Long Retirement Poems
Long Retirement Poems. Below are the most popular long Retirement by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retirement poems by poem length and keyword.
How fast the years did clip and leap away,
till your Earth orbitz count ninety decades
+ uno journeys orbited around mister sun
encompassing metaphorical magnum opus
figuratively paginated bound compendium,
whereby chronology Boyce Brandon Harris
also known as papa san 'pon being drafted
his six foot 2 inch tiptop chiseled physique
(musculoskeletal frame shrunk) dada fought
the good fight one among many raw recruits
stationed south 38th parallel serving admins
Harry Truman, & Dwight David Eisenhower
bolstering strongman Syngman Rhee against
Kim Il-sung during 6/25, 1950 – 7/27, 1953
war (actually stalemate) whereby former and
latter controlled South and North Korean as
separate countries - father (soldier of fortune
(he art not yet in heaven, whatever Unitarian
equivalent would be) hoping to live at least
until Tuesday, November 3, 2020 to vote for
fightin Joe Biden, meanwhile Zayda to his 5
grandkids keeps low profile at Normandy
Farm Estates upscale retirement community
whose delicate health (i.e. congestive heart
failure) could (does) pose hardship visa vis
his immune system susceptible to microbes
(particularly strains) virile which could spell
death of beloved nonagenarian, whose dim
eyes sees approaching exit (stage door left)
out webbed wide world of living survivors.
Mayor presence be regaled as presents
courtesy second rate poetaster
born (only heir - hiss supple) while ye still
tread, albeit ably helped along with cane.
H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y
My job, my TV watching, my word games, all get in the way of writing poetry.
I am laughing now. For it is a pure lie.
I can write poetry in between all of that, and do.
My children take no effort now, and they keep my grandchildren away from me
Years at a time. “Mom, we were there last weekend!”
Really? I do not remember this.
My life is pretty full, and I keep thinking maybe
I will get to an age where I will retire.
But I am not there yet.
When people ask me “When are YOU going to retire?” I have no answer.
I like my job; it suits me. It is fun every day. Snow days irritate me.
The summer is great for a week.
Then I want to dive back into my job and play with the children who can play with me. Every day.
So I guess I have a pretty full life.
And I am not counting my art studio which is full to the gills
With paints, glitter, glue, scissors, paper, watercolors,
and a plethora of other wonderful stuff.
I am a professional player,
and until I get over this or break both my arms and my legs and my
Head falls off and rolls into a gully, and I have to stop talking, I do not plan to retire.
So there….
Violet violent voice
As if you have no choice
You choose to be mean and demeaning
Then don’t understand
Heavy hands that wave screaming
Your cancerous mouth shouts
Cursing screaming and loud
As if you have a lift to be
Better than a higher power cloud
You can not be loving
And hurtful at the same time
You are not helping with words unkind
Truth can be spoken without razor words
Cutting the white wings of black bird
Verbal abuse is harder to prove
For gaslighting fighting is so rude
One day you will be old and gray
With only your words to light your day
Don’t be that old one who is alone
With wicked words black and strong
Like cold old coffee in a cup chrome
No love for bullies in the retirement home
Senior Production Manager
(Retired at Fifty-six)
Miracle Man
7/14/2023
I never settled for being just equal to the rest,
for that would have made me average at best.
I always went the extra mile and didn’t stop,
and I, like cream, suddenly rose to the top.
I always did more for what I earned as pay,
so those who watched promoted me one day.
Then with regularity promotions kept coming,
I was doing well, and things were humming.
After thirty two years stress took it’s licks,
so I chose to retire at the ripe age of fifty-six.
My Grandfather once said,
“I’ve never heard of anyone dying from hard work”
My key was working smarter. My entire life my goal was to be retired at fifty-five. I retired two months past my birthday.
Tom
Retirement, helping with physically challenged
Thinking it through or just ignore it.
Chance provides an opportunity
Such a sad place, lack of unity
Challenges waited patiently.
Physical challenged Adults, needing understanding
Relaxed environment, hearts are aching.
Adults challenged with daily life
Left on their own, sadness was their companion
What is their challenge?
Elderly living environment, has done its damage
How will they manage?
Such harsh words are spoken
Handicapped description, quite broken.
Communication has its problems
Knowing when to show emotion
Personalities begging for release
Busy, so busy doing their piece,
Another interest surfaces occasionally.
Horticulture such a long word
Delighted when shown this World,
Watching plants grow, a newfound interest
Hours spent talking of them
Frequent visits to show botanical gardens.
Watch their actions, always smiling
They have found the meaning of Spring
Interacting with other people
Shocked at first, time given freely
All good things come to an end.
Why? a question with too many answers
Moved away to supposed happier surroundings
Will miss them all and their questions
Task before her, will never challenge
No goodbye hugs, just a wave.
Too much emotion for some to handle
Stayed in their rooms, sobbing quietly
Would do it all again, challenge will be answered
Thinking of her life’s retirement plans
Thoughts clouding her answers
Difficulty linking life’s jigsaw puzzle pieces
Sitting at a desk, shuffling paper
Staring through windows at all that surrounds her
A silent prayer, a broken voice
Please provide with an answer.
She’d been depressed at seeing how her parents had aged in just a couple of years. She hadn’t really contemplated time much before, it had seemed an endless resource.
Seeing her lying listlessly in bed, he asked “Are you ok?”
“I’m getting old,” she admitted, closing her eyes to conserve energy.
“You’re turning 20,” he stated dryly, somewhere in the darkness.
“Still,” she said, “You should know that I’ll start wrinkling, any day now, like a deflating balloon.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” He said. She opened her eyes and looked at him soberly.
“You’re almost 27, are you getting crow's feet?” He flinched away from her outstretching hand.
“No,” He responded confidently, but he checked his reflection in her dorm room mirror.
“Soon, your libido will flag,” she informed him solemnly, taking his hand for comfort.
He slipped off the bed and gently closed the bedroom door with a casual swipe of his hand.
“You should start eating fiber,” she gasped, “and retirement planning!”
“I’ve got a few good months left..” he said, as he came back to the bed and started unbuttoning the top of her yellow dress, “I might need someone, in the medical field, to keep an eye on me.”
“I could do that,” she smiled, as his button work progressed, “I do need more clinical hours.”
You cuddled close, two kittens small,
Your newborn bond was clear to see,
You made us realise not one but all,
You two had claimed our hearts we agree.
Diamond you where shy and wary,
Peeking from behind a crate,
Your gaze portrayed that we were scary,
So still, you sat, resigned to wait.
Pearl, in your white and silver coat so bright,
You moved with grace and eager trust,
You circled near with pure delight,
As though you were waiting for us just.
We stepped outside to think it through,
Yet looking back we saw you there,
Two trembling forms, and then we knew:
No force on earth could split the pair.
So home you came, both bold and shy,
A study formed in contrast fair,
Pearl you meet each new passerby,
While Diamond you watch behind a chair.
You unite when midday tuna is near,
Calling out incessantly as one,
Brushing time brings equal cheer,
A nightly joy for everyone.
Indoors in gentle state you reign,
Soft sovereigns our control insures,
Your rule is complete in this domain,
You have taken this place and made it yours.
By day you claim the chairs as we leave,
By night, our bed is half your own,
No protest do you ever receive,
Your royal rights are well known.
This could have been such a cold place,
With all our children leaving us alone,
For love has filled each quiet space,
Pearl and Diamond you have claimed your throne.
I MISS
I miss the hurly burly of the business world
All that backstabbing and the political tricks
And all the ignorance that always surprised
As blustering and hesitation, often disguised
They were easy ways to wriggle out of a fix
As all around them, incompetence swirled
A capacity to listen, one might have thought
Being so pointless going through the motions
Regret for all those disregarded opportunities
Chinese walls between the social communities
Not just rivulets of division, more like oceans
Blind to innovation, just sticking to the report
There were probably just a few days of bliss
The moments when I got the world to rhyme
All around me was a curtain of mere timidity
After years of trying to change such stupidity
Retirement finally arrived in the nick of time
Sorry, I lied, as there is nothing that I’ll miss
I'm my day the Army
Was very frugal with our kit.
Whenever possible if seemed
They recycled every bit.
My Greatcoat had certainly
Been around for a while;
It was of a different cloth
And of a different style.
With it back at the Billet
I just couldn't wait
To check the label for
The manufacturers date.
It read nineteen fourteen,
From the Great War.
I wondered how many
Had worn it before.
Had it seen combat,
Endured the trenches' hell;
If there'd been any bullet holes
They'd been repaired well.
Hanging from my spare frame
I looked rather rum,
And, being for those days tall
Stood out like a sore thumb.
It fitted where it touched
And it was far too big
Bringing down the wrath
Of many a drill pig,
In truth it looked like
I'd been graciously lent
A quite unique version of
My own one man tent.
I carried it with me
Until my demob day
When the QM staff
Carefully folded it away.
In truth I thought
As I left it there
It looked good enough for
Many more years wear.
At nearly fifty years old I wondered
How many others would have it on
Before it reached its retirement
And was finally gone.
I hoped the next owners,
For I was sure there'd be more,
Realised with respect it was
A piece of history that they wore.
Have you ever noticed, how things come in parts,
distribution, to the lonely hearts.
Our lives, lived by the pieces we contain,
as thoughts pour in faster, than our bleeding brains.
Here’s a part, there’s a part, gather them up you see,
trying to fit them together, to make you and me.
Parts and pieces, scattered like the sands,
we gather what will fit in our hands.
We hope we have what it takes, to make it through our day,
and yet we lose pieces of us along our very way.
Who could know, who can tell, just what parts are you,
is it not written, in those thing’s we do.
what’s your part, what’s my part, aren’t they all the same,
the only part of difference we have, is written in our name.
If we put our parts together, what you suppose we would make,
would we have all the parts that it would take.
No things only come in parts, for us to sort out,
in these words, I leave no room for doubt.
As we build each day, with the parts we have, you see,
waiting for the next parts to finish you and me.
When our part is over, we become complete,
no more in this life, do we have to compete.