Best Old Poetry
The Life Is …
The Life Is …
When I was young, there was no pain,
The only pain was to complain.
When I was young, I did not care,
Just as long as my love was there.
When I was young, my life was great.
But I was there a bit too late.
A bit too late to know life was,
being young and having no flaws.
A bit too late to celebrate,
What I had then was called my fate.
Now it’s different, weather is cold,
I turned into a man that’s old.
The spring has passed, summer is gone,
Autumn at rest, winter is on.
I am too old and know it’s gone.
It is too dark to hope for dawn.
Now I know that a part of life,
It is old age and lives with strife.
Now I know that my life is not,
The perfect plan when I had thought.
The life is not the silken dress,
Unmarked from flaws, full of success.
My life is just a song I sing,
It is winter chasing the spring.
It is sorrow, it is laughter,
It is hope for morning after.
My life is just a long poem,
Had a young star; none would know him.
The life is just a shooting star,
It is so bright but can’t go far.
Blink your eyes; it’s all be gone,
I played this game like a faceless pawn.
I played so well; somehow, I lost.
You don’t want me to count my cost.
My life is like a field of dream,
Or maybe like a moonlit stream.
My life is like a drop of dew,
Waiting the Sun to say adieu.
My life is like the dew at dawn,
The sun will kiss; it will be gone.
My life is not to be just young,
It is okay to be unsung.
My life is like the morning breeze,
It can bring storms or bring you ease.
You are hoping for one more dream,
That wakes you up in golden gleam.
The life is like a candle’s flame,
It lights up love or burns to blame.
The games are on, and the moves are fast.
I do not know how long they last.
For some, it’s short; for some, it’s long.
Go have more fun; it is not wrong.
Remember now, it might get late,
Go play your move before checkmate.
10/2/2019
Haloo
Note: The painting is called “A reminder”; it’s acrylic on wood.
Note: This style of poetry is called "Masnavi"; it is the spiritual couplets. This particular masnavi consists of eight syllables in each line. Poetrysoup has a great explanation and example of this form of poetry.
Categories:
old poetry, allusion, angst, life, old,
Form:
Masnavi
My name is Gary Fields
And I am at the Poetry Convention
Their are a myriad of Poet's
They are all in contention
There are so many that I may
Want to mention'
So, pay attention
Fore they must do this
In abstention
At my table there are three
Their are four including me
The second choice in my contention
IS Dr. Ram Mehta
He is such an easy catch
He is a voice/a reflection
He shares' so much love and affection
Being one of so few words
His disposition is the best
And his Human Psyche will
Never rest'
Could this be some sort of test
That his deepest guarded secret's
Are guarded close to his chest
Being a doctor and all
It is unlikely that he will ever confess
Third at the table is the X DESTROYER X POET
Due to the lack of word's
She always' have something for ya
And will certainly destroy ya
If not, then simply ignore ya
Fore she deserves' to seat here
And not just on the foyer
It is a main bone of contention
There is no reason why I can't enjoy ya
Or at least releave the tension
With her advanced degree
her suplituding pensoin for Poetry
It seems' that her messages' are
Aimed straight for me
She give's to this her all
She never seem to miss a call
And to past the test
One may think that
She seem's to be a little obsessed
Most of all
She keeps' her secret
Buried so close to her breast
And what wonderful breast they
Might be
Only saving for us
The one's she profess to be the best
But never the less
She rises' among the rest
Fouth at the table is Ms. Sweetheart of Poetry
Wish she will spend more Poetry with me
And plain not just ignore me
Because I'm a fan of her now
She introduced me to this race
She is all ways' on the case
She is fully comfortable in her space
I just hope that she won't have to use
All of her mace,
She composes' herself with grace
Fore this is so much an adventure
And not just some silly old Snail Race
If I haven't said enough by now
Then it is because I am running
Out of space, or being run out of town
But, there is always one next year
Same time, manybe not
The same old place
GF
Gary Fields
Dr. Ram Mehta
X DESTROYER X POET
LINDA Marie/Sweetheart of Poetry
Carol (Next on Deck)
*******For the Contets "Tt The Convention
JUNE 2011
Categories:
old poetry, anniversary, on writing and
Form:
Narrative
Not Today
When memories begin to fade
when I break promises I’ve made
and life no longer seems so gay
I shall be old, but not today.
For I have children I must hold
and many stories to be told
and much to see along the way.
I shall be old, but not today.
When I no longer care to write
of all life’s wonder and delight
or take the time to kneel and pray,
I shall be old, but not today.
For there is much that I must do
poems to write, at least a few
and so much more I have to say.
I shall be old, but not today.
When love can’t make my spirit glow
and I care not if roses grow
it’s then and only then I’ll say
I shall be old, but not today.
For in my gardens, love has grown
in all the seeds that I have sown
and never may it wilt away.
I shall be old, but not today.
When I care not how others feel
and life no longer offers thrill,
when hopes and dreams all fade away
I shall be old, but not today.
For I must not accept defeat
for life is short and oh, so sweet
and there’s no time to waste away.
I shall be old, but not today...
Categories:
old poetry, age, change, future, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Younger wanting to be older
Older wanting to be young
Child wishing to be bigger
Bigger wishing to be thinner
Teen wanting a clearer face
Clearer face wanting a better body
People lamenting bad hair days
Bad hair days replaced with no hair days. . .
We diss what we have
Wish for what we lack
When what we have is gone
Oh, what we'd give to have it back!
Youthful desires for future yearning
Future bearing down like a train
Elders' memories of past unnerving
Hit by a train never the same
Categories:
old poetry, desire, future, old, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Your love is thin
it has no flesh
its a pretty face
with no consequence,
so I tell myself
go without the water
by summer the malt
will be in order
your love is thin.
Categories:
old poetry, bird, goodbye, love, lust,
Form:
Light Verse
If we senesce
in plain sight,
only poetry sees us green
with eyes of inside...
Categories:
old poetry, allegory, allusion, life, literature,
Form:
Epigram
For many people outside the Myanmar poetry, it may come as a surprise that there is such a thing as language-oriented poetry contemporary poetry scene in Myanmar. The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry.
I feel like I have to say to me about how this had happened in Myanmar, the country was under military rule over the past 60 years their poetry broke away from the traditional style classic writing about the monarchy the old and the Burmese Old Burmese way of life before the annexation of British Burma in 1886. The hair experimental poetry movement 1 of the 20th century, was 2 in the movement of new writing, which led pilot Dag on (which is now in his 90s and blind), after the end of World War 2. Influenced by left-wing ideology known of the historical period popular poetry, realism and the Marxist-oriented, through the 40S late. There was at that time, an ideological struggle between the so-called "art for art's sake" The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry. Has described those who did not support writing the new "bourgeois" and blasted the "progressives." Although the new writing system that is based on experimental poetry rhyme 4.3.2 with some changes in the number of syllables in each line rhyme scheme, which makes it more flexible, and was aimed at, faith, and the content of a revolutionary. The art for the masses, and poetry is the weapon of the masses against the landowners and capitalists and national. It is unfortunate that the writing of new, while winning the hearts and minds of an entire generation of young poets, and in some cases made just propaganda, and the adage is that the hair must be less aesthetic and utilitarian more so that even the common person would low education "appreciate" poem with ease. UNSUPPORTED CODE myanmar poem UNSUPPORTED CODE
Categories:
old poetry, love, old, writing, education,
Form:
Prose Poetry
12/22/14
Props to the original Baggins
And his bravery towards the dragons
While he could've stayed behind with the wagons
Just a hobbit and quite the comic
But he should've watched it
And use all logic
Before trying to put on the ring inside of his pocket
Because another was unfortunate and lost it
This made him scathing mad
As he continued aging and
Inside a cave in the hills, far away from any raging sands
Originally had a name
But overtime he had changed
And was no longer the same
They didn't know what else to call him
Except for Gollum
Because he had fallen
And became solemn
Meanwhile the orcs
Marched with force
After coming into contact with the source
Of all evil from the North
The bell continued to toll
As the trolls
Looked to take all souls
With a heart darker than coal
During the events
The mist was dense
And full of suspense
But the ents that were immense
Put in their sense
And helped their allies get across the fence
Here we go again
Around the bend
It didn't end
In the eyes of children, ladies and men
Who could be considered a trusted friend?
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
old poetry, adventure, confidence, conflict, courage,
Form:
Rhyme
Heart o Silver, doth thou dither?
About the stars, or planets blither?
O grateful gods, become so weary,
Heart o silver, hast left thee teary.
Glaciated by wind and storm,
Nevermore, thy heart be warm.
Categories:
old poetry, blue, grief, heart, old,
Form:
Rhyme
A stony path,
A little stone bridge,
A place full of history,
To feel the spirit of the ancient times,
Just to have a look on the antique lifestyle!
***
A stone masterpiece has crossed the centuries
A stone art piece is now proof of the savoir-faire of past
A stone bridge, a vestige of the past, present
And future human intelligence!
***
So, nature is a place full of art and beauty:
A perpetual pleasure!
©Rita Solis Radius. On July, 9th 2015. Poetical prose “A Stone Bridge in nature”.
Categories:
old poetry, beautiful, nature, old, poetry,
Form:
Imagism
I just started reading
or should I say re-reading
a book by the late, great poet
Kenneth Koch.
It's called "I Never Told Anybody"
and it's all about teaching poetry
in a nursing home.
It's really good.
One of the poets who really shone
at the American Nursing Home
was a man named William Ross.
The first time I read the book, I assumed
he was old - in his eighties or nineties.
So imagine my shock when I read it again
and found out that he was fifty-nine.
Fifty- nine! Well, dagnabit, folks,
I'm going to be fifty-eight this year.
And I know damn well that fifty-eight
is not "OLD"! And certainly Mr. Ross
must have had a very clear, strong mind.
At least, based on his wonderful work.
And his poems still speak to me
And they still make me smile and wish
that I had the courage to just sit down
and write.
and write.
and write.
Hey, wait just a minute ...
I’m doing just that!
So thank you, thank you,
Thank you, William Ross!
Categories:
old poetry, appreciation, old, poetry, poets,
Form:
A day of sadness a day of upset
My son another job, he did not get
Useless I felt there was nothing I could do
Impotent in all I could say and do.
My heart wrung for this son of mine
He had been used and abused in work for sometime
Now finding it hard to get new employ
I didn’t know what else to do for my boy.
In impotency I searched the web sites once more
The lies the deceits there no jobs through their door
In anger and frustration I sat down and cried
But to help my boy, I continued, I tried.
After more searches it was the old fashioned way
A phone call to someone there’s no more to say
He managed to get a job right there and then
It was that day that I took up my trusty old pen.
My first poem left my pen at speed with no effort
It was called something like, ‘I do want to work’
I posted it out to a local magazine
They published it, my first poem was seen.
I found that it relieved some pent up stress
And it hurt no one there is no duress
So I came to poetry to learn to express
Hope and good feelings and try not to depress.
Poetry is now a part of my life
If I were a man it would be my wife
Words of love and of hope they do abound
Since this wonderful world of poetry I found.
©~GG~ 18/03/2013
Contest Entry
Categories:
old poetry, introspection, day, son, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Winter leaves
And falling rain,
Darkness; wounds
And growing pain.
"You used to say
That I was your inspiration...
From writing,
You could not refrain."
"There was a light in your eyes"
She said: "Now, your eyes are cold,
There's no more warmth in your hands;
You're getting awfully old!"
Winter leaves
And falling rain,
Darkness; wounds
And growing pain.
"I loved your words,
Your beautiful poetry!
To your imagination,
You used to give free rein."
"There was a light in your eyes"
She said: "Now, your eyes are cold,
There's no more warmth in your hands;
You're getting awfully old!"
With all the invisible tears
And all the hidden fears,
I lay down-dying-
Upon solitude's dilacerating spears.
Rochdi Bouille
November 25, 2016
Categories:
old poetry, fear, loneliness, nature, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Tranquil looking visages
Of trio in sepia,
Will remain forever .
-Ism
Categories:
old poetry, old, poetry, truth,
Form:
Haiku
7/11/15
Go ahead laugh and cry
And if you'd like to ask me why
Don't let time pass you by
You have to try
Regardless of if you want the whole thing or less than half the pie
Remember you can't go back in time
Categories:
old poetry, old, poetry, rap, words,
Form:
Rhyme