Long Old timer Poems
Long Old timer Poems. Below are the most popular long Old timer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old timer poems by poem length and keyword.
Dorothy and Toto want to get back home because as we all know, there is no place like HOME. So, seeking guidance from all but the wicked witch, off and away to places unknown, we ROAMED. We are off to see the Wizard of Oz because we each need something SPECIAL. We are simply earthly or terrestrial creatures needing something from the CELESTIAL. The Lion needs courage; the scarecrow needs brains; the tin man needs a HEART. We are all helpless on our own, but each is doing our part just to get a brand new START. I joined the youngsters a few miles back and I'm tired already cause this journey is really HARD. Me?* I'm just an old old-timer who's been around the bin a few times and in need of a new SPARK. I have a new pacemaker, false teeth, eyeglasses, hearing aids, an oxygen tank, ....., and a WALKER. I'm a good chess and checker player, and I love shooting pool, but I'm no good at playing POKER. I'm feeling just fine at 99, and my doctor says I need to slow down, but I'm just trying to reach 100. Perhaps somehow the wizard can grant me another year or I'll be dead as sure as my name is TED.
11052018PoSoupContest, Off To See The Wizard, Charles Messina; 2P;
*The Old-Timer character is fictional
Boardwalk and Park Place she would always get.
I almost never landed on them, so she’d throw a fit.
She’d spend all of her money getting them hotels too.
I would zoom around collecting two hundred dollars with my boot shoe.
She was the dog, I was the shoe.
My grandma and I, a joyful little two.
We’d drink soda pop and eat potato chips.
She’d throw out old timer magic, I’d throw out quips.
When she was losing, she would throw the board in the air.
I remember those days, and gram’s frizzy purple hair.
Monopoly still makes me smile to this very day.
I never buy Boardwalk or Park Place. They are hers in a way.
How the world views treats older people
Not today you're in the way
Older people are boring they're wild awake and snoring
Some have prosthetic teeth
Some never awake there're always sleep
It's very, very hard to meet and greet
Take them seventeen minutes to cross the street
Place them in a home, just leave them there alone
In a nice room with flowers
Send someone there pay them minimum wage just to shower
What about that next hour, I myself forgot
We will visit them on Mother's/Father's, Grandparent and Uncle Riley day
What's the meaning is of "feed them hay"
I don't know, I'm so afraid
What's the matter with them anyway?
Hands are shaking, feet are bad
Fell/fall down at the kitchen table hit their head
Some want to go to bed at day round eight O'clock in the morning, Well
Their an waste of time, they eat their own slime no wait that's the babies
You don't understand they can't shake your hand
No grip no pun intended
How do you remind them
Don't whisper when you walk
And don't yell when you talk
All this and you still remember chalk
Well I'm going away from here
You don't have to come see bout' me well
I'm just an old timer
Because my name is Foretime cause..
I forgot about you?
08/24/15
by James Edward Lee Sr.
from" 2015 Poetry to Bridge Generations UNO Elderly and Youth"
She wore a flag on top of her head.
It said, “I am me!”
She was new in town, but not shy.
We watched her whizz past.
She waved wildly at all of us.
She blew us kisses.
Some of us blew kisses back.
One of us laughed.
She laughed too.
“Be you!” she screamed as her convertible went around the square.
She passed us six more times.
Showing off flags she had especially created.
The purple one said, “Live in excitement!”
The red one said, “Be your best you!”
The pink one said “Love yourself!
I did not see what the black one said.
Because it was white letters on a dark background.
I hope she comes around again, I told the rest of the town.
“I think she might,” an old timer said.
Apparently he had run into this kind of confidence before.
No one knew what kind of car she was because she was an antique.
She had a mind of her own, a colorful one at that, and she ran.
She lived in a small Alaskan town, so people knew about her.
That’s Claire, an old timer told me when he saw me taking her photo.
She has a name? Sure, he replied, “They all have names, don’t they?”
All cars have names?
No. All spirits have names.
You mean she is a spirit and a car?
We never think of Claire as a car, but we always think of her as a spirit.
When I left the state, she followed me to the edge and then honked goodbye.
No one believed me, because she had no driver.
But I have never forgotten Claire.
Once there were rules on which we all agreed
Red meant stop; green meant go; as for yellow --
O.K., some thought it meant 'speed' ...
But now I'm not sure with what I see on the streets
Where on red they go ahead when no one's there
and on green, cars accelerate, go on a tear...
The screech of brakes to let an old-timer cross
turns my heart to tomato sauce
And the honking at pedestrians with smart phones
I shut my eyes and open them slowly
Are they yet walking? ~ or do they lie prone?...
O, for village life back in 1923
dirt roads with horses or donkeys
and the bank President's black Model T...
Captain Mars left the wheel to Sarge, first mate
I have to check the lower deck, he said.
If I am not back in twenty minutes, I won’t be back.
The mate was new, he had no idea what that meant
Their ship was being tossed about like a rubber ball
Angry storm had come up suddenly, and was unrelenting
What should I do? Sarge asked an old timer who was near.
“Pray; it is the only thing left,” the old timer said.
Sarge was gritting his teeth so hard, they hurt.
He gripped the wheel, and held on for the ride.
Expecting to not see his twenty-eighth birthday.
“Calm down son,” his grandfather’s voice whispered.
Suddenly calm, Sarge felt a teensy bit of hope.
“It is not as bad as I feared,” Captain Mars said.
He took over the helm, and Sarge returned to his bunk.
His first dream that night was of his days fishing with grandpa.
He was a writer, a fighter, an old-timer word rhymer
Always thought free verse was asinine
He was the queerest, the dearest, the tear in your beer-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line
He was archaic, prosaic, euphoric, historic
Made pentagrams optically divine
He was the cheekiest, geekiest, and uniquely freakiest
and he was one Tolkien over the line
He loved cigars and Star Wars, guitars, and sitars
Collages made his artistry torch shine
He was the jivest, high-fivest, young poet alive-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line
It's not much reward to those who are bored
but are afraid of not acting benign
Sometimes you gotta get riled, and go a bit wild
and step one Tolkien over the line
November 14, 2014
Leading his horse in the heat of the day
Been gone a long time but he still knows the way
Just a few shacks when he went for the gold
He’d found a few nuggets but now he’s too old
So, home to the town that he’s heard has expanded
He’s also aware that the town’s been rebranded
He knows he’s too late to catch up with the guy
Who’d bid him farewell but now lives in the sky
He stops on the trail by the boundary sign
He don’t read-n-write but he knows the design
He knows that the words on the board aren’t the same
Must’ve been changed to display the new name
“Howdy, Old timer,” a passerby said
“The hotel’s just yonder for resting your head.”
The prospector said, with a big toothless grin,
“What’s the new name of this town that we’re in?”
“It’s now ‘Milton Creek’, as it says on the sign
It’s new name remembers a good friend of mine.”
The old fella, grinning and shaking his head
Said, “Milt said he’d live on long after he’s dead.
“I used to tell him he was being absurd
but he always was just as good as his word.
To be sure that fella deserved the ovation
But can we just rename the towns in this nation?”
The passerby said, “There are them that makes rules
And then there’s the ones that behave like their mules
But sooner or later things get a bit rich
And the mules all rear up and scratch at that itch
“Soup Creek fell prey to the powers that scheme
With lynchings and lashings an ongoing theme.
There’s cells in the jailhouse where innocents dwell
Soup Creek’s reputation had heard its death knell.
“You see ‘Soup’ emerged as a four letter word,
And good folk would tremble when e’er ‘Soup’ was heard.
So we ditched the mouldy old cheese for best stilton
And renamed our town to remember our Milton.”
The prospector slapped on the passerby’s arm,
“You think I just ran from the old funny farm?
When you said ‘Stilton’ twas just for the rhyme.”
The passerby grinned, “Fella… got it first time.”
This looks like Blink’n Wink’n and Nod the old-timer said.
He was a lifelong reader, this guy we call Frankenstein Fred.
I thought it was Wink’n Blink’n and Sod, I said to rile him up.
He rolled his eyes at me and took a sip from his coffee cup.
He knew I was kidding, and that was okay because we are friends.
We are not into the fanciest expensive coffees with the crazy blends.
We are common people who remember faerie tales and radio.
Born in the fifties, we know how to not boast or show.
Blink’n Wink’n and Nod or Wink’n Blink’n and Sod, it matters not.
We have experience knowledge, much which cannot be taught.
We remember things like the Night Before Christmas, and other stuff.
And we gladly share it with young whippersnappers without any fuss.