Best Decrepit Poems
As yellow leaves wither in the autumn breeze,
only apathetic thoughts remain
in this nonchalant existence of
my diseased body and over the hill mind!
It reminds me a time of agility,
A time of struggle and celebrations,
An age when dreams of a better future bloomed,
And leaping up those stairs to pluck the petals of success.
The illusion of youth, believing I would remain the same forever,
My beauty, once admired by the mirror,
My body, that lied about its boundless strength,
And the willpower that upheld my beliefs!
Now, my poor mind, dreadfully distressed,
on the fritz of my worn body parts.
Here I am, at the dusk of my life,
panting and staring at the steep stairs
called ‘rest of my time’!
I wonder, are there any tears left
to cry over the memories of my vigorous days?
Or, has time swallowed even the sorrow, leaving only silence?
In the dog days of summer, the kids discover a decrepit house and the old man (Rentaro Mikuni) who lives there alone.
— Zac Ntim, Deadline, 4 Feb. 2025
He was an old decrepit man, was he not?
His clothes tattered; his trousers held by a knot.
Few rooms: a chair, a table and rotten cot.
He lived in an old ruined house, full of rot.
His clothes tattered; his trousers held by a knot.
He ate sparsely of some fish he sometimes bought.
He lived in an old ruined house, full of rot.
Rarely some good older soul, some meat she brought.
He ate sparsely of some fish he sometimes bought.
Winter was too cold whilst summer was too hot.
Rarely some good older soul, some meat she brought.
Children loved his stories and explained each thought.
Winter was too cold, whilst summer was too hot.
Few rooms. a chair, a table and rotten cot.
Children loved his stories he explained each thought.
He was an old decrepit man, was he not?
Placed 1
abandoned
decrepit house;
the porch
rails have rusted.
it's decaying roof
whispers dark
secrets
unrevealed.
cobwebs
grace ferns
in the garden
and staircase inside.
door and window, dusty;
a
torn rosette ribbon.
(yalto)
"Yalto" is a form invented by yours truly
Lines 1-15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables
A Decaying House Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date written: 07/16/2020
- Not everyone is born under a starry sky ~ but climbed great heights -
quote by poet
Near the river I saw the decrepit aged man
Striped of outerwear
even though the snow reached his knees
The ground was inextricably bound by frost
Bare feet in worn-out shoes across the footpath
one shaky foot in front of the other
His body weak, but his will strong
- fighting as best he can
focused on survival
There is a lot of weight on his shoulders
The world occasionally feels as a bubble
with distorted truths,
falsehoods and veneers
Poor ignorant people
With glimmer of hope in the pitch dark
a warm home and a bottle of gin
Is that too much to ask?
"As the day ends, one is closer to heaven." By Poet
My neighbor is old,
she can be very bold.
Loving to wear lots of fancy gold,
and decrepit I am told.
You know age is just a thing,
numbers one wants to ring.
How old are you,
that number may make you blue.
They tell me I am a decrepit ninety-two,
but I can still tie each shoe.
Honey - age is all in one's mind,
seeing myself as twenty-five to all mankind.
I may not be well defined,
but I will always be kind.
Callused skin on my body
Ruptured by the cruel nature
Like a deserted and dry riverbed
In a summer
Is the native soil, my Rolpa and Rukum
My mutilated soil
Maimed by landmines
This callus on my soil
Cannot be cut away by surgery
And then be tossed away,
Like lifeless hairs
Stuck on the porcelain sinkhole rim.
Ghostly lizard crawls
On the dusty mirror
Hanging in the dirty wall
Of a dilapidated room
Where only emptiness
Catapults the carnal beauty
Of the mute image
Hidden under the layers of dust
Reveal my wounded Rolpa and Rukum
Like a decrepit map
Ripped by too many folds
Scratched and perforated by the worms.
The awful pain has butterflies
In my eyes
Of sullen
And morose sky.
April 30, 2004
(Rolpa and Rukum, the two remote districts
in Far Western Nepal, affected by the
Maoist’s People War)
Form:
We cannot fight old age – So, when I get there… I’ll just embrace it with a big dollop of humour!! Quote by poet.
My decrepit body makes me cry
Growing old ain’t fun, I cannot lie
My bladder leaks, it makes me sigh
Pelvic exercises I will have to try!
I’m not so agile, I am way too slow
When I need the loo I HAVE to go
Cos I can’t control my urine flow
Pass me a nappy, I won’t say no!!
I piddle when I cough or sneeze
I’m chesty, got an awful wheeze
My boobs have sagged well past my knees
Do I want a new body - ooh yes please!
To hear bird song really loud and clear
I need a hearing aid for my deaf ear
Going totally deaf I truly fear
I’ll get ears checked again this year
My aching limbs sure give me gyp
Got arthritis in my knees and hip
No cure for wrinkles around my lip
Anti aging creams dumped in the tip!
I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Instructions can be misunderstood
I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Oops my memory is not very good
I live in an adult lifestyle community
So what exactly does that mean?
It means most residents are old farts like me
Though there's some under sixty it seems
Don't know why they've chosen this place
With us decrepit and mangy old folks
Must be because their marriage seems safe
No competition from us “over the hill” blokes
The “put out to pasture” phrase comes to mind
Our usefulness no longer is obvious
Except for baking cookies for the craft show
The reports of our value are quite dubious
Here's a fact that us old guys will attest to
Seen it all, done it all, there's no doubt
We've got a whole lifetime of experience to offer
One problem may be our bouts with the gout
I live in an adult lifestyle community
So what exactly does that mean?
Means residents can't cut the mustard anymore
Just chillin' before us guys leave the scene
© Jack Ellison 2012
Dreary decrepit landscapes frost over the hills,
No land to salvage, no time to kill.
Close your eyes into a paradise that will never find you,
Sences leave you blind, As your soul will forever guide you.
Valid dreams no longer vivid, In this world so directed,
Time can no longer pass, but with you, I have existenced.
Written: June 3rd, 2025, For Contest By: Constance la France
Quote: "Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale Its infinite variety."
- William Shakespeare
***************
Warm sun butterscotch sand kisses the feet,
Salted air and layered hands settle into the seat.
Rather than striving for virtue, we are sinful,
We don't sing in the tone of a seraphic tinsel.
The sin-corrupted love of life fades within,
To recover what is lost forever, self-love spins.
Despite the onset of a passionate bond,
Losing all hope in a catastrophic respond.
The last rays of optimism are dwindling away,
Withering into oblivion as the ropes sway.
A delusion needs to be held further too long,
As the waking world feels steadily wrong.
A decrepit fable may not seem so immense,
That it might be liable to incur the expense.
Ensuring my well-being and mental calm,
But the dream has to stop, despite the qualm.
There’s no escaping this nightmare,
Or the excruciating pain that it may spare.
At times, we behave completely insane,
Thinking no one is around to complain.
We might appear to sport a cool demeanor,
As still being trustworthy, or so it seems clearer.
We cross the street in the middle of the block,
Reluctant to take the extra step or walk.
Many of us mislead when we speak, as is clear,
Avoiding eye contact and looking into the sphere.
Erect a grand tower to replace the decayed,
We're all in the gutter, yet some see stars displayed.
“A beautiful car is something to be adored and if possible, restored in later years
to its former beauty. Some of your best memories it keeps.” by poet
There is a very old decrepit car.
She was my father’s “baby” long ago.
Named Jaguar D – like a Superstar -
she cruised downtown with a polished glow.
The young kids oohed and ahhed when she went by.
Unwanted now – she sits in Grandpa’s field
like a pet (once adored) left out to die.
She’s rusted and busted; her window shield
is shattered, and I bet bees made a hive
inside her engine, for her hood is raised.
Why couldn't she have been restored to thrive
and as an antique, she could have been praised.
Out to pasture is her degradation;
to be towed and crushed: her destination.
Before midnight ticks, I turn to my
interior world ,
One that cradles myrhh
of reminisces and sagas,
Allowing breaths to inhale the agony
and radiance of loved ones' trails
now beyond my physical reach--
Watching the decrepit portraits on
the foyer, July air greets the dew
on blossoms, monarchs flitting in my yard
then fading softly in the shade--
reminding me how age- torn, tattered
past seasons have turned this manor down
I am stilled by the rustle
from maples breathing as if their
whiffs understand my untold ancestry...
Perhaps, I am getting old,
or maybe wise enough
to scrape my pen amid bundled journals,
unearthed by many vintage pages
still to come. And go.
1st place
looking
worse for wear
at the mercy
of winter's harsh elements.
a stray dog,
sad of eyes,
clothed in all black
to match her mood.
emaciated and weather-beaten;
a labrador retriever
with her tail
tucked behind her hind legs
softly whimpering
shivering.
oh, you poor thing...
how far is your home?
scared
untrusting
of strangers;
perennially running
from rescue.
with a looped leash,
I approach, again....
she takes a step back
I come closer...closer....closer...
she turns
and sprints away.
I won't give up,
I'll do my best...
to help bring you in...
from the cold.
“By the time you’re 80 years old you’ve learned everything. You only have to remember it.” - George Burns
I watched them
As they watched me
Silently, stunned to see
What would be the sum…
Shadowed by life’s plans
Do they understand?
There is One who had it planned
For them and me, it’s in His hands
I watched them go from young to old
Such a life, they lived with zeal
Silently, their fate they would seal
With love and hope, faith like pure gold
Listening to the melody of grace
They were my parents, my people
They loved God, the church and steeple
Inspiring me to adore their embrace
I watched as they changed
Their lives became a silent prayer
It wouldn’t be long, I’d see their gray hair
Revealing how their lives were rearranged
By the old age blues, the decrepit signs
Of golden years, not so golden at all
As time passed, their signatures they’d scrawl
Upon the bills for a chair that reclines
I watched them turn
From young to old
It was a sight to behold
Each wrinkle they’d earn
I don’t know how it feels to loose either one
Parents who’ve been mine for some 60 years
I know, without them here, I’ll be left in tears
Yet, when that time comes, their real life has only just begun!
solutions unfound
archaic unchanged condemns~
d
e c r e p i t fetid