Old Man Poems

Old Man

Old Man

Old man asleep on the floor, does he dream of all his years from before.  When in his youth he ran wild, digging and being the guardian of the farm where nothing dated go near?  Or perhaps of escaping to only go to the pound, were they knew him by name, because

Old Man

Old Man

Old man asleep on the floor, does he dream of all his years from before.  When in his youth he ran wild, digging and being the guardian of the farm where nothing dated go near?  Or perhaps of escaping to only go to the pound, were they knew him by name, because

the old man dawns

with callous laid hands
the old man toils garden soil
of this dry, hard land.
as his blood, sweat and tears drip,
he gladly gives all he can.

he has seen the dawn,
and he has seen the sun set,
now he sees it all
as meaning and metaphor,
of this living garden bed.

he realizes
that everything in the end
must wither and die.
and his years

Old man

out in the world
	as I wander
I watch women
	and wonder if

is she young enough
	to be my daughter
or a granddaughter
	or youngers still

how would it be
	to have a daughter
who looked like her
	oh how would it be

or a granddaughter
	how men talk
of their granddaughter’s
	but not me

out in the world
	as I watch women
and always wonder
	how it might be

Moonlit Cane Tango

Under a silver grin of moon, he shuffles past the tide, 
 His cane clicks like Morse code—C-A-N-E, not C-A-N-T—in stride. 
 Salt air tames his hair around the balding head, still stubbornly spry, 
 And in that tap-tap rhythm, a rogue star leaps in his eye. 

 
 Wave surf offers applause, gulls pretend

The Old Man

He walks the dark alley's, unforeseen roaming 
His life finds worthless circumstances to nature existence 
Belly rumbles hunger, need a dying sleepless thirst 
Once on a path to something before nothing 
Stricken from life the dignity must swallow 

He crumbles in streets, his pain felt deep 
What am I but a man of worldly demise

That Decrepit Old Man

In the dog days of summer, the kids discover a decrepit house and the old man (Rentaro Mikuni) who lives there alone.
— Zac Ntim, Deadline, 4 Feb. 2025 

He was an old decrepit man, was he not?
His clothes tattered; his trousers held by a knot.
Few rooms: a chair, a table and rotten cot.
He lived in

Old Man

Old Man

his weatherbeaten face, lined
with the hills and valleys of age
watery blue eyes set against a
backdrop of bloodshot white
his cheeks reddened from
sun and alcohol, his aquiline
nose has lost its nobility
his once full lips now just
scowling lines covering remnants
of jagged teeth
his stubble covered chin now
a dirty gray bristle
life has not been kind to him

there was a jolly old man from Dublin

there was a jolly old man from Dublin
drank way too much and home he went stublin`
a river he tried to cross 
only to slipped on the moss
now laughter never stops from the ducklin`

Untitled

the daylight lengthens
warm wet winds blow gently now
old man winter sleeps

Old Man Flynns Wind

There is nothing dainty about my wind
It lifts me out of my chair said old man Flynn
He rocks the house and the garage interjected his wife
I just let them rip, he agreed, thus, I have no strife.

Disgraceful Old Man

Old man is named for years gone by.  
In this era, health can receive support.  
The old man’s dull ears and eyes,  
And lost teeth can be rejuvenated. 

But an old man with feeble reasoning  
Confuses both allies and foes.  
Self-image as a historical king,  
Reviving territorial ambitions. 

Old Man Winter now flagging, and slip sliding along

Old Man Winter now flagging, and slip sliding along...

as his stronghold diminishes.

Signals, triggers, and ushers kickstarting debut
of demure "Flora" who slowly but surely attempts
to reveal her true colors in fits and starts,
nevertheless, she displays skittishness,
when sun kissed "Radiance"
(the closest equivalent would be Aglaea
from Greek mythology,
one of the Charites (Graces)
associated with radiant beauty and festive splendor)
dearly

Sockdologizing Old Man Trap

You sockdologizing old man-trap long decayed
where claws curl tight in dust and brittle bone
your lies are hyenas dancing in the flame
their jaws a rattle tearing flesh to stone
their laughter cracks the silence and the name
of truth that bleeds until the world has grown
as hollow as the bones they gnaw upon
each tooth a dagger that breaks

Old man and young

This is a familiar village, with a few homes,  
Smoke rises straight from the chimneys’ domes.  
Today the streets are desolate and bare,  
Houses decaying, no one to care.  

Did the children dream of a future bright,  
And move to the city, like I did, on a flight?  
Did

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