Long Old people Poems
Long Old people Poems. Below are the most popular long Old people by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old people poems by poem length and keyword.
The beauty of truth shriveled and spit
Like July 4th snakes, dying on the sidewalk
My eyesight is going, but I don’t think I lie
My shingles are back, expressing anger and pain
My flesh house is crumbling
I will not be sorry when it dies
The smells of old age parade around in my house
Sneering and poking their fingers at me
Reminding me of the smell of garbage piles of Pomona
I always hated old people.
Their wrinkles, age spots, blue veins
Especially their smells
I watch myself turn into a carcass
It is taking longer than I had hoped
I never took a pill before
And now here I am, a pothead
With bad teeth, and black holes
In a mouth no one hears
Kindness does not cost a single penny,
but with kind deeds you can touch so many;
sometimes all that's needed is to say hello,
and that will make a sad persons soul glow.
Perhaps a gesture offered to the poor,
to old people, the young, the sick and more;
the more kindness you give your soul will grow,
and your inner beauty will overflow.
Be the kind soothing words that someone needs,
hold a sad hand while their weeping sorrow bleeds;
do some simple thing to change their day,
do something that will make them find their way.
Be their sunshine and give them hope;
maybe one day you will be the one unable to cope.
____________________________
June 7, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Be Kind and Grow
Copyright Protected/ID 20-1258-832-03
Constance La France, 2020, All Rights Reserved.
Written for the Premier contest, Kindness
sponsor, Regina Riddle
First Place
In the beginning two lovers were born
In the campus parking lot behind the student union
They clung together for 60 years
Until one day my wounded bird knew
Her broken hip would not allow her to fly again
I was too old and weak to pick her up off the floor
When she fell...she said she wanted to go to a nursing home
Where strong young girls could do what I could not
It's where old people go to die, nobody gets out of there alive
Once a week I drive there to bring candy and other treats to her bed
And news from our empty house that I share with our old girl calico cat
It's the beginning of the end
D.C. Jordan
We were in love, so food was not important
But we brought it any way, as a pretense
That we would be eating.
Laugh.
Our mothers contributed, because they cook
And bake, and do the mom stuff.
We ended up with two baskets.
Two teenagers with a basket each.
We tried to get away from the crowd
But it was a gorgeous seventy-three degree day.
Everyone was at the park. People came up from all directions.
The peril of living in a small town.
Strange children who knew us, came up and begged food.
We gave it to them. We had given up on any romantic gestures.
All the old people were walking around keeping an eye on us.
Making sure nothing good happened.
Simon – the protagonist.
18 – year old kid who just graduated from high school.
Lives in middle class suburbia, no designated town, and an every-town sort of feel.
Lives with his mother, his older brother. (Father has recently passed away...a year ago)
Have a small number of friends, most of them through service groups.
Very active in community service, volunteers for church organizations.
Enthusiastically participates in highway clean-ups.
Loves helping old ladies to their cars with groceries.
Brings in stray pets from the street, he’s currently the unofficial caretaker of 7 dogs and 5
cats.
A steady “B” student in school, would be an A student if he didn’t spend so much time with
community service.
Doesn’t date at all, has almost no free time, although he does sometimes feel like he’s
missing out.
Drives a brown station wagon.
Has never put any type of hair product in his hair before, wears a T-shirt and blue jeans 80%
of the time, 20% he is in church wearing something nicer.
Earns most of his money during school at a part-time job at an old folk’s home, taking walks
with them, listening to their stories.
The kids at school have nicknamed him “Simon Theresa.”
He sometimes gets frustrated at other people, that they’re not doing enough for the
community.
In church when he was 13 he stood up and demanded more people donate money into the
basket being passed around.
He is sometimes too passionate about what he does.
He is not very athletic, or interested in playing sports, yet he is ridiculously good at table
games (ping-pong, air hockey, pool, etc.)
He has a hard time socializing with people his age, and fears he is too different from
everyone else.
He has always been the antithesis of his brother and father, who are very much the All-
American male: athletic, sports fans, cigar toting, car lovers, beer buddies, etc.
The only alcohol Simon consumes is the teaspoon mass.
Despite how opposite they are, he gets along fine with his brother, as their personalities
seem to compliment each other.
His father on other hand, he feels like he failed somehow, ever since his death, he never felt
he got his acceptance from him.
And I can't help him.
All blondes wear diamond rings and drive Mercedes so old.
All brunettes wear green straw hats and plant marigolds.
All tall people play golf on Saturdays and are Methodists winkers.
All Americans are overweight donut-eating, chocolate milk drinkers.
All Africans wear their hair in braids, and despise tattoos of a girl.
All Mexicans like hot taco sauce and dance in a frenzied whirl.
All old people want to be young, and resent their mother.
All only children want siblings, wishing they had a brother.
All men want a crazy, out-of-control woman in their bedroom.
All divorcees want to marry a millionaire who is not full of gloom.
All Republicans want a dictator to be president who is angry and blue.
All liberals want to give free food to the undocumented, and do.
The minute you think of people as a group of “all” you are wrong.
Please memorize this poem, and sing it as a song.
If you cannot see this by now, then I must join the throng.
For I have written this poem entirely wrong.
Grandad's full of aches and pains
his bones are growing weak,
but Judo's still his favorite sport
where his muscles he can tweak.
Although he sometimes takes a fall,
when he see the youngsters fly
he knows within his heart of hearts
he shouldn't throw them high!
Grandma now is kind and sweet
she's learned along the years,
that youngsters tremble at the knees
when facing all their fears.
She never throws them to the ground,
like Grandad does for fun,
she just kills them all with kindness
till they have to turn and run!
I think that all old people
should respect advancing years,
for youngster have to learn to cope
with all their petty fears.
It isn't really fair to them
if you don't act your age,
you really should start looking old
and act just as a sage.
But the good news is that youngsters
will be old, like us, one day.
And then, like Gran and Grandad,
they too can start to play.
So maybe it is quite alright
for us to have our fun
cause it's only when you're older
that life has just begun!
Ivor G Davies
The slow demise
The houses in the hamlet emptie
old people are passing away
A timeworn man tried to flee his
empty rooms of stillness
His many children had gone away
leaving him with an idiot son
Who thought rabbits lived in
trees tall trees eating leaves
The timeworn wanted to see his
daughters who lived in America
The police brought him back to
the place he had tried to escape
In darkened rooms, he paces
tries out walk the pre-ordained
Sunlight is, for him, unbearable
reminds him of the future suns
He hits the walls with his fist
in anger over his loss
The idiot son, has crawled into
a corner shaking in fear of dad
Death takes his dad, o, mercy!
For a downtrodden life
For two days and nights, the idiot
sits in his corner, crying in silence
Death waits for his victim, but
someone breaks down the door
Lone Li Ness is my name
No one calls it; I have no friends.
I had one once in second grade
But she moved
Shyness kept me from having other ones
Some loud kids lied about me being a bully
In fourth grade, and it stuck
In 7th grade I was “odd” and “weird”
I began to read romance novels that year
And science fiction, biographies, and mysteries.
The librarian tried to befriend me but she was old
I do not like old people
I figured when I went to college I would be a new you
I would be outgoing and fun, and people would like me
About half my graduating class went to the same college
My roommate hated me before she met me.
She moved out before the end of the first week
Without speaking to me. A couple of nods and a grunt.
I have forgotten how to be a friend now. It has been a long time.
My cat and I pretend to be content reading our books.
She lies between the I-pad and me,
so I have to use two pillows to prop.
My parents still live in my hometown.
They are always begging me to come back.
For a summer vacation, for a visit.
To see my “old friends”.
This makes me laugh.
How did they never see their odd, weird, lonely girl like I do?
Whoa is me, don't have many friends
Except those here on the Soup
Maybe because I show only my best side
You don't know the real scoop
Nasty to children and push old people down
Whenever I get the chance
It's my right after living for eighty years
Still adorable after a lifelong dance
Well what did you expect, some Casanova
No way, been through life's mill
Got spitted out quite unceremoniously
A hardened “lifer” if you will
Putting you on, been a charmer since birth
Ladies all flock to my door
Just wanting a piece of my virile “young” body
The word “old” I absolutely abhor
Well enough about me, a Hollywood hunk
Quite unassuming, shy and sweet
If any of you want to know this guy better
Number's 1-800-TWEET TWEET TWEET
© Jack Ellison 2015