Long Retirees Poems
Long Retirees Poems. Below are the most popular long Retirees by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retirees poems by poem length and keyword.
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 teams answer questions
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.
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
The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.
A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.
Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.
The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies
Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.
In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….
those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”
And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.
The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously,
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.
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.
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
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.
*
When will you retire?
How many more years?
What are you waiting for?
They sing it like a song, and it is hilarious to me!
Who is saying it?
Bored retirees.
Do they want me to entertain them?
I am just getting started, folks. Every day, is a new day for me.
I am an artist, a poet, a cartoonist, and other things.
Things I do not realize yet, because I have not done it all yet.
But I am doing it all one day at a time.
Retire? Are they crazy?
I am just getting started. Reinventing myself,
Revamping my job, and replenishing others
Every single day. Life is great!
Written 9-14-2019
Poetry Contest: I'm Just Getting Started
Sponsor: John Hamilton
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
The moving truck is there,
will they be going soon?
They truck is loading everything,
I watch them as they do.
The moving truck is there,
it’s got a seasoned crew,
the truck is loading everything,
to take them some place new.
They’ve loaded the big couch,
they’ve stacked up all the chairs,
even packed up the bicycles
they could have ridden there.
The moving truck is gone,
the street is clear again,
the cable-guys came by after
to disconnect the mains.
The moving truck is gone,
that house is now empty,
we don’t know who will come after,
I guess we’ll have to see.
They could be young parents,
or be retirees,
as long as they’re not party types
it’s all the same to me.