Best Greyer Poems
Another year older
Yet I feel just the same
Except my hair's turned greyer
and my knees are getting lame
I once had buns of steel
My mind was like a trap
But now that I am older
I don't put up with any crap
Sure my bod is sagging
I've got bags under my eyes
I webble and I wobble
There is jello in my thighs
yet I am not daunted
Imagination is my friend
I stay away from all the mirrors
Enjoying my land of pretend
For if there is no reflection
The world is sure rosy red
I live the life of Riley
From morning till I go to bed
For within my mental landscape
I live an adventure every day
I ain't really getting older
I'm to busy enjoying my play
So if you don't mind my foolish
Come join me in the land of joy
Where you can be like a teenager
and I can be a silly boy!
Thanks for all the Birthday greetings!
I'm really much too young to get old
Something's drastically out of whack
I'm still this handsome, charismatic dude
Why's this body giving me flack?
Strange lumps have appeared all over my bod
Don't think they were there yesterday
My hair seems a bit thinner and greyer
But I'm still young in other ways
My body is falling apart bit by bit
Takes me an hour to put on my pants
I wheeze while watching sports on TV
My wife never asks me to dance
There must be a pill old geezers can take
To slow down this ageing tommyrot
I'm not ready yet for an old folks home
Yesterday, I was still pretty hot
This can't be, I'm much too young
To say 'uncle' and throw in the towel
Gonna fight like hell and never give up
If I could only control my bowels!
© Jack Ellison 2013
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush
But man is slaved to fate,
No fun or spontaneity
Unless you speculate
You can’t keep a good man down
The candle’s sturdy wick,
Yet alcohol and ageing
Seems to do the trick.
Let he who is without sin
The first stone seek to cast
Attack is the best defence,
May as well be first as last.
Life is like a box of chocolates,
Yet as we grow old and greyer,
The top ones are all gone,
And the best from the bottom layer.
A woman is like a fine wine
With time she will mature,
But men by nature love to taste
A vintage that is newer.
The pen is mightier than the sword
Or so it has been writ,
Unless you’re in a sword fight
And then you’re in deep ….
He doesn’t like to socialize, nor does
he laugh at funny shows the way I do.
He suffers chronic pain and frets because
he’s worked so long and hard his whole life through.
We’ve had our ups and downs, and that’s for sure,
but I can overlook the bad. Our love
has grown through many years and will endure
because there’s one thing I am certain of.
My husband’s there for me! Though he may lack
a way with words, much tact or great finesse,
I know deep down – he’ll always have my back.
Each year as we grow greyer, he feels stress.
My birthday wish for him is that he’ll find
contentment and – at last – some peace of mind.
Sept. 5, 2021
For Funom Makama's A Poem To Your Spouse On His-Her Birthday Contest
I dated Mary Browne from out of town
She was a lovely lass.
She'd auburn hair and freckles and a perky little ass .
The donkey carried her to Sunday school
And all seemed well and bright.
The lads were green with envy , especially Parson White .
But big Bob Gray , on that fateful day
Said ; " WOW !!!, she'd grace my bed.
As he thrust his lusty hand at her,the poor girl turned bright red.
Her ass was having none of this,
He heehawed ... heehawed... " Don't dare " !!!
And with a flick , lashed out a kick
Now Bob Gray is gone much greyer .
His eyes are now pink bloodshot .
His groin is black and blue .
But now he sings soprano , from the very last church pew .
Then Sheriff Green came on the scene
Not knowing what to do
Said "never mind , I'm colour blind , can't tell my pink from blue.
My amber , mauve or lilac could be torquise , white or brown ,
So saddle up your donkey and get your ass out of my town".
For Olajide's color blindness contest .
A hot and summer evening breeze
In jest tickled the napping bees
Incandescent, of floating musk
Shadows like dancing glow at dusk.
Hugging pine trees from branch to branch
Down on the grass gaily they hopped
Such a beauty I'd like to catch
To watch them dance, maybe make love
Freely, on the palm of my hand.
Wished upon a firefly, as a kid I had
Watched your sparkle many evenings
High in hopes, eyes wide open
Twinkles from your flickering lights
Told me that ills would fly by night.
Enchanted I was, you thrilled me
Yet calming like a cup of tea
Left home for decades now I have
Missed your playful spirit and salve.
Like me the gentle autumn wind
From great distance, faith unknowing
Carried me over here to seek
Greener pastures or winning streaks
And you, for greyer twilight crests.
It was on my birthday last year
In Portage, Michigan, oh what
A grand reunion we did have
When my dear granddaughter and I
Chased you merrily around the block!
The lovely smell of roses,
upon a Summer breeze!
Robins in the treetops,
singing happy melodies!
Precious purple, violets,
dandelions, in gold!
Queen Annes Lace on hilltops,
are treasures, to behold!
Spice Bush with its fragrance,
dogwoods bloom in white!
Bluebells in their sunny glow,
it's Summertime, all right!
However, Summertime is fading!
Autumn's on its way!
The sky's a greyer shade of blue,
soon we'll see a shorter day!
Trees will soon be changing,
to colors of the Fall!
Red and rust and yellow,
as they're standing, straight and tall!
Meadows, no longer green,
the grass will soon be brown.
But, Autumn will be beautiful,
as leaves fall to the ground!
Apple trees, in orchards,
with fruit both red and gold
will soon be, at roadside stands,
waiting, to be sold!
It's a fact, that Fall is on it's way,
right now, Summertime, is king!
But, vibrant colors, cooler nights,
means, Autumn"s in full swing!
summers end contest
A curvaceous young lady - Andrea
Had a cute tush or should I say rear
Men wanted to touch
Her bum (it was lush)
But her husband wouldn’t let them get near!
A beautiful lady Andrea
Her hair it turned greyer and greyer
She said my oh my
Reached for the hair dye
Rich brown hair dye will not betray her!
Some months ago I had a discussion with Andrea about the differences in pronunciation between the UK and the US . I say her name AND REAR others say her name AND RAYA.
Poem posted with full permission of the lovely Andrea Dietrich
04~23~17
THE PRINCESS AND THE SWAN
As the storm raged, there were several knocks on the door,
She stood the completely drenched, from her head down to the floor.
This stunning princess was looking for somewhere to stay
Her name is Fiona; well, in this story anyway.
A handsome man answered and to his surprise
Saw this beautiful woman, with the most amazing eyes.
She dried herself off, he sat her next to the roaring fire
This house was a mansion, it certainly wasn’t dire.
This young man placed a pea under the bed of her mattresses
Hoping to find out if Fiona, was truly a princess.
If she was uncomfortable, all throughout the night
It’s true she will be royalty, come the morning light.
Meanwhile, in the garden, under the burdock leaves,
Mother duck is hatching eggs and with a sigh she heaves.
‘They have all hatched, apart from this large egg’
‘Please be born soon’ was all she could beg.
Out he came, bigger, greyer and uglier than the rest
Was he a duck or a turkey, the other ducklings would jest.
Hurting so much, he didn’t know what to do
Joining other birds in different places, away he flew.
Back to the princess, she woke the next morn
Looking all black and blue, forever so forlorn
‘My sleep was horrible.’ Princess Fiona had said.
I cannot go another night in that uncomfy bed!’
And now they knew this princess was real
Out came the loving prince, to finally seal the deal.
Now together they were to become man and wife
Enjoying their happiness and forever their life.
Just like Fiona, the duck did very well
As he was growing, he started to look swell
He waddled to the pond right across the lawn
His reflection told him, he was a majestic swan.
So princess Fiona has found her loving match
As the graceful swan glides, and insects he’ll catch.
This poem now ends, I shall write no more
I’m hoping for the princess, it’s opened another door.
THE END
Chris Gair
23 December 2016
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*“We never can just stop time. Or take moments back. Life doesn't work that way, does it?” Christine Feehan
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Time Stops for No One
Relentless is the march of time*
It flits on and on without respite,
For none does it stop for a while
Like earth rolling on at its will;
Incessant is the flow of time
Like a river rippling to sea
And does not stop for a second
Nor waits for the night or the day;
Pitiless is the flight of time
It waits for no person, no rank
It respects no caste, creed or race
It rolls on for all at same pace;
Merciless is the sway of time
It slides on till eternity
Mighty monarchs and simple folks
All bow before its ruthless shrine;
Heartless is the swing of the clock:
Every tick of time nears us to the night,
Turns our hair greyer day by day
And brings us closer to the grave.
Once a youth in his mid twenties
Seeking higher studies abroad
Received an urgent wire message:
“Mother is ill, wants to see you.”
The youth booked the earliest flight,
Praying that he would reach in time
With his mother to speak some words
And accomplish her last wishes;
Alas, time would not hear his plea,
When with all haste he attained home
He was struck with sad sorrow:
His mother had heaved her last breath.
As time does fly on its swift wings,
Let us grab it with our both hands
And make the most of sacred life
While our sturdy strength still does stand.
It’s a grey Monday
Though I can still spot a little sun ray
Thought today I would have a morning race
Then I saw runners dragging their feet at a snail's pace
Would my Monday turn any greyer?
Having been waiting in a never ending prayer
Truly longing for the thunderous thump of heavy rainfall
Blessing the barren earth with every bit of its drop till nightfall
Now the sun has rested
There goes my Monday finally wasted
But I still hold my hope with both hands like a crystal
A hope that promises a no-more-grey day to continue my battle
BALLAD OF STRANGER.
I have come from a far off land
A stranger on the greyer steed
Thence I have seen my true love
Where all sweetness of her resides.
She is a maid of starry nights
With hint of wistfulness in her eyes
Having tasted her starlit fenced gaze
A pause for a moment to contemplate.
Honest I have seen such a lass
From dazzling beauty shading eyes
And pity for my heart to loose, sighs
Because her beauty has so many guiles.
No more I will bemoan my fate
I will tell the tale again and again
I have drunk from decanter of wishes
Blessed be my fair maid and her kisses.
Alone he stands silently but is not at his best,
And life it has crushing blows on him, hammering kept.
Thoughts keep flooding his mind as never ever,
And no one but him can fathom his life’s color, as it turns greyer.
He seeks a place which is tranquil & serene,
Where no force or no being will act upon him.
A place to reflect,
and impure thoughts to deflect.
A place to contemplate,
A place for his unknown earthly energies to gyrate.
A place where he can within himself scream,
And yell and cry and sob and dream.
A place to look for meaning and wise man’s say,
A place, to cradle happy events in his mind to replay.
A place filled with tranquility,
A place, oozing with serenity.
And now as these moments they replay,
In his mind seeking the light of the day.
Nothing erupts or comes to my mind,
Except whiteness, silence and calmness, they seem to themselves bind.
A breeze has now silently across him blown,
But nothing has within him as yet grown.
Some comfort from the pain at times he will feel,
But these gusty wounds will not completely heal.
He knows it would be different from here on,
But memories are far from gone.
This was not how he wanted it to be,
Fear in his heart and deeds to resolve and not flee….
Alone he stands silently but is not at his best,
And life it has crushing blows on him, hammering kept.
Thoughts keep flooding his mind as never ever,
And no one but him can fathom his life’s color, as it turns greyer.
The USA is not a player
Trying to save the Ozone layer
There's cash to be made
Making people afraid
And blue skies quite a bit greyer!
Oh, the grey of the heavens is greyer
Than the faces of the eternal dead,
As they crease and splinter decaying
With a texture of chapel roof lead.
The ice that sails in on the howling
Of winds that descend from the hills,
Burns through the cloth and the flesh
With a fury of ravening chills.
Oh, the black of the river is blacker
Than the feathers of raven wings,
As the waters in slow motion currents
Creep like the death of all things.
The eyes that seize onto the vista
Film with cataracts stippled with frost,
And in the bleak depths of midwinter
Sleeps the land of the lonely and lost.