Best Retirees Poems
Relinquishing the time clocks of the past,
Emerging from the glory and the grind,
Transformed throughout those years that went so fast,
Inspired by dreams, you leave those days behind.
Rebirth awaits with chances fresh and new.
Embark upon bold journeys; bravely go.
Ephemeral, sweet life still beckons you,
So plant your seeds and watch your future grow.
May 13, 2018, entered in Brian Strand's Mid-May Standard Contest
The Gift Of Winter
When Winter brings old seasons to their ends
and plans a rest for Spring and Summer trends,
we're eased by lovely scenes that Autumn sends,
while Winter puts to sleep those retirees
of brittle vines and leafless, naked trees,
exhausted roots and bulbs, with expertise.
The drab gray scenes will brighten in degrees
when layered white with spread of pristine snow
that purifies and moistens ground below,
where life, like 'sleeping beauty', waits to grow.
When Winter has achieved her last plateau,
she nudges Spring to wake and take the stage.
But while the sleeping ground does not engage
in life-filled days, our Winter does upstage
with beauty of her wonderland onstage;
snow-covered limbs and hills of velvet white
that leaves us breathless at their very sight,
as sunbeams glisten and reflect the light.
This gift she offers as her own delight,
when Winter brings old seasons to their ends.
Sandra M. Haight
~9th Place~
Premiere Contest: Impress Me With A New Poem
Sponsor: SKAT A
Judged: 01/17/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: Rhyme Time III
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 12/25/2017
Rules of Previous Contest: FIVE stanzas using this rhyme scheme:
STANZA 1: A-A-A-B STANZA 2: B-B-B-C STANZA 3: C-C-C-D
STANZA 4: D-D-D-E STANZA 5: E-E-E-A
5th Stanza: Last line must be the exact same sentence as first line in 1st Stanza
You and Me
So many vehicles
So many journeys
So many destinations
So many countries
Exploring life
Side by Side
From teenagers to parents to retirees
Copious conversations
Decisions made
Disagreements
Abundant laughter
Grief
Rivers of tears
Music throughout the decades
Silly songs sung
Coffees aplenty
So many years
Side by Side
For those who work, a three day weekend
Feels like a reward,
The culmination of a goal
That they’ve been working toward.
It’s just one extra day and yet,
It feels like so much more,
A chance to catch up on the things
On workdays, they’d ignore.
But even for the unemployed
And, too, retirees,
A holiday on Monday
Somehow really seems to please.
So happy weekend, one and all;
Enjoy this little break.
Forgetting why the day is free, though,
Would be a mistake.
Twenty years on I'm visiting the moon,
Enjoying a space tour for retirees,
An experience out-world and a boon:
Low gravity is great for my old knees.
Hotter than the century every day,
I bask and enjoy the blessed relief,
As my arthritis almost goes away,
The sights are so clear beyond belief!
Long days are good for the insomniac,
Staff store solar energy while they can,
Because nights are months; long, cold and black,
And the seniors know how to party, oh man!
Spent all my superannuation way too soon,
Have to help science and settle on the dune!
as builders spend pennies
flipping profits on houses
lifestyle gurus
show us how to fold trousers
and chefs under pressure
scream out all their orders
while people in need
are labelled as hoarders
and bookies fix odds
for the afternoon races
as judges cast judgements
on bizarre family cases
and contestants light buttons
to win mystery prizes
while traffic cops chase
young suicide drivers
and retirees escape
to a life on the Costas
as law firms inform us
it’s good to sue doctors
and super vets cure
lame dogs and sick horses
as folk with backstories
fail SAS courses
and dealers earn livings
from ducking and diving
while medics with agents
get judged Strictly jiving
and loan deals have small print
explaining their charges
while celebs enjoy cruising
on canals in large barges
and food critics chew
over masterful dinners
and. there. are. several. long. seconds
before we find out the winners
but when MPs dodge questions
on the numerous news’ panels
it’s proof that what bites
really sucks on our channels.
This is not Miami, the real site
of the sea grape. This is a wannabe--
a biker town, a speedway town. Not
the fabled city of Dream Whip clouds
expressed into a flawless sky. Not
the cool Technicolor dawn when an aging
chick like me could still do her morning
run on Collins, come back home
to the high rise on the Intercoastal,
where in the mirrored lobby,
retirees lined up in their wheelchairs
along a wall to socialize, see
who comes and goes.
Here, in this faux paradise on a Friday,
morning mass is celebrated in anything but
Ordinary Time by a Bahamian priest in
a chasuble the color of winter rye. There are
no flowers anywhere, only trailing tropicals;
a graceful spider plant with its dangling
tentacles. An acolyte brings sacramental vessels
on a tray, as if to dinner in his own home
to an altar covered with a simple tablecloth.
Simplicity...in the elaborate setting of
the Saint John Basilica, Daytona Beach.
The real home of the sea grape
with its leaves like tennis table paddles
is where a husband hospitalized in Mia
with a failing heart valve lay in
the pre-surgery ICU fighting for breath
as an insensitive nurse brought food
on a tray no way he could eat.
The sea grape is a hardy tree
that reaches for the heights. My son
in Halifax Hospital is like that: a survivor
of surgery for a metal hip to replace
the one that failed. Bones---
nemesis of our family, meant to last
but do not. Unlike the sea grape
whose limbs grown longer,
stronger. Fail not.
Alligators bask lazily on tree limbs overhanging the meandering rivers
Gentle manatees playfully rise above the water line to catch a breath
Such a delight to see these threatened mammals rebounding
Palms and Live Oaks stand as sentries on the river banks
Casting tropical silhouettes against the orange orb as it succumbs below pink clouds
Across the peninsula on the Atlantic coast, seagulls huddle together
Winter winds ruffle their feathers as they scavenge for food
Even in cold weather, “snowbirds” flock to our shores
Retirees leave their footprints on our white sands
Each day, their prints are washed away as the tide thrusts its wet arms
*Entry for Brian's Imagery contest
On porches bathed in brilliant sun
enduring friendships are begun
as neighbors air their hurts and joys
and children learn to share their toys.
On moonlit porches, arm in arm,
sweethearts display romantic charm.
The night was made for them, it seems.
Love fills the air and starlight gleams.
On crowded porches, trips are planned
by those who dream of surf and sand
or snow-capped mountains far away.
They'll have their respite, come what may.
On countless porches, you will find
retirees resting weary minds.
They've other things than work to tend;
they're waiting for their second wind.
Old porches now in disrepair
attached to homes bereft and bare
still echo with the lives of those
who have gone on to sweet repose.
like vinegar and baking soda combined
daily hustle bustle and grind — in caustic silence —
erodes...
precious time eroded in the rush to clear agendas
rushing to the rhythm of the— tick— tockin’ of time...
engulfed with the toils and responsibilities of life
it all seemingly moving in slow motion...
'til suddenly it becomes sublime
to realize just how much time— has passed
now seemingly moving much too fast...
like motion picture film spinning on a reel
as this arduous journey reaches a place of still...
still quiet —volume so loud —you can hear it scream
with flashes of the past rewinding inside your mind...
revealing —in that slippage of time— often
it was thou— you left behind...
quiet screams —
time to exhale....accept or receive
what has been lost or achieved...
shhhh — listen!— the time is now yours
time to lay to rest — hustle bustle and grind—
time — to relax your mind....
and enjoy —your way—what’s yours...
God’s greatest gift—
time......
***Inspired by the feelings many retirees and empty
nesters experience...
Herbert is down the block
At his hang-out spot
But when dusk falls, he will
Climb home-made stairs
To his sanctuary
And stars above will shine.
At the spot, you'll see
white cups that kiss eager lips
The color of cream, or mahogany
Some are as black as ackee seed with sheen.
These men, they dream; and lament their inner scenes
And governmental extremes
Their dusty streets are paved clean
Belize's haves and have not sometimes raves
On tell-tale paths, where loafers
Retirees, and foreign folks meet.
Do you know of a hang-out spot?
One dies, and their casket
As a matter of fact, will cruise...
By
That bees the end of that.
*
They gather there most every morn
The retirees at the coffee shop
To discus events and each others ills
Politics and the new traffic stop
It is a highlight of their day
To greet each other as they dine
And so it's easy to take for granted
They're always there,- rain or shine
But then we notice - Joes not there
On the second day and more
Investigation tells us - he passed on
It's just not the same as before
As we adapt to his departure
Months later we miss Mary's face
Sadly we concede, she is gone
Only her memory - we embrace
Slipping away - - slipping away !
Dear ones that we miss so much
As the blossom of a summer flower
Relinquishes life, to winters touch
But we are reminded in God's Word
Life is but a vapor or a flower
So is the span of our sojourn here
We know not, the day or hour
But there's a promise to each one
Who is anchored, safe in His fold
The future can yield untold rewards
In a Place where, "we never grow old"
So there's consolation we can claim
When a dear one "slips away"
For them - it's just a stepping stone
To usher them from, a house of clay
Colan L. Hiatt = 01-26-14
© All Rights Reserved
Short weekends and long weekdays
School’s out then it’s onto résumés and workdays
Mondays dragging on through to Fridays
Long commutes on highways, subways and tramways
Toiling for okays, some praise and hopefully a raise
Soirees and negligees for Saturdays
Aspiring to bouquets so enchanting in a vase
Before you know it’s on for matinees on Sundays
Enjoying soufflés, sorbets, sundaes and parfaits
Eyeing the calendar for paydays
As well as birthdays, holidays and getaways
But nowadays, as retirees, we have our days
And often we just graze in haze almost a daze
Where Tuesdays look no different than Thursdays
To paraphrase it’s our final phase when interplays
In many ways the sweet nostalgia of yesterdays
AP: 3rd place 2020
Posted on March 13, 2018
Waltzing by the bamboo trees
Clusters of serenity
The winding wind sings softly
The movement of the light
Tints and shades and hues take flight
Changing patterns hurl insight
There is a whisper I hear
Watch the bamboo leaves endear
The old pavilion right here
Shady trees spread overtones
By park bench of cold, cold stone
Play of light with windy groans
The world in a rush repair
Ignores this calm, curious air
Rush to feast other affairs
Only the old retirees
Walk and sit and chat softly
See patterns forgetfully
Now far from the madding crowd
The pace of life is not loud
Yet a festive mood stands proud
Once upon a time the chase
Now the twilight years keep pace
Wrinkles and silver hairs trace
Leon Enriquez
29 January 2015
Singapore
T G I F - Thank God It's Friday!
This is a term kids like to say.
At three, bell ringing would convey
school's done...reward...TWO DAYS OF PLAY!
T G I F - Thank God It's Friday!
This is a phrase employees bray.
End of the day, they think hooray!
Work's done...reward...WEEKEND, PAYDAY!
T G I F - Thank God It's Friday!
ALL days are Fridays in a way.
Retirees now, with hope they pray;
day's done...reward...ANOTHER DAY!
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Contest: Friday Feeling
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 03/11/2018