Life Old Poems | Examples

These Life Old poems are examples of Old poems about Life. These are the best examples of Old Life poems written by international poets.


Premium Member What Matters - Five Perspectives On Different Ages

When I was only five. My dolls were the big thing, we would sit and sing. Then my tricycle I learned to drive. At fifteen I was dating. Boys were sure fickle, some of their words were like a pickle. We loved to go roller skating. Now thirty is life half over? Today is a new day, no more hair of gray. Maybe I need a new makeover. At fifty should I retire? Many days are way too long, is life a game of ping-pong? Some days I feel like I want to expire. I never thought I would reach seventy. Here I am, drinking hot tea and eating strawberry jam. Seventy is fun and not my enemy.


Premium MemberMoney-Wise Old Owl


          He stays up all night, sleeps all day
                    lives life the wise old owl’s way

           Graveyard shift ~
                    nets him 15% more pay

Premium MemberOnly Time Will Tell

Thinking back, so long ago 
Remembering things, I've done
Always had a place to go 

I would walk a country mile 
When I was young, it was fun 
Now, it would take me awhile 

These old legs can't walk no more 
I used to walk with my son 
In the park or to the store

That was when he lived with me
He moved- that son-of-a-gun 
Alone, I feel so lonely 

Yet, I'm old, and still alive 
I made it to ninety-one 
Hmm... how long will I survive 

Will I live another day? 
No regrets the life I've spun 
Only time will tell, they say
age

Premium MemberXVII Hush Little Baby, Back to Sleep

We fought with monsters and became monsters fighting the insane acting out in strange displays dancing nonsense in a cave imprisoned by a thousand lies we designed to contain a willful child, and with hammer blows and the whips we made ourselves better slaves then the slaves who came before with fevered dreams drunken prose spoken lost and broken noses, broken skulls, broken bones tore through flesh, the fear, the fear, I miss my friends, those younger days, it seemed to me we would never grow old, tired. VIXI.

Poem 17 Note. . . vixi liber et moriar: "I have lived free and I will die free"

Premium MemberThe old sailor's story

You walk the way the wind blows

Or so the story goes.

You rode the waves of blue,

And lived a life with no clue

You blow smoke of tar

And drive a beat up car

You live in built-up walls,

Where twilight slowly crawls.

A fortress made of stone,

To keep yourself unknown.

You traded wind and sky,

To watch the world go by.

But rain taps on the window pane,

To remind you of the pain.

And the wind still knows your name,

Before you quit the game.

You throw the portal wide,

And cast the ghost aside.

Out where the blacktop gleams,

You wake up from your dreams.

You head across the bay,

To find a better way.

You turn toward the east,

The captive soul released.

The engine starts to roar—

You walk the way no more.


Premium MemberAging Out

I don't want to lose my memory
that's where all my friends are

Premium MemberThe Practice of Retirement

When I was younger I practiced meditation
Like clockwork, sitting twice a day
And sometimes all day.
Now that I’m older
Fatter, wiser, more stiff and tired
I still practice
But in the form of watering gardens 
Feeding dogs and mowing lawns.
I’ve got these routines down
So they are mostly mindless
Which is of course the goal
Of all mindful meditation.
What are my experiences of accomplishment
You may ask;
A vision of rainbow-body flower blossoms 
Amid a thousand shades of green,
A heavenly chorus of bird song,
A soft caress of Sunlight on bare skin,
And, not least, the joy of a pack of dogs
Fed on time, every time.
These are the simply joys of retirement,
The joys of a life slowed down
Enough to smell
And sometimes even eat
The roses.

(6/3/26)

Premium MemberOld Maiden

I’m an old maiden I must confess this
Quite happy to evade domestic bliss

I only have to do laundry for one 
And had one kid one and done

Never have to check in with a hubby
Don’t fake it if not feeling lovey dovey

I have a mirror so I don’t need that
Pat on the rear when I ask if I’m fat

Never have to worry if he loves me
Not in a huge hurry for matrimony 

I’ve more years behind than ahead
Grateful for time as we all will be dead

I’m a bit selfish that I don’t require 
Ring and shellfish with wine by fire

I’m an old maiden and I must confess
I’m content in my life I’m truly blessed

Premium MemberI WANT TO GROW OLD WITH YOU

On the day we met 
Our hearts fell 
In love with each other
And that has never changed
I want to grow old with you

You became my heart and soul
And I became yours 
We fought, we denied, we cried
But nothing changed how we felt
I want to grow old with you

Over the years, 
Life has past
Children were born,
We’ve drifted apart
Then found each other again
I want to grow old with you

As silver covers our head
Eyes may become cloudy and blurry
Hearing may not be as sharp
Our bodies may not be the same
Our love has never faltered 
I want to grow old with you


Original poem by 
Linda L Franklin
05/16/2026

Premium MemberTom

cautiously treads ground
anxious over his ninth life
tastes the air with pause

Premium MemberOld Age



clear wrinkles of time 
         stories etched on feeble hands~
                 life's soft, silent chime

grey hair slowly fall
       a journey hard, well- travelled~
               canvas on the wall

distant laughter gleams
        echoes of a vibrant past~
                memoirs flow like streams

Sunlight dulls the eyes
        wisdom surfs in the brain~
                gazing at the sky

 breath is slow and rough
         strings of pains begin to sting~
                the journey's end is tough.

Premium MemberOld Shoebox

"The treasures of life are often found right where you least expect them." ~Anon.
No more room in the junk drawer, I use an old shoebox instead~ Gidgets and gadgets galore, Buttons and beads and bandages Are a simple life’s overflow~ A dried flower posey, And Grandmother’s fragrant sachet are my treasures not trash!

Premium MemberGetting Too Old

The More Digestible Anything
Becomes, The More That Thing
Resembles What's Been
Already Digested.

-Gray Squirrel

04-21-2026

Premium MemberTide in the Voyage of Life


The ebb and flow, a ceaseless art,
That shapes our voyage, plays its part,
We catch the surge, a fleeting gleam,
Or drift along a silent dream,
Providence grand, beyond our hold,
A story age old, to unfold.

Premium Member-broken- city streets

the wretched burnt-orange sun
beats down on my broken car
as she thumps mindlessly through potholes
with windows down
we gaze at clowns
and the derelicts
and the dirty tricks
as they crawl
across the pavement

the lively beauties walk
amongst jackasses and Gemini's
confused hooligans steal
from random pedestrians
to feed addictions
fulfilling a need, though
they mean you no harm, indeed
despite their transgressions

we're all devoured
by our own deceptions
© Ben Walker  Create an image from this poem.

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