Best Growing Older Poems
A Sonnet To Growing Older
My heart now speaks to me of ageless things
Of solitary walks down country lanes
Of quilted calico with simpler schemes
Unhurried times, a pause, as quiet rain
In memory drenched, the budding heart reviews
Her nightly liaisons in twilight realms
Illusive childlike carousel renews
Majestic pensive thoughts and hopeful hymns;
With joy rekindles ! Magic carousel
It moves round and round in measured beat
Bewitching power of music sounds compel
The ageless ones to rambunctious retreat !
Unhallowed fruit of age-
My heart can sing !
Redeeming time to catch the brass-bound ring
On Growing Older Than I Am
Alas, this growing older than I am
drained me of the will to search for more
my life consumed incessantly with spam
I stood a vagrant beggar at the door
naked beneath the trappings of old skin
gazing through windowless cloudy past
as life, I’d truly love to live again,
roams freely through the shadows I have cast
So as I stiffen now inside this crate
hear sad footsteps slowly mark my fate
I must admit I never made this date
nor planned to leave the party quite so late
Thus, in the silence, I shall take my leave
dream of the life I lived and will not grieve.
4/22/2017
submitted to – YOU 20 Years From Now – Poetry Contest
Growing older is a carousel
of highs and lows, each spin a memory, each turn a change.
It’s the morning ache in places you never thought could hurt,
the pizza you once devoured now a restless night’s companion.
Your vision softens, sounds blur,
and the quiet hum of life’s smaller details becomes elusive.
Doctors' visits and pill bottles mark the passing months,
while hair thins, and skin loosens where once strength resided.
Nights grow lighter, dreams grow heavier
with visions of a younger self, running through the past.
The faces of friends and family fade, some taken too soon,
others by the slow hand of time, all leaving empty chairs.
Yet gratitude remains a quiet current,
a whispered song beneath the noise of change.
For the laughter still brightens days, the tear still falls,
reminding us of what remains, what we hold close.
Another cycle in life unfolds
As we watch our mom grow old
Like a veil that was lifted away
I saw how frail she looked today
Silver threads among her hair
She looks so fragile sitting there
I'd like to fold her in my arms
Keep her warm,safe from harm
By her love I am so beguiled
In my heart I am her child
With her love I've gotten far
She'll always be my shining star
And when her light begins to dim
A part of me will die within
Every day I sit with her a while
Just to listen to her,see her smile
So each day I say a prayer
I'm so thankful she is here
carolann crowley 4/29/2011 ps my mom passed away before i wrote this.
The world is shape by the laughter of big children
been brought into the earth ever increasing from start.
Our parents sew our childhood for us that
we may wear joy when much older and smarter.
Hunger hurts our pride as we progress in the journey,
We cry gently, we laugh in torment of all miseries.
Our lives count as the day chameleon to night.
We migrated from child to teens
the whirlpool of many rivers we counted.
Fear controls our songs and confusion ruled our souls.
We make ourselves new flags of adolencent, finding
identity, spreading tunes and tones of puberty controls us.
Teenage dreams hurt, academic activities bring pain.
Hoping to see the panic of adulthood we crave.
At eighteen adulthood sets in roughly.
We listen to reverberation songs of girls,
We ignore our larents advice to stay calm,
we become afraid of tomorrow's face.
Chirping rumours of what life is snatches,
the jargon of a new world streams in:
the uncertainties of life crossed paths in souls.
At the feet of marriage expression stares...
Time exploration pun a sudden throb to hearts.
We're caught between forging understanding
In the forging house of a new life of love.
Husband, a nightmare conquering wife's joy,
Wife, a shape blade of expectation to husband.
We clamour and crave for what we'll never have.
The mystic rhythm, urgent rhymes of death echoes,
speaking to our souls of another fearful phase.
We return to childhood at old age misbehaving and
sipping raw bleeding flesh of pains in the world.
Our blood rippled, our skins wrinkled Simultanously.
Until we close our eyes eyes and silent follows...
Children, pains, fears and agony are the joy of growing older.
©John Chizoba Vincent
there are places and people in America
that are scared to death
of looking old and growing older
where a new wrinkle or two when found is a terrible scary thing
a birthday is not celebrated but filled with dread
a man fears the hairs falling from his head
laying on the pillow of his bed
changing the color of gray
to any other color to hide it away
a look in the mirror becomes a tragedy
if you appear older than twenty three
when your real age is forty three
in this place Beverly Hills, Hollywood and Newport Beach, California
where the people appear to look like plastic unreal manikins
with their skin pulled tight across their face
thinking they are the most beautiful people of the human race
hollow eyes with a pound of make-up looking back at you
their bodies are nipped and tucked
and all the fat is sucked
jelly filled plastic bags become breasts and butts
is this the future look of humanity
I recommend you grow old with grace
don’t worry so much about your face
A thought from an erstwhile visionary,
We came from another century,
How can we grow old disgracefully,
Or not?
The seniles that time forgot,
Peter Pans on Pot!
Obese, gaga or dead,
Silliest verse you've ever read,
Didn't we come from another century?
Now, let's grow old disgracefully!
WIFE SEEING HUSBAND GROWING OLDER
Water steals your reflection when you are young
And as fast as cat’s feet on a glass roof.
The ripples replace none of your image -
Waves chiseled from moving marble hide the boats coming home.
Through the thickness of your old age I sometimes see your young guy hiding inside
The massive greyness of March in the city.
Gods sense of humor at pathetic human activities
Is a liquid mystery.
This starlit world is a lonely place and it misses you -
The waving Milky Way waiting for you to swim in, waist high
Through the radiant white daisy stars, across the soft black meadows.
Some say it's terrible getting older,
since the body breaks down with extreme
changes in the mind and soul.
But faith, maturity and growth is far
more familiar.
There must be more exchanges for
future events and time can tell the
difference of what it represents.
Growing older does not come well or
easy for some.
However, its the only way to reach
our Destiny point.
So, if you are not a fan of growing older,
here is something to ponder --
I leave early and have not met my goal.
Or I leave later and my life is complete.
A mother's love,
wings of a dove,
will cover me.
Starting my life,
with a midwife,
a baby cries.
Growing older,
always for me,
loving shoulder.
Life without you,
I cry daily,
so very blue.
For I am growing older you see
It's not easy to be me
Now that I am sixteen
I'm not gonna waste my time
On lost endless rhymes
I'm gonna free myself
And say what I want
For writing poetry is my passion
And what I can't live without
Growing Older
Dr. James E. Martin
©November, 2013
The older I grow
The slower I go.
The more I study
The less I know!
They say this is the norm
As to “maturity” you conform.
So if this statement is not true,
Someone please inform!
I suppose I should now refrain
From continuing to complain.
It accomplishes no pleasant end,
There’s nothing therein to gain!
Growing Old Together
Oh yes we are growing older together.
I would want it with none other!
Spring showers, now summer days, oh how swiftly,
Fall’s fleeting; winter’s sleeting, oh how quickly.
From dawn to dusk – week to month.
Year by year…time so dear!
Oh yes we are growing older together.
I would want it with none other!
Yes rose petals are fading, winter’s invading.
Ice winds are blowing, all life is ebbing.
Crowns are graying…yes life’s decaying.
I know you feel the threatening days
But my Dorella I am with you…
And hand in hand we will face the winter to!
Poem inspired by mountains and foothills in Glassy Mountain, SC 1990
Terry Henderson
G rowing older isn't funny.
R usty pipes don't work as well.
O ver-worked mind moves much slower,
W ords won't come, my tale to tell.
I was once an active youngster,
N ot a creek was in my step.
G one the child I was forever.
O h I miss her youthful pep.
L ots of folks are proud to tell you,
D ates and birthdays don't mean much.
E ach new day brings us a sweeter
R ipeness that the young can't touch.
For Acrostic challenge
I use to be pretty, now I'm porky
I use to be thin, now I' m thick
I use to be anxious to fall in love
sometime love can make you sick.
I use to have teeth, now I"m toothless
I use to be young, now I"m old.
I use to dream of being rich and famous
I'am still searching for that pot of gold.
I use to think I could get over the things
I"m used to but,
the only thing that has really changed
is my age and time.