Best Gray Haired Poems
Poetry is... Art
by Amy Swanson
Poetry comes in all
shapes
sizes
colors
surprises
varieties
lengths
flavors
styles
About all kinds of
feelings
thoughts
emotions
moods
people
foods
societies
animals
nature
It can be
long
short
rhyme
prose
haiku
quatrain
free verse
narrative
sonnet
footle
senryu
tanka
epulaeryu
.... and so many more-!
Poetry's authors are
from everywhere
all ethnicities
women
men
girls
boys
young
old
adults
kids
tall
short
thin
heavy
average
brunette
redhead
blonde
raven-haired
white-haired
gray-haired
or even no-haired
Poetry is
abstract
or
concrete
playful
or
serious
light-hearted
or
strongly stated.
It is about
anything
everything
nothing
and in-between.
It is
word art
from the heart.
It can make you
happy
sad
thoughtful
mad
excited
or even goo-goo eyed!
Poetry ... just is.
There is only one thing
Poetry is not ...
cookie-cutter
same-old-all-the-time-heard-it-all-before
cookie-cutter.
Each verse as unique
as the heart that wrote it
Each line as unique
as the soul that felt it.
And so
simply said:
Poetry is... art.
Categories:
gray haired, art, on writing and
Form:
List
The name's Ike .
Some a you met me and my wife Jane,
We got us a good life, can't complain.
To the kids, I'm an old geezer round here,
I think it's funny , they don't mean no harm,
I likes ta watch em, and have me a beer,
Work in the yard; Jane calls it my 'lil farm .
I been around a long time,
But ya know, it's still me inside this old shell,
This old body shell is wrinkled and baldin'
gray haired and achin'; I really gave it hell.
Though ya know, inside, ...I'm still really alive!
Funny...I always think I'm about thirty five !
Anyway i'm gettin off track.
Sometimes I gotta find somethin ta git me goin',
so I head out to the yard and start ta hoein'.
Ya see I got me a 'lil garden,
sometimes, I spreads manure in,
...(beggin' your pardon)
You see ,in a special sorta way
each plant needs good care.
Some stay outside 'n grow on the rungs.
Some shoots I wants in the green house,
ta help 'em grow and tend to the young.
Guess them plants is like people,
Some praise God under the sky'
some prays ta Him under a steeple.
This ole garden been through alot.
She been through four hurricanes in her lifetime,
and one year,...a twister just missed her.
I've always liked it out here.
it's a special place to me,..very dear.
We sometimes walk out here, me and the Mrs.
We smile and call it "the old geezer's garden".
Then we get us in a few hugs and kisses.
My old garden been around
a long long time, but she's still alive!
Some folks ask me how old it is,..
and I tell 'em...oh..'bout ...thirty five...
see you folks next time. " nite nite darlin."
Categories:
gray haired, family, friendship, funny, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
A JOY OF WAITING
An old lady, encountered a little girl in the park where she played after school. She was crying over the lost of her shoes and was devastated of her beautiful red shoes
The gray haired lady offered help to look for the child lost red shoes at the park. The next day, they met at the same spot, where she saw the child still crying, after a deep grasp of air..she gave her a hug.
Frustrated to find the red shoes, she made up a parable, about the lost shoes and will tell her about the tale, when they meet up again at the park. The little girl sat besides her on the bench and listen.
“Please do not grieve my dear little friend,
I walk a mile to see what is beyond this town, I rode a train to see the big city
and my eagerness, took me to explore the world. I will tell you more about my adventures, when I return”.
Every time she and the little girl meet,
she’ll continue telling the adventures of the red shoes. The little child agreed with the old lady and she can’t wait to see her red shoes back again.
It was Christmas morning, the old lady has a brightly wrapped package on her hands with letter attached. She’s eagerly cant wait to see the child’s face but was surprise after seeing a new red shoe...
the letter explained;
“My trip have transformed me”, I’m more beautiful and polished. Years past, the little child has grown up and saw the dusty letter inside the box of her favorite
red shoes, kept in her closet.
She dusted and read..”don’t weep over the lost, for you’ll find a better one after missing a lost love, a rainbow will appear after a dark rain clouds poured in and at the end of a dreary tunnel, a bright light awaits you.”
Now, a young lady, away from her family for the first time, to pursue her dream and left her hometown crying. She travel a long miles, carrying only the dream, she kept in her heart.. after graduation, she was back, wearing a crown.
Copyright@aroque
Categories:
gray haired, adventure, celebration, child,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Lord, have mercy! Who is that in the mirror I view?
That can't be me with the gray-haired hue!
Seems only yesterday I was a jaunty thirty-five,
Now, I'm reminded that I'm nearing seventy-five!
What are those brown spots on my hands and face?
On top of my pate, I observe a sizeable bald space.
To further deflate my ego, I wear a pair of specs.
Alas, I'm rapidly becoming one of those mortal wrecks!
My teeth grin at me from a glass on the table,
And I have a cane handy to keep me stable.
In the morning as I arise I detect a creak.
Is that the bed springs or my bones making that squeak?
In church I must occupy the very front pew.
From the rear the preacher's words are hard to construe.
It takes me more time to shuffle around the block.
After all, I'm no longer a twenty-five year old jock!
Sometimes I feel as if I'm falling apart,
But thankfully there are docs, their services to impart,
And if they can manage to keep me all patched up,
I'll get around, thank you, as well as any young pup!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
gray haired, funnyme, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Her spouse wise or unwise, who can tell. Does he dream in midnight hues? Oh why doesn’t he wake up, or at least spit out that last sleeping pill. He might choke on it. The still of the night rattled by the movement of the boundary, like a lion’s hungry stomach. The moon roars creating goosebumps, pricks upon tender white skin. She barely breathes. Did anyone leave snacks inside this circus tent… Please...please...please. Helplessly she lies as the khaki quavers, heart frantic. She’s never thought herself mad, but like in a Poe story, the tell-tale… She imagines the lion with reflective eyes, baring full gums, toying with her...this is no cuddly kitten. Would her full-sandman spouse wake up, wonder where she’d gone, as the kindly sunlight blinded him to the truth. The truth is she would kill him, if only he’d open his eyes. Could she forgive him… At long last, darts race toward the roaming moon...she imagines that ghastly animal tumbling underneath the skirt, landing at her feet, swirling dust, an incomplete thought as the ferocious tongue lolligags onto her bag. Her husband smiles and turns over satisfied as he kisses his dream wife, moaning with pleasure; danger the last thing on his mind, as the hunters drag away the predator whose smell lingers in the morning coffee, the cigarette’s ash, the wife’s nostrils. And all the community can do the next morning is make fun of the snoring gun, the gray-haired spoon, and midnight adventure.
the pile of gumdrops
sparkle like dew for kitty
here kitty...kitty
11/2/2020
Categories:
gray haired, animal, fear,
Form:
Haibun
Did I tell you the story of my mystical black rose?
Well let me
In my troubled nights I took comfort in the scenery of my old window
One tiny sparkle always shone its way through the darkness, embracing my sorrow
Till the night I decided to visit my sorrow's whisker in the belly of midnight
I wrestled through the bushes sacrificing my blood on the alter of their sharp leaves and thorns
Till my eyes was paralyzed on this black rose that collected drops of dew in its petals and lightened them with the moonlight; that mysterious sparkle now lay bare in my eyes and in my reach for the first time.
I'd never seen black so beautiful, but as much as I wanted to pluck it for myself my heart wouldn't let me, for I was not in love with just a black rose but everything else that made it sparkle my sorrows away; the moon and the dew.
As I left with doubt clouding my mind, I saw its sparkling drops trickle down its petals.
Can a rose cry?
For I live now never to see it sparkle again ever since that night.
I'm different now, beyond need of sparkles for my nights but I always walk to that old window waiting for my mystical black rose to reach my heart again. Even though I might see myself a gray haired man starring in my old window, I'll wait, just patiently wait, for my black rose to come alive again. And this time, just this time I will not think twice.
Read more poems and short stories by The Writer, ezer agyin, here http://ezeragyin.wix.com/the-writer
Categories:
gray haired, heartbreak,
Form:
Romanticism
watching as he crossed the street
flowers in his hand
crushed and tattered petals fall
gray haired woman sits
present for grandma...
Categories:
gray haired, childhood, love,
Form:
Tanka
BLUE-SHAPED hair is styled to rigid perfection by rows of orderly, PINK curlers
BLUE-NOTES from an "Oldies" station linger, a calming WHITE noise to soothe
BLUE-SCENTS of expensive musk linger, permeating the YELLOW walled salon
BLUE-FLAVORED grape juice is thoroughly enjoyed by thirsty GRAY haired patrons
BLUE-VELVET blouse, worn by an elegant BLACK woman, is admired by all.
Pink shaped flamingos dot the salon decor, bringing a nostalgic feeling
As notes of white laced doilies punctuate the mood of times gone by
In an atmosphere of musky scents, the little parlor glows in a yellow haze
With gray heads of wisdom and manners, their words flavored with grace
To dispel any black mood with a velvet word of care, wearing their BLUE HAIR.
Written on 10/16/2015
Categories:
gray haired, age, time, women,
Form:
Free verse
The Penny man
There was an old man who walked the streets.
Day after day. Giving pennies to the young and old.
A gray haired man with a kind smiles.
He would walk by you and if you said "hello " to him.
A penny was all your reward.
Now he walks the streets of heaven. With a smile on his face.
Telling everyone "I'm an angel and these pennies are from heaven."
The man was from Springville N.Y. and everyone knew the penny man.
Categories:
gray haired, angel, children, giving, new
Form:
Free verse
sweets
on a gray-haired wood
busy bee
11.30.16
Categories:
gray haired, flower, fruit, sweet, tree,
Form:
Haiku
Waiting at the Grocery Store
Looking around, my fingers fidgeting a multicolored scarf,
Searching through pockets for a letter that needs to be read,
a phone call message I need to hear, but there are none.
And I am going over the list one more time,
Standing semi-still under artificial lights,
Balancing on alternate limbs
For a carton of skim milk, a loaf of French bread, coffee grounds, cream.
With the arm of a dangling child, a mother rushes by
Pushing cold rubber wheels across the linoleum.
The frantic woman at the register cries about her coupon.
Preparing for a battle, she shakes her head
And waves the war flag,
Fifty-five cents off a box of Lucky Charms.
She spits discontent at a tiny, gray haired cashier.
“Expired?”
In the distance a child is being abused.
There will be no gum, no M&Ms, no sugar-silence.
The man behind me chimes, “Man, these lines. Never seen such lines.”
And he lies about a place where there are no lines.
He looks in my eyes, tries.
I barely nod, no need for provoking conversation.
Like the man at the bar who mistook, “Hello” for “Let’s go ****.”
The back of my head still throbs.
And I hate them all.
And I shift away, burning in my skin under the artificial lights,
Waiting for waiting.
Categories:
gray haired, anger, introspection, life, lonely,
Form:
Free verse
A smart *ss hermit,
Sitting on a folly throne.
And he always likes to spit,
Bunch of words in drone.
A culturally-modified mime,
In a shirt that dull boring pinky.
Talking about the punctuation and rhyme,
Insisted on how a poem should be.
Oh dear gray-haired kooks..
The words you say wrapped in hypocrisy.
I might not counted smart in your books,
But at least my words cry it honestly.
Categories:
gray haired, funny, humorous, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
& the hooligans came
they came
an angry swam of locusts
spraying the venom
upon the green leaves
of unguarded cities
pitched upon the north pole
of the niger world;
& the sharp cries
came from broken mortals
ah, everywhere
children
pregnant women
& unborn babies cut
off from umbilical likks
& the sharp cries
are still heard
mothers wept
as the gray-haired
kiss the cruel tombs
for the hooligans must perform
the cruel duties
of the masters
the gods of the land
from dusk to dawn
& to dusk
again & again
in this civilised city of africa.
Categories:
gray haired, satire
Form:
Elegy
Limerick : Once a young Opera Fan of Wagner’s
Once a young Opera Fan of Wagner’s
Sat out the Ring Cycle in blinkers
House chockful at the start
Such silence: heard no fart
Came out gray-haired and wailing bonkers.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
gray haired, humor, passion,
Form:
Limerick
A Memorable Senior Moment
By Elton Camp
Old Mrs. Jones reached her car in the parking lot
Oh, but what an unwelcome surprise she then got
For two strange, rough men were sitting inside
With sudden anger, the elderly lady then cried
“I have a handgun that I know exactly how to use.
Get out of that car unless it’s death you choose”
The two men immediately fled with the greatest fear
For the old lady made her intentions perfectly clear
Mrs. Jones opened the car door and took a seat
Attempts to insert her key with failure did meet
She looked around with puzzlement and surprise
A pack of beer and a football caught her eyes
She realized her great mistake and quickly found
Her own car that was parked two spaces down
She drove to the police station there to confess
How it was she had created such a horrible mess
The officer laughed because he had to retort
Two men had come in to give a scary report
“A crazy, gray-haired old lady hijacked our car.
Please go after her, for she can’t have got far.”
Categories:
gray haired, funny, car, men, old,
Form:
Rhyme