Best Age Poems


Premium Member Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty

Premium Member Soul Embrace

Sunlight rains upon my face
Cascading memories cloaked in mystery
Kissing my eyelids
Ancient teardrops glide down my cheeks
Warmth illuminating my hungry soul

A sense of calm
A pulsating ellipse emerges before me
I dive into the magenta abyss
Releasing my wounded heart from its cage
Fear resides
Primal vibrations guide me

Becoming one with galaxies and starlight 
My limbs relax
I flow ~ I undulate
I swim in the warmth of the universe
Time and space have become me and I them

Perched on a massive salt-stained boulder
Gazing towards the briny distance
Shades of White
A passionate brushstroke across the horizon
Sky and sea in a lover’s embrace

Caw ....  caw ..... caw....

I feel you beckon me
Swallowing the sweet pit of truth
Nudged by a warm gust
I look down seeing the bundle 
cradled in my arms

Your endless gaze speaks lifetimes of wisdom
Birth, struggle, bliss, challenge, and death
I watch you intently readying yourself 
to pounce upon your unsuspecting prey

Riding this timeline of life 
Together as one
Tick tock 
Forward backward
Inward to the beating center of creation

Young one I see your sage reflection
In my gilded hand mirror
Me here and you there 
Your smiling eyes
Tearing at my core

Come float with me 
In sheer turquoise splendor
Adorned with seaweed crowns and abalone jewels
Rays of light penetrate the watery depths
Colonies of majestic stingrays hover nearby
Welcoming us to join their scared dance forevermore

Premium Member I Wandered Lonely As a Boat

"I wandered lonely as a cloud."  William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a boat   
a shallow dingy left behind,  
alone in marsh of reeds remote  
my paint now faint so unrefined, 
my only hope the next high tide  
on brackish water then I’ll ride,

in aimless drift left up to fate  
the wind and wave upon the bay  
on rhythmic swells, I’ll grow sedate  
with naught to see through mists of gray…  
on ripples pale so soft so free
my destination out to sea; 

that distant place where lay the sun  
across the sunset waters west, 
the ambiance of cirrus spun  
to brush with colors every crest  
where I can bathe in shades so bold
of melting solar marigold.

Yet — let go I must of wishful dreams!  
My lifeline dispossessed I strayed  
and followed streams with other schemes —  
now lofty tide cannot be swayed,  
a rustic wreck in reeds reposed  
their wind-song whispers I’m imposed. 

There’s no escape their soldiers’ lance, 
the blades of green so tall and crisp,
with waves they undulate in dance  
and breezes ruffle tassels’ wisp,  
though swans find beauty mid the reeds 
—a wistful coward’s bitter weeds.  


Susan Ashley
January 14, 2023


~ Second Place ~
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25
Sponsor: Mark Toney


~ Poem Of The day ~
January 16, 2023


Poet’s note: this poem was inspired by, but not written for, the contest: “I Wandered Lonely As… Challenge”, sponsored by Natasha Scragg and judged on September 24, 2022. Thank you, Natasha, for the beautiful William Wordsworth quote and for the poetic inspiration.


Photo: gettyimages; Jay Fleming


Premium Member October Skies

We are apples growing on our parent's tree, planted by our grandparents from the apples of our great-grandparents ~ author

October skies still reflect in your eyes 
the way they once did on that day we were wed.
Autumn's bright leaves recall fond memories
of sweet days together even through stormy weather.

Once we were young, with our songs still unsung
As we wondered, "How's it feel to grow old?"
Nights fell, the months turned, new calendars came,
Now leaves in chill weather, in love, fall together
in orange, red, yellow, and gold

The sunrise has faded, our sunset is near
    The springtime has passed and the winter 
        we once thought we'd fear
           is now here,
               this love we still share brings a tear.

The season's deep magic hides changes within,
A rose's young bloom that won't open again,
like children that change right in front of our eyes -
the soft painted ceiling of October skies.


//  My grandparents had an October wedding. This song was a gift to them on their 60th anniversary. //

written October 1979
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member The Age of Poet Destroyer

A diamond in the Frost ... I am Emily, gazing through the years, 
Like Poe from rancid taste and dark smoke shadows
Florescent waste escaping a decrepit yet dulcet wilderness
Backward capabilities frontal verse, I am her the almighty universe 

Ascending from yesterday's fall, literally and visibly
Swore to be everything you loathe most - a felicity of illusions
You will dream of me, a parasite you can't get rid of
Ripped open by paper and pen, rising to a new destination
A Destroyer begging to be free in search of a tender rhapsody
Blind by mediocre poets who tend a false nebulous star
No longer, will I impart into defeat - give in to trophy trust
The time of age, my allies whom I call my friends 
You are more than words on any God-Given-Day

To those unworthy of me, can march away from my parade 
Crying wolves, backstabbing clones, long gone stones
Each file is forgiven & forgotten, however, still trespassing 
Under a microscope, some remain to be a decade of lost words 
Grazing a forest-grown for old news dripping water on my belly

No matter, after starvation, I found my way back to the same horizon
Finding time and space among a new docile nation
A buried treasure finding face among a fresh myriad generation
With anchors up, I'm headed full force, against every secret endorsed

I am the one you should not fear, I relish this wonderful community
I am she mounted above all years worn rising like a newborn sword 
Forged by the earth summon by the pirate's moon political creed
Ascending to a sweet ascension with the best kind of immunity
With paper and pen, I sit to please and prosper my poetry need
To you I leave --- Echoes of snow, numbing you with a poetic soul 

Love The Poet Destroyer

These Eyes Have Often Been Solaced

 These eyes have often been solaced

by twilight's cotton candy pllows moving silently

towards a sky's velveteen blanket

and angels'silver gowns

By gazing over hills

to where old country church bells

and crickets play harmonious sounds

These eyes have  often been solaced

by honey coloured shadows

pouring moonlight zest
 
across the rose plum of  my cheek

By little antique lamplights 

which illuminate my soul 's dark cobbled street

 By winds carrying sea-salts to a fragrant golden sand

By  tides washing out corals to a distant land

These eyes have often been solaced by your return

to this vacant room inside my heart

By the hush hushed whisper of your voice

By the embrace of your arms

By the way you love me

By the way you need me

By the way you want me

Like an autumn bonfire

 before next sunrise'dew fall

By the way you lean on me


Premium Member I Died

As blaze of August fades into the Fall
horizons new have burned and turned to ash
and textures of the change of seasons clash,
a plague of frost becomes a rose’s pall.
The supple smooth confronts the brittle break 
as petals silk matures a wrinkled skin
and winter’s snow to bury sins begin —
a fallen cloud the shroud for briar’s wake.

The days of glory sun and ruby rays,
across the skies, these hues were once my own,
beneath the blue above the green, my fling...
dressed not but strands of dew in solstice haze.
When youth was sown my roots were honed in stone —
I died… but I will rise again in Spring!

Premium Member The Irony of Fate

In a moment of juvenile jealousy 
he envies his red rival

with its intimate and greedy embrace of her angels’ share
of honey and vanilla spice
as wet stretchy hands of fervent fabric
possessively cup 
her brandied beauty 

amidst wistful notions
to revive his parched heart
he craves to be ladled with her ardent spirits
to be cradled in the tulip of her essence -
evaporating every chill from the calyx of her sweetened cordial
warming her in the hearth of his hands
as she melts
like buttery sunbeams
intoxicating the bleached beachy sands..

his dreamy grin falters and his tantric trance fades
as tattered edges of reverie unravel -
a haze beclouds his aged green-eyed gaze 
graying his white periwinkle pipe dream

as he sees that his best days are long past


Susan Ashley 
July 18, 2018

Premium Member We Are One

We Are One


Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons

My voice 
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age

I have always known you...
I have heard your 
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me

I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently

I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of 
Your grandfather’s footsteps

I see your reflection in the twilight 
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you

I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with 
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet

I hear the echo in the distance of songs 
The Elders sang...
During their passage here

You are born into a woman 
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline 
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving 
A welcome imprint on our hearts

My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world

Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you 
A glow radiating into
The night sky

The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...

The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on 
The hungry earth 
Keeping time with 
The movements of your body

You will look back on this 
Day as you walk with the 
Same cane down the path of 
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently

Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for 
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss



Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence

Premium Member If Ever I Don't Know

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and 
can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words"
                                                                          ~ CS Lewis

If ever I don't know your name
  recall these words that I now write:
no season ever stays the same -
   fall yields to winter, day to night.

If ever I forget your face -
   though hard to fathom now, dear child,
I ask you to recall the days
   we walked on trails through canyons wild.

Those nights we camped under the stars
   and filled our lungs with mountain air,
the trips we took in vans or cars
   while singing songs from here to there.

Remember beach days, Sunday hikes, 
   or at the lake shore skipping stones,
those Saturdays we rode our bikes
   for donuts or for ice cream cones.

I hope you won't become too sad
   nor let my absence cast a pall,
for I will always be your dad
   I pray our good times you'll recall.
   
Now go and make new memories -
   in moving on, you play your part.
Sing soft our favorite melodies,
   I'll sing along deep in your heart.

written 25 June 2022
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.

I Don'T Believe In Fairytales

 Like an evening sun
I settle by the lake
Wearing nothing but my thought
as I recall your name.

I recall last moments
Green shades where we have been
Your voice,a wailing flute
playing in the wind.

The sight of you- a mountain
The scent of you -fresh rain
The warmth of you- a bird nest
Your eyes- Wishing sky-lanterns
...drifting far away.

In this darkest hour,like a marionette
I waltz without your whisper
as white swans pirouette.

The sound of rushing water 
 still cascades  by  our cave
 Shards'glow from a bonfire
once flickered on your face.

The  smile, the echoing laughter
The raft,the night and day
Concern,longing and loss
Regrets and one more game.

In silence,the shape of absence
One bottle of champagne
A  toast  to empty glasses
Another fairytale.

Reminiscing fond memories
Indulging in the past
Unsaid are all the answers
to questions never asked.


Just a  poem.

Premium Member The Age of Summer Love

Our summer love began in Gemini 
with sultry eves of wooing escapades,
and as the moon did swoon as it drew nigh
my lust you stirred with strumming serenades.

Romance as rich as black queen tulip skies
adorned with precious gems of bijou light,
before they’d lose their lustre to sunrise
you’d shower me with diamonds of the night.

Impassioned kisses filled my sails with love,
a rhumba full of rapture neath the stars
with rhythmic teasing, undulations of
unbridled flame of Venus and my Mars.

The time of Libra brings a cool to days ~
still, autumn love sets aging leaves ablaze.


Susan Ashley 
May 15, 2018


~ First Place ~
Contest: Summer Love Sonnet
Sponsor: John Hamilton


*(Black) Queen of Night Tulip: a velvety deep maroon-black tulip*

Premium Member Getting Old Is Getting Old

I've grown a bit slower, I've grown a bit fatter,
  my mission each hour: relieving my bladder.
When I was a youngster, I had no idea
  old coots who eat fruits will just get diarrhea.

My eyesight is going - my glasses need glasses,
  and don't get me started on myriad gases:
that flatus I thought should have stayed deep inside
  escaped from its chamber, despite how I tried.

My hearing was great once, now I spend big money
  on aids, just to know why those jokes are so funny.
I never had allergies back in the day -
  I sneeze now from looking at pictures of hay.

My barber once covered his floor with brown hair -
  that floor now looks gray (and there's not a lot there).
I thought in retirement I'd be a blob -
  I'm busier now than when I had a job:

My schedule with doctor's appointments I fill,
  the outcome of each is, "here, take this new pill".
Perhaps I once asked what that pain in my joint meant,
  so now my skin's greasy from medical ointment.

Once, fully formed sentences from me were heard,
 I pause quite a bit now to find the right........ word.
Back then, my vocab was a source of great pride,
 now new words or phrases I just cast aside.

I need a warm blanket, my toes all feel frosted,
  but walking to get one just leaves me exhausted.
Some good comes from fires becoming an ember -
  I'd say it here (if I could only remember…)
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Reflections, Past To Present

Sweet youth, beauty
By Luna's light.
Cobalt colors
How sweet it is...
I know of great love,
There will never be enough time.
I am here for you.

What is love...crimson rose,
Love stanzas, champagne,
An arc to heaven...
Moonstruck heartbeats?

Lily of the Nile,
By the waters edge, 
Romantic waters.
Mountain magic
Flash dancing with dawn.

Oh Luna...cold Moon rising,
Death's cold hand.
Behold Death.
Emma's epitaph...
Soul travel, a glimpse of heaven,
Bodies of light...tranquility.

My Waning years, reflections, hold me.
Autumn's aria, heart song, 
Angel love,
Heaven

7-10-19


Collaboration Of Your Titles Poetry Contest ~First Place~
Sponsored by: charles messina 

~Poem of the Day July 13, 2019~

Thank you so much for the honor Poetry Soup Team and Members. I appreciate this very much.

Premium Member Folly of Autumn's Fog

               A coloratura rises 
                          from the suede-edged shape 
                               as the gnarled grande dame
                                comes to light..    a vision 
                            draped in sweeping evergreen  
                        and a pale cape of kidskin haze -

                   a beguiling soprano in soft-
               focus fools the guileless sunrise 
         with a diva’s deception --
      for in the vaporous golden hour
    she can still be breathtaking

  the age of change
  is beclouded - softened
   in gray’s cashmere atmosphere 
    where blending and bending of
       over-ripened perceptions
           are smoothed with a dewy smudge.. 
               roughened boughs 
                   and litter-fall is obscured --
                       unless, you get up close

                            harsh lines become artfully coy 
                              in the bosom of the pearl mist;
                          a bedimmed dreamy blur of 
                   Impressionism masks her reality
          with the sleight of hand and a mockingbird’s aria


Susan Ashley
March 8, 2020


~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Contest No 1183
Sponsor: Brian Strand


N/A
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney


*coloratura: runs, trills, and other florid decorations in vocal music.
A lyric soprano of high range who specializes in such music*

*aria: an elaborate melody sung solo*

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