Best Old People Poems
Life's a One Way, Uphill.
Every Wrinkle on your Face
Marks a Step of Maturity.
You go Up not Looking
At the Peak but Dreaming
Of Sliding Down, Trying to
Look Younger than You Are.
I’m looking at an old house
Called home by someone
I will look at any old house new or old but
Home is ALWAYS an old house
Old people open doors
Walk the floors
Old people light the candles
Decorate the mantles
And the roof ever slants
So young thoughts may go
Sliding down to settle on ground
In front of home
Seasons come
Seasons go
Cloudy bright
Rain or snow
Inside though
Home is ever warmed
By timeless ghosts
Of hearth reborn
I’m climbing the stairs of an old house
Called home by someone
To open a door
Find stairs and climb some more
To follow the footsteps of some vague someone
In an old house called home
...............................................................
For Trudy
~
There are legends I've heard, old songs in the dark
of the old folklore tales, and the old gypsy trails,
where traveling caravans of rugged old wagons
still echo, with longing, in valleys below...
Where each treasured belonging,
was packed in a hurry
all the stories, all the worry, all the heartache would travel
all the sunshine, and the sorrow, celebrations to marvel
and dreams of tomorrow, were kept on the road....
The trail was a friend, and the loam was their home
Their needs were quite small,
They didn't expect, to be wealthy or rich.
All the riches they had, were scarce and so few...but they knew
that happiness could be the sun on your back, or a sky, wide and blue...
Not much to expect, and not even respect...
would be theirs to be owned.
As the twilight would come, under a red setting sun,
with the fragrance of loam, and the tired walk done...
they would bed under trees where the heather was strewn
they would burn a small fire, and prepare a warm meal,
with smoke in the breeze, while the whippoorwill's song
and accordion tunes, would drift by the face of the moon
On their heels was the dust, in the noontime sun
They rose with the dawn, and the gold of the past,
wearing the colorful hope of tomorrow's new task
Working wherever a meal, and dollar would come
Then moving again with their band until dusk
over, and over and over again...
Some called them tramps, or small petty thieves
But the heart of the matter, was the love of the sun,
the love of the life that came from the moon,
from the stars, and the grass, and the rust of the leaves
For those who encountered, and who gave them a chance
could learn many things by watching them dance,
and learn many things by hearing them sing,
and pay close attention to how much they knew
that fortune is something that comes from inside
It comes with the pride, of knowing what matters
The tattered, lost life of the old gypsy tribes ....
might be the saddest of stories, or loneliest song...
a song that has faded,
that has dwindled and died....
_______________________________________
5/18/12
101 in a ROW contest - 12
Sponsored by PD
See the old man sitting on the bench
Looking thru the wired fence
He sits there every day
Watching the children come and play
Once he was young and strong
Once with these children he did belong
Now all gnarled old with years
He watches thru his tears
Oh how they can jump and run
How they play in the hot sun
He just sits on the bench and stares
At his worn out body and white grey hairs
Sitting there day after day
Watching the children come and play
Puts a smile on his old face
Wishing he could be in their place
She rose from the table moving slowly to the sink. This was not her favorite time, too much time to think. Her body moved from memory now, the right bit of dish detergent, she must refill that bottle soon, moving the faucets to memorized positions, water streamed out on cue, precisely the right temperature, “hot to clean - not to scald”.
She and water worked well together, having partnered in so many chores; laundry, toilets, sinks and floors. One plate now, one knife, one fork. Sometimes she would cut things like meat loaf or fish with the edge of the fork, skipping the knife, one less utensil to wash. Less time at the sink, less time to think. Against the outside darkness she could see her reflection in the kitchen window. How old she had become. Reminders were everywhere of how her life was dwindling, shrinking, shriveling. She felt too small for her skin, which hung loosely on her like a half-filled bag of potatoes, pouches and folds everywhere. She would need to put this dishcloth in the laundry after finishing. She always rinsed them in cold water to inhibit the bacteria growth but they would start to smell after only a few days. She had become accustomed to foul smells. The smell of dying cells and incontinence pads and bad breath, side effect of certain medicines. She hated eating alone, living alone, being alone, but sometimes she hated it even more when memories of better days settled in upon her. it was like a visit, full of joy and expectation, exciting conversations, catching up, and sharing fond memories. But it was always followed by goodbyes, the pain of separation, and a return to loneliness. She put her plate in the cupboard and was reminded of how she had put other things in her life away; her younger sister from an accident, her only son from someone’s war, her husband three years back from cigarettes she had threatened to divorce him over. She put her silverware in the drawer and closed it tightly, closing her mind tightly at the same time. It wouldn’t do to dwell on any of this, what’s done is done. The dishes were done
New cracks in old stone
Just beginning to show,
Reveals things never shown
Things only one could know
Just beginning to show
A solid surface scrambles,
Things only one could know
Shedding into shambles
A solid surface scrambles
Every chisel brings a change,
Shedding into shambles
In time, it must arrange
Every chisel brings a change
Upon hard - headed rock,
In time, it must arrange
For none can beat the clock
Upon hard - headed rock
Reveals things never shown,
For none can beat the clock
New cracks in old stone.
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Your ancestors had built me, brick by brick, with devotion,
I withstood the sun and shower and earthquake commotion;
Your birth in me, like a little doll, gave me immense pride,
How I cherished your creeping, crawling, and dandy horse ride...!
Your sleeping, rising, walking, running, singing, and dancing,
In your reading, writing, drawing, and painting advancing;
In Your eating and drinking, dressing up and making-up,
I have taken pleasure in your bird-like nimble, quick sup...!
Your first school, first satchel, and first fancy materials,
Your graduation, first job, wedding, and such serials,
Each event of your life, O child mine, I'd been witnessing,
Never at any of your steps, you found me grimacing...!
You have grown, now, physically and psychically, much,
In health, wealth, learning, and love you now lack nothing as such;
For the sake of your dream palace, you have abandoned me,
As though a ghost, my very face you do not want to see...!
I am not, yet, frightened of my loneliness and neglect,
Though day by day, I am by winds and storms and tempest wrecked;
I just want to feel your presence within for short instants,
Lest an acute ache eats me up and ends my existence...!!!
27 May 2023
Writing Challenge - C Quotes - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Now the wagons rolled out of Missouri,
Heading west on the Oregon Trail,
Through the blizzards and ice-covered mountains,
And the winds, and the rains, and the hail.
We crossed every river and desert,
And we never gave one backward glance,
And if we weren’t too weary each evening,
We’d take out the fiddle and dance.
We’d dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time,
And the mandolin played right along,
And the children, they clapped, and the old people napped,
And the Pioneer Waltz was our song.
When the heat or the cold overcame us,
Then we pioneers lightened our load,
And we left half our precious belongings
Cast away by the side of the road.
And we sometimes left little wood crosses,
The graves, they were sometimes quite small,
But we finally set foot up in Oregon,
And the music helped us through it all.
Now the years hurried by without warning,
And we pioneers built us a town,
But you can still hear that old fiddle
Now and then, when the sun has gone down.
We dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time
And the mandolin plays right along,
The children, they clap, and the old people nap,
And the Pioneer Waltz is our song.
Don't let yourself be fooled Mexico is not a poor country
Not just tortilla and bean, or a old Mexican man on a burro
But very rich nation, gold, silver, copper and oil galore
And the poor people are anything but free
Bit they are always ready to take a dollar from the Gringo
But that is not the picture given to the world by our neighbor next door
It is a Mexican law, that a gringo can not hold a job, hard way to make a living
It is a old saying."The most useless thing in the World"
" Is a Gringo with no money in Mexico"
Some of their law towards Americans are un for giving
But that is not what they try to tell the World
The Government and the super rich have all the money
If an American is caught with a single gun, 50 years in jail
If one buys some land, right off the Government owns half of it
They keep their people very poor, un educated for a reason, government control
And in no way do want to be there anywhere in jail
Wonder why Mexico always seems to make a profit
Almost like the Devil has their soul
Corrupttion is all they have ever known for many years
For a hundred dollar bill, you get, Get Out of Jail free card
Why so many work for the drug world or the Mafioso
Tell them that they will be safe and away from fears
Sometimes if it means working in the prison yard
If you don't want to go jail in Mexico, then don't go
So no wonder why they all want to migrate to the land of milk and honey
Now with our new law, some are starting to cry
But I for one don't want to go over there and live
Fro the Stone Age, it has always been about money
It is times for some of those to say good bye
And live by the Immigration Laws, where they live
Give me that old time religion the way that it used to be,
Not that I’m looking to burn a witch or cast her into the sea.
Back in the day when praising the Lord was not an imposition,
But not so far back in time like during the Spanish Inquisition.
Just far enough back that Christ was why the world was made,
But not as far as when we killed non-believers while on crusade.
Just back in the good old days when everyone dressed so nice,
Neighbors might miss church once but wouldn’t dare miss it twice.
Back when scientists were our friends and not enemies to God,
Except for Galileo, the church never need spare the rod.
I’d like to see the world go back to when people knew their places,
But not so far back in time that people were separated by their races.
Back when hearing the sermon given was the center of God’s plan,
But after it was alright to be delivered by someone other than a man.
The more that I think of it, maybe we just haven’t gotten that far yet,
And aiming for a future old time religion should be our new target.
We should advance the cause of Christ and feel free to question and discuss,
And someday someone will look back in time and wish that they were us.
Robin Hood
It was in the time of John
In the days that have long gone
When the plight of right and wrong
A test was set
It took a man of iron will
To battle on until
A nation he would thrill
They’d ne’er forget
For John was all consumed by greed
He over taxed those most in need
Pleas of the peasants wouldn’t heed
How they’d shout
Though against his deep belief
Robin became a famous thief
To muster hope and some relief
For those without
Stepped forward Robin Hood
With his motives understood
He set out to do some good
For the poor
To his side a band of men
Some of sword and some of pen
Gathered round him, planned and then
Evened the score
High adventures, escapades
Among the woods and leafy glades
As Robin led his daring raids
He did surprise
Pouncing on the shallow rich
From every tree and bush and ditch
Relieving them of every stitch
To equalize
When the news to John was brought
He ordered Robin must be caught
Example to the people taught
To keep them bound
Soldiers he sent out in the wood
Blundered about, it was no good
No sight or sound of Robin hood
Was to be found
With a price upon his head
Wanted both alive or dead
Not a clue did one man shed
As to his lair
For all good men could plainly see
Through his selective robbery
It was the way it had to be
To make life fair
For their king old England yearned
And when at last Richard returned
He found a lesson had been learned
Of how to rule
Of your people earn their trust
Let your reign be fair and just
And remember that you must
Ne’er be cruel
Though a saint he’d never be
For he’d robbed to set men free
From the awful tyranny
Of evil John
Still he’s hard not to admire
Whether surf or land-borne squire
To his height try to aspire
Everyone
When he knew that he would die
He shot an arrow through the sky
Where it stuck he wished to lie
Next Sherwood oak
Though the truth may now be faint
And the story old and quaint
He remains a noble saint
To all good folk.
“I don’t know.
It’s been just one of those itchy
dry skin days
where you know somethin’ has to happen
but it ain’t;
at least not chet.
I was expecting a call but
it hatn’t come either.
The ‘wild willies’ were settlin’
in somethin’ fierce
an my stomach was feelin’
somethin’ awful.
It was like- -um, uh
taste of bad whiskey
on molded bread
that was tryin’
to be fresh,
but there just weren’t no way.
Even if it could, what
difference would it make?
Not a dab!
So I just sat and stared- -
at the coals,
that used to be lit,
and still could be if I was a mind to,
but I ain’t .
Shore is cold though.”
as the last thought
he ever had, passed
through his head.
I wrote this in a semi-light hearted motif to take some
of the edge off of a sensitive subject.
Do you know someone who feels alone. They are just
as alone as anyone you will ever meet, Loneliness is an
acquired perception, often a gift of good people, though
not habitually or intentionally thoughtless or self-centered, they
“just do not have the time”, They “do not want to get involved”,
or “just do not like someone’s looks”
Go visit an old age home this next week. Sit in the lobby and strike
up a conversation with any old person not interested in the TV.
See how good you feel when you leave, even though you may
have dampness in and around your eyes.
A summit, old age is,
That
Whoever, succeeds to ascend
The
Panorama of life, in all its glory,
Can see!*
(C) Demetrios Trifiatis
01 October 2015
*Today is the World Day of the Elderly. Without them
we would never be here! Remember them! Love them!
No time for coffee, as the dawn arrives....
I raised the shade. The crowd's outside!
The mob takes over...I'm still in slippers
But someone bought our old hedge clippers!!
Those folks just paid me a ton of money!!
I could use some help..........Hey! Where's my honey??
I swear...if he went back to take a nap
I'll sell his priceless baseball cap!!
Oh! They are looking at that wobbly table....
"I'll help you load it, Miss, if I'm able!"
She grabs dog-eared, dusty, vintage books
And one old crock-pot that still cooks!
I show her some doilies, and a ragged Barbie
And a costume for her Halloween parties?
A rusty shovel, and a dented bucket
And a fishing pole from old Nantucket
I'm selling Ma's old apron, and some broken dishes
A chipped glass bowl for all her fishes
Aunt Edna's ugly painting, and her candle holders
She lives down the street....hope no one told her!!!
One old bike for exercising
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
"What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with all this clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"Then, we won't need to shop the stores!!"
"Dear...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH LOOK!" "That couple bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...
That other shopper gives a glare!
So what it's broken? Well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
The point I'm making is simply this
This neighbor's junk became my bliss!
_______________________________________
For Skat's Yard Sale Contest:
Loneliness is: standing on a crowded street corner,
invisible, unheard.
Softer than a rose petal, your tears fall on satin cheeks, unnoticed.
Each tear an interpretation.
Falling, unheeded, liquid sadness.
A ghost in a city filled with life,
destined to walk among the living.
Each step mimics life, bringing you no closer to being.
Like a beacon on a hill, overlooking an ocean of tears, you wait.
Eternity echoes like a heartbeat, filling your ears with hope.
Each moment in time is like forever in a dream.
Endless coffee shops and sidewalk satire,
growing wearing of the chase.
Time catches up, armed with wrinkles and weariness
until one day you look,
and see,
and say,
who am I?
As autumn bows before winter,
youth crumbles before time,
Stamping its foot like a wayward child,
time blinked; its lashes spreading memories across your face.'
"I remember you", it says, scarring your face with experience.
Time unfolds its memories for you to behold.
The lonely path you’ve chosen,
laid bare and vulnerable for all to see.
If only,
I wish,
I should have,
Why did I,
May I go back.
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