Growing Older Poems - Poems about Growing Older

On Growing Older Sometimes my steps are steady, Sometimes my hands shake. Sometimes my memory falters, And I make some sad mistake. Sometimes I hear you talking But I do not understand. Just remember that I love you And I do the best I can. My skin is sagged and wrinkled. I look a little like an Elf. My eyesight's getting hazy, Sometimes I repeat...

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Zaila. Can’t make a Nickname out of that, But oh you can, Super-Z, you ‘member that. I rather not, There isn’t much to remember, I didn’t live much. Oh, but that coffee table, Mhm, yeah, I know the one, The one I’d play dolls under with my cousin, With Barbies too big to fit in my toy car, Then you remember how dark It’d get in...

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There is a way to tell if we are just growing older or truly growing old… or so I have been told…. If we’re still having fun each year we are just growing older when we stop having fun…that’s when we grow old. ...

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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...

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There's more rust in my joints than ever. My bones sound like an old screen door, and my knees predict the weather better than any app. Give me elastic waistbands, soft slippers, and the creak of a recliner that groans every time I sit. Bring on the grandkids with sticky fingers leaving fingerprints on the walls, and loud toys that play the same song again...

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There is this phenomenon we feel growing older that happens to us old folks a lot: How some days we feel our age…while others…we do not! Some days those aches and pains that accompany growing older seem at best…inopportune… We moan, we groan, we grouse…we feel older than the moon. Other days those aches and pains subside…and then as if by magic...

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Life is passing by motivation is fading life goals diminish...

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I am so often here these days: sitting, looking, thinking. I crave stillness, but things are always on the move, are never going to stop. Perhaps it is a condition of growing older, to be afraid of change, to be afraid of what change means. But I still sit here, still watch, still ask, over and over, where these waters are going. ...

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Becoming wiser looking for the positive thankful for each day...

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Hairline receding slightly Waistline a little thicker Gravity winning the battle A few centimetres conceded Even when walking proud Hearing less acute Necessitating the TV turned up loud Eyes needing brighter light Small print now a challenge A world through four lenses No longer two, especially at night Joints a little rustier Movement less fluid Skin a little saggier “Less firm” more polite Settling in grooves and furrows No...

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Growing older I remember the time when teenage knocked my life's door Just like the wave of emotions reached my still shore From loving to be with people around To living in the room with no one's sound From sharing everything to hiding I have seen my life sliding From crying at smallest things to hiding tears From running away to facing my...

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It's finished, all in heard, sleepless night, all come around, headache, also landed, for the first time, my mind is troubled, immediately, I started preparing, drawing the maps and planning, my heart and mind keeps burning, so little time to go, I'm still running. It's finished, all I heard, all lose end, I try mend, my health begin to blick red, for the first time, my...

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I used to be a nocturnal troubadour Playing a fair amount of songs that years forgot With a guitar nestled on my lap I would whistle while playing until my fingers bled I laugh at the call for intermission. A pause declared I walk over to get a bite to eat And to talk with some of the other...

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I know that I’m old and cantankerous, and can be kind of loud and quite rancorous. But in my heart lives a child playing rough, running wild, or waltzing in something more glamorous. So when I’m crotchety, ornery, or delirious, or perhaps being playful or serious, please respect and not s; I’m worth so much...

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Of Minds and Growing Older By: Tom Wright 5/26/99 A fragile thing, our minds. Where once they flooded with memories of our past. Our recall, becomes with age, that mere trickle of things we've deemed important, not necessarily happening last. we're unable to unlock and purge from darkness, one unwanted thought. So, we often attempt to sort, those things best left alone that life has brought. Then, given...

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