Old Poems | Examples of Old Poetry

we are all drones on the freeway today hardly any excitement this side of the bay then two crazy racing drivers head our way They whip past me, one yellow, one gray Youngsters I think rolling my hazel eyes Unsure actually, their windshields dark as spies But they drive like maniacs, like I did at twenty-three When did I turn into old...

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I read through my old poems And my heartbreak is just words I can’t even remember what I felt for you Or why i was so desperate to hold on to something that didn’t even exist I spent years pining Overanalyzing your every movement Thinking that maybe next time you’d say something. You never did, yet i still held on to...

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A broken gate in the cemetery holds many memories. By Poet Walk through my gate at night, only with a full moon very bright. The hanging "Gossamer" from the trees is an eerie sight, I do not know if I like this invite. This "Ghostly" night may bring some fright, but in the end we will be alright. Look over there at...

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In a sweet silence, I sit beside the elderly who have known time as an old friend, And I feel how their presence is like an open window to memories carefully wrapped, Their words flow slowly, like a river winding through the stones of a life lived, Their eyes wander between sky and earth, searching in worlds only...

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There's a lot to be said for silence but you won't hear it from me I'm satisfied tongue-tied as the less said the more I see and even if the point is moot 'tis a wise owl who don't give a hoot YY UR YY UB IC UR YY 4 ME (Too wise you are too...

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Like old paint, the discarded heart chips away where it lay in a hollow chest not unlike my own breast. In its prime, untainted by sin and made of sheepskin, its candy apple hue captivated everyone—especially the likes of you. However, who now could admire a color so mottled by misuse and so drastically duller? Verily, no unclouded eye could find merit in such a sorry trinket....

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I'm really much too young to get old Something's drastically out of whack I'm still this handsome, charismatic stud Why's my body giving me flack? A strange bump just formed on my neck Don't think it was there yesterday My hair seems a bit thinner and greyer But I'm still young in all other ways My body is falling apart, bit by bit Takes...

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after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost This bridge meant something in some war, some yarn of man and God and law: but I think more of her and me: what were those others fighting for? There’s so much here to feel and see, and yet it’s rubbernecker-free! I love to watch the fishes jump: they sense the serendipity! Lads...

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after "Do not go gentle into that good night", by Dylan Thomas Age can not scour away the furrowed gnarls time obeyed, Nor mask the snarls, gouged as trenches on brows. Grace knurls the grip that time has long betrayed, To swage wrath and fury to a form that age endows. Grace reveres the knurled design that time has hewn, Not...

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no blink, no bluff— just rust-bitten bikes on a gravel road, grip slipping, brakes optional. we called it honing our craft, we didn’t dodge. we needed the crash— proof we meant it, authentication we weren’t just trading truths for dopamine and DMs. some bicycles are built to survive impact. mine wasn’t one of them....

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Contest Sponsor: Nette Onclaud "VISIONS OF A VIGNETTE 2"* 6/21/2025 Sailboat Under the white seagulls, yacht's passing wing off the sky, off deep end — sea moves me lagging these feet in water...

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A HONKY TONK WOMAN named ANGIE heads out to our bar every night. And those WILD HORSES with hombres show up to get drunk or to fight. Bar's sign, “RUBY TUESDAY” is red; behind, though, they did PAINT IT BLACK. Some sit down to start TUMBLIN DICE; ROLLING STONES stop by for cognac. Now, Angie and I hit it off;...

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I am from the old generation I don't listen to rap Because rap is not My kind of music The new generation loves rap When the new generation Is in public They put the rap music on That is in their cellular Phone And they don't put their Head phones on So they are the only ones Listening to it The people have to tell them To wear their had...

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It is a dreary day and my feet don’t work I sit alone feeling like a kind of jerk when young I could have run circles around them Now I sit on a bench with an old guy named Jim the energy I used to have is a mystery, long gone saying old age is great is a strange saying,...

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It seems that I am getting old and grey, my body's also slowing down its pace. But, I've still much to do, and much to say. It seems to me that life is like a race, It starts off fast with youth upon your side. You swiftly run and barely leave a trace. It seems each day is like a rolling...

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