Best Older Poems
I once heard the whisper of falling snow,
saw a spark in the eye of a coal-black crow,
felt the power and awe of a swift river's flow,
the older I get, the less I know.
My hair was once braided in golden cornrows,
by Jamaican friends in an island below,
a psychic once asked me about Jericho,
the older I get, the less I know.
The hot southern asphalt that scalded my toe,
the rope swing that swung us, to and fro,
Christmas Eve and the tree in the firelight's glow,
the older I get, the less I know.
Everyone's gone, but where did they go?
Why is my spirit sinking so low?
Is it true we reap only what we sow?
the older I get, the less I know.
©2010 DanielleWhite
Darling,
Forty seven years ago, young and in love.
We fell in love on the Bobo-lo Boat.
A mutual acquaintance arranged our date.
I was eighteen and you were twenty.
You took my breath away as our eyes met,
And I must say Dear, you still do today.
Way too young to marry our parents pled mercifully.
We insisted, married, and then you went away.
The Vietnam War parted us physically,
But our love letters tied our hearts-
Tears, warm feelings in waiting hearts.
Many decades have past since our first date.
Love was worth fighting for, being brave for.
We've been through the good and the ugly.
We've learned, and built, and grew together.
I believe our true love conquered it all.
I adore seeing old people still in love-
Smiling, holding hands, and talking,
Opening a door for his sweet girl,
A gentle touch and a kiss on her crepe cheek,
Then I remember we're the old people, my dear.
Our hearts still tied together with love,
Even after all these years.
Forever Always my darling.
For Heather Ober's contest, 'Love Letters'
And For Gail Doyle's contest, 'Reflections Of You'
As I've grown older, I've found,
that my body has gotten more round,
as I try it,
another new diet,
I always add another pound.
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
Dear, you keep telling me that you’re too old,
giving me reasons we should be apart.
But all these things I’ve already been told!
Please, darling, hear me now with your heart.
You say they’ll gossip about me and you.
Just let them! I’m young, but I’ve known
so many women, but not one can do
the magic YOU do. My wild oats are sown!
Never more will I be looking around.
You fuss over wrinkles, but all I see
is our connection so sweet and profound.
Always beside me, my angel you’ll be.
Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love, so
say yes to “us” and let’s give it a go!
Dec. 15, 2017 for
Julie Leigh Rodeheaver's "Age Doesn't Matter When You're in Love" Contest
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
When I was a young lad in the prime of life
Never thought I'd still be around
When my driver's license said, “older than dirt!”
And my mind was no longer sound
But I can get away with a bunch of neat stuff
Rack it up to “he's left the planet!”
“His mental capacity equals that of a wee child”
Gonna take full advantage, run the gamut
Need to pee and dribble now and then
Talk in riddles and scratch my bum
Wipe my boogies on my Sunday clothes
And belch when company comes
Know all the tricks as I giggle to myself
It's a downright lead pipe cinch
Con them till they put me in a old pine box
Mumbling about my belly button lint
30 January 2021
The prodigy has turned prodigal
Making silver spoons out of gold medals
While the hearsay deepens about clandestine meetings
I fix myself a plate of pity party, for I know nobody
I don’t even know myself
The prodigy is now pedestrian
Crossing roads without a care
And I lost track of time ages ago
In blue screens and daydreams
So I fix myself a plate of pity party, for there’s nothing else to do
Especially now that the world is broken
And I can’t find the version of myself I lost in the chaos of trying to find myself
It is late September again,
effervescent, fair---much like
the first touch of air-brushed flame
seizing an ardor glazed by
an ever- changing pastel light…
we are still here,
on autumnal view's entrance
breathing sweet ambrosia
from life's harvest...perhaps older
as grey marbles collected through
fables of silence together : our weary
bodies are held by endless glow past mid-life,
recalling youth's blazed affection
while evening fog embraces us,
through a tender contentment
of devotion's soft kisses.
Contest 340 for Brian Strand
A time where phones and computers didn't exist,
But a time where good ol' fashioned talking was in the mist.
A time where hospitality was priority number one,
And your grandma's cooking was better then anyones.
A time where family would all sit at the table,
All they had was a little tv and didn't even have cable.
A time where family really did matter,
Words were sincere,not just said to flatter.
A time where your word meant something,
And you wouldn't give away your values for anything.
Now a days those things seen old fashioned,
Sometimes I wish I could go to that age and time,
Where a simplistic and peaceful life I would find.
(Written for Jim Eslinger )
DEVOTION POEM 5, “Unspoken” ***** (for Jim Eslinger)
Young and new to each other,
There was always too much to say.
Glancing around in restaurants, we’d notice
What so many friends remarked on when seeing
Those older couples staring at their water goblets
Or their fingers and never conversing —
What seemed
Not a breath spent one to the other...
Thus, we swore, we’d never ever be like that.
Until now, we are as the telepathy of time
Often does story — full with unspoken exchanges
And kindnesses, like when I want more coffee
And Jim has signaled a waiter before I signaled him,
Or there are things regarding our surroundings:
The commotion and din; or notes about raindrops;
And the phases of the moon; points of quality;
Jabs of conflict; moments of pain; and expressions
Of known love between us. Thus so,
Our lives joined
Evermore outside of dictionaries and essays,
Even overtopping poems...
We speak in being:
Together.
********. ********. ********
(c) sally Young eslinger 2020
Thanks be to God
Jet-black hair faded to gray;
tall, slender figure
arched with age—
sagging like the skin around your eyes
so much like mine.
Your loud voice has quieted
and become gentle as the years have passed.
Your once harsh hands now seek to guide me
on paths I had to discover without you.
Father,
I wonder—
while you have been present
but still so far away—
just how much time have we lost?
The older we get, the longer the time
It takes for our bodies to heal,
So we shouldn’t regret, since we’re out of our prime,
That we aren’t as strong as we feel.
Be it virus or flu or a cut or a bruise,
What took days to improve now takes weeks.
The old cures we once knew our new selves just refuse
To allow us to climb to our peaks.
Our two choices then are to ignore the advice
And resume our activities fast,
Or, though it seems bizarre, to avoid rolling dice
And slow down ‘til all symptoms have passed.
What will be, either way, if we rush or we halt,
We’ll be subject to what fate has planned.
At the end of the day, it is nobody’s fault,
Due to forces we can’t understand.
A little less agile,
More aches and pains,
A little less hair,
More capital gains,
A little more girth,
A little less grit,
Another year older,
A little less fit.
A little less debt,
A little more doubt,
A little less certain
That I've figured out
What the reason for living so long's all about.
If I do find an answer,
And if I'm still here,
I'll let you in on the secret
On my birthday next year.
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.