not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to
The sky is seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations.
The poet I met had a white beard, wore an old black suit,
a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed
Of garlic, I think. You could see that it wasn’t really there.
His eyes scanning the ground, he bent down, picking up.
Half-smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, not so rich
So what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before?
They are not all idle sons of the rich, and with a university.
Degrees in literature. A notebook in the side pocket and
Two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet, ok.
Tenacious on occasion.
Orderly always.
Unspoiled by opinions of others.
Generous to a fault.
Honesty is his only policy.
Outperforms what is expected.
Longing for Heaven.
Decisiveness is a strong point.
Backbone shows in the face of adversity.
Ideas that solves problems he owns.
Receptive to the opinions of others.
Downhill is now his direction of flight.
As feathers ruffle,
they show toughness where they stand.
Tough Old Birds don’t fly,
Every day has become a rerun.
Impervious to age is an untruth.
Glass is no longer half full.
Hasty decisions never turn out well.
Tough Old Bird will be my claim to fame.
Yesterdays garner most of my thoughts.
Sheltered in the arms of God.
Indolence was never my choice.
Xeroxing is replacing my memory.
Age can’t carry its carriage when,
No more gets born new courage then.
Age ponders penning a page when,
Life gets peeved of post-passage then.
New dares are hard to engage in
When, past quests get sung in rage then.
Mundane move ways of marriage when,
No room, new romance to stage then.
Tired, living long life of rage when,
The old man turns unto sage then.
__________________________
Ghazal | 10.09.2025 | carriage, courage, marriage, rage, sage, stage
Chari’s wisps of blonde hair are blown around in the wind
her sky blue eyes have an intelligence that speaks to the watcher
though young in this life time she is an old soul, wise, kind, and empathetic
she misses nothing, but keeps people’s confidences, without instruction
Improving our status requires hard work.
An abundance of years has made us old.
Majority of school mates have gone on.
And accelerating days increase our speed
Newly reborn by accepting Jesus as my personal savior.
Only as old as we feel.
Liar, liar, pants are on fire
Death has it’s eye on us.
Cozy was not synonymous with old.
Objective in life, is outperforming our expectations.
Death is the payment for our use of space.
Golden years is a misnomer, some are more like rust.
Edifying God always makes our life easier.
Recommend making your peace with God before it’s late.
Old Man
(for Pema)
The older I get the more I feel I fade away.
It’s not a bad thing it’s just what is
As old friends die off one by one
While others just drift away
And the passions I once knew
Become nothing more than a lingering scent.
Maybe it takes too much effort
To do or feel anything more,
Maybe it’s simply having done that
And been there so many times before.
Eventually even the joyous play
Of dogs or children
Only remind me how tired I am,
Tired but still happy
With an inward glow
Of appreciation for the Life that flows
Within me and without me.
(9/8/25)
I have read a lot of books
Not sure what I remember of them
Written a lot of poetry
Yet cannot recite any of it
I have lived a lot of days
Faint memories entwined
In fluffed and softened lies
I cannot unentangle them
I have loved and been loved
Shared the pain and joy of both
Inhaled the breath of generations
Destined to remember me
I have grown old
And yet my mind resists
The weakness of my body
Calling forth its inner youth
I have read a lot of books
I have lived a lot of days
I have loved and been loved
I have grown old
And still I read
I write, I remember,
I love and am loved
For life demands it
Words vouched for my good
Made me sulk, feel very bad
In days of childhood.
Today, things do make me sad
Which, in cool silence I brood.
We call it old age
When we subtract more than add
Things on life’s last page,
Dwell on few days we feel glad,
Days not, in muted hush mad.
_______________________
Tanka (Senryu + couplet) |06.09.2025| childhood, life, old age, brood, bad, good,
Note: An old man broods…