Old Poems | Examples of Old Poetry

pepperishly lively she brought the party activity director better than Vitamin B Grumpy ones pretended not to like her But the light in their eyes unveiled their truth And they were the eager ones Watching the doorway on Tuesdays at two o’clock...

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Putting my best foot forward shoulder to the wheel nose to the grindstone my Achilles heel while sticking my neck out I soon found as with my eye on the ball ear to the ground when I put my back into it not with tongue in cheek but to keep my chin up heard joints creak the onset of old age memory loss an early taste for in the end...

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You are getting on, old fruit Too obese to wear your new suit Your face resembles a wrinkled prune Old age is showing on you too soon, What has happened to your lustrous hair Your scalp is shiny and noticeably bare Your jowls are hanging lower than your chin My word, I cannot believe what a state you're in Shoulders that were broad...

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Now and then, quietly without notice, Time adjusts its spectacles— Peers through a fogged pane of recall Where particulars, once urgent, dissolve. If now and then you find rain in your heart, be assured it is scheduled— a punctual drizzle of consequence, not passion, but the persistence of memory in its bureaucratic overcoat. It’s all because of you, the file states plainly: signed in duplicate, sealed...

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It Never Gets Old We do; It doesn't. The caring that fills the deep dark The warmth that flows From self to self The deep, dear chains of love Forged from a lifetime's memories; It never gets old. The march of our little history Revolving with the cogs of other histories Themselves moving other, ever greater histories Never gets old. From endings emanate new beginnings Change is constant, Yet...

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An apple a day keeps the doctor away is an old slogan still believed to this day. But surely a blunder, at the least a mistake given a bite of apple the first woman ate and plunged a promised paradise to doom turning a garden into an emergency room. ...

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There is something so sad about fireworks. They're so flashy, pretty, and exciting, but as they fade it makes you feel sort of lonely. Afterall, they're nothing more than a semi-permanent spark intended to entertain for a semi-permanent moment. The people that come into our lives are a lot like the fireworks: flashy, pretty, exciting. Then we...

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Isn’t it odd? All of the little things that remain in our little brains? One day, you’ll be walking down the street, just minding your own business, when suddenly you’ll stop. A sight, A sound, A scent, A memory, Something you have never seen, heard, smelt, or even experienced before will catch your incomplete attention so completely. And send you to the most magical of places. Something from your childhood, Something from the small town you drove through last autumn. Something...

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He shows his colors no brain, no hair just the disease of old fashioned hate the KKK his organism a tattoo that now only says k shrunk stutter ...

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her motives disguised she bamboozled the old guy counting his money...

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In an old book, with torn pages, my soul navigates through labyrinths of dreams, seeking the hidden story in the silence between the lines, where words were never written, I try to fill the gaps with the silence of stars dancing on the sky of oblivion, believing I understand the story that flows like an unseen river through...

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It's not at all easy to come to term with this 'new' old version of me. I'm dealing with a sadly sagging anatomy where what-used-to-be is now not-quite-so-firm. I'm dumbstruck by the person in the mirror. I have to have 'the' chat again and again to scatter the chatter from my brain and help me focus to see things clearer. At least I'm...

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Every morning I open my soul like an old book, where verses stretch wings of light over sleeping dreams, poetry is a spell that turns my thoughts into golden butterflies, dancing through air laden with mysteries and hidden desires. I feel words flowing through my veins like a river of stars, illuminating the forgotten realms of my heart in secret, and...

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Who am I I sometimes wonder Yesterday I was young Today I am old In May I was a social butterfly Come July I crave solitude One year I am smart The next my thinking is muddled What happened to me From one moment to the next Did my brain suddenly die Has my body given up Where did I go Am I two people Or one? I still catch...

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silent oak tree sentinel guards my yard I call him Old Mister he drops acorns that try to grow new oak trees they land in a cinder piles, planting themselves In a few weeks tiny oak leaves form. If you gently pull them out of the cinders You will see a tiny oak tree growing out of an acorn. I pulled twenty...

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