Old Personification Poems | Examples
These Old Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Old. These are the best examples of Personification Old poems written by international poets.
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the moon doesn’t sit still
like an old man.
it rises up and runs
across the sky, chasing
a sun it will never catch.
Night wraps me softly in her arms,
Whispering secrets, weaving charms.
She cradles echoes in my chest,
A quiet breath, a gentle rest.
Her cloak conceals my hidden scars,
Each one a story traced by stars.
She treads with footsteps calm and slow,
Through empty halls where shadows grow.
By day, she hides behind the sun,
But when the world is overrun,
She dons my borrowed, fragile face,
And offers me her silent grace.
Night knows the thorns beneath the rose,
The slipping joy no one else knows.
She listens close to muted pleas,
Embracing pain with quiet ease.
She gleams with memories deep and old,
And holds the dreams I dare not hold.
In her hush, my voice is slight—
A whispered prayer in endless night.
No bitterness within her reign,
Just soft release from aching pain.
She guards my tether, faint but bright—
My faithful friend in darkest night.
Dear Glory
In America, today has been declared ' Flag Day'.
I join in this declaration to honor and salute you.
Some in my generation have at times burned you.
I am deeply grieved by such displays of disrespect.
Old Glory, please be informed that on this day, June 14,
2025, there are several flags placed on my property.
Certainly, in America as in every country, there are
people of many stripes. Indeed, there are the good,
the bad, and the ugly. In my mind, you represent
a nation of 'good people'. I will not allow the negatives
to blind me of the myride of positivities in America.
Old Glory, when I pause and gaze upon you, I do not
see red states and blue states. Although my eyes
are often clouded by storms of divisiveness, I still
see within the eye of our storms "One Nation, Under
God, Indivisible, With Liberty And Justice For All".
So Glory, again I honor and salute you for all the
good that you represent. Blessings continually.
Sincerely, Sitruc.
Every word is a choice
The notebook page is hungry
She needs verbs
Her blank page excites me
Verbs are my favorites too
I give her a teaspoonful of jumping, dancing, and twirling
She gulps that down with gusto
Gives me a nod
I feed her a tablespoon of whirling, skipping and hopping
Followed by a cup of adjectives
I like her to have a balanced diet
Exciting, thrilling, beautiful, marvelous, entertaining
More adjectives? Black, salty, red, inky, personable
Where are my nouns? The page asks.
I ponder. Dragon? Unicorn? Witch? Pillow case?
She laughs
Pillowcase it is.
I take out my pen.
A ninety-two year-old whirling twirling pillowcase was having
An exciting, marvelous, beautiful entertaining visit, wowing
The other women in the next church pew.
A stretched gloaming tethers creation in a
daystar's wake ... askew parts The Old Guitarist
ebbing lambent stars strung to a yarn of spring ...
'Tis the volley of calendrical crasis
poised to a youthful Einstein that subtracts from
the sum and substance whence summer makes a splash ...
The advent of an enchanting star dulls a
chant that the Khanate only stains upon its
Golden Horde smolders beneath befriending clouds ...
A whiff that slights Aurelius' bearings yet
still trifles a chalk absence to the presence
of cheese that embellishes the languid tracing ...
The shallow space of bards decreed a crowning
flock of teary favoring san tissues of
lissome verdancy choral ode vibrant charms ...
Worshipped effervescent microscopic dew
bringing into being just one bell prayers
bearing fruits of promise in globule water ...
Petrichor emanates to a hoverance
wisp claim as wandering brevity stands still
amidst a sonder of souls ventured threshold ...
Gold beams glimpsed a bevy coup of a vast crest
as the dripping stalled in evaporating
stares chase a clinked rainbow flaunts with ... creation.
I am a garden pansy, a descendent of the family Viola,
poet's write praises of me not just these days;
but in the days of Spencer and Shakespeare, I am that old,
I am a small flower but a garden survivor.
You planted me in early Spring in the partial sun,
I love the sun and soon showed my purple face;
I am a cheerful upturned bright and happy garden flower,
symbolizing thinking and thoughts for you.
In the summer months butterflies caress my petals,
and bees steal my nectar but I have tons;
I love watching the birds fluttering about the garden,
oh, chipmunks bite 'cause I am edible !
Oh inspiration, leave me not
On wings departed for the sun
For you and I are were such good friends
When we were standing, still as one
If not for you, the turquoise skies
Would hover just a simple blue
And flowers would of course, still be
Yet not of such a fragrant hue
The faded lines of tedium
Become brand-new when you’re around
But oh, the doldrums dominate
When you no longer can be found
Oh inspiration, be my muse
Awaken you old sleepy head
With crayon candied thoughts to flow
And winsome words to weave and thread
From cooing babe to the seasoned tongue,
I've tasted life, a vibrant song.
Sweetness on fire, bitter sting,
Each flavour etched, a fleeting spring.
A dancer dark, a muscle's art,
I weave a map within the heart.
Spicy heat and creamy bliss,
On this canvas, senses kiss.
But taste alone cannot convey,
The depths of meaning, day by day.
Words take flight, on feathered wings,
From poets' verse to everyday things.
A bridge of language, cultures meet,
In whispered secrets, voices sweet.
Misunderstood, I twist and turn,
A double-edged sword, lessons learned.
A silent plea, a lover's touch,
A playful tease, a mother's clutch.
Emotions bold, in stories, told,
I speak the heart, both young and old.
A fiery cry, a whisper-soft,
The tongue's true power rises aloft.
In silence, too, I find my space,
Where thoughts and feelings interlace.
So let me dance, this tireless tongue,
In the symphony of meaning, ever sung.
A taste, a touch, a word, a song,
The tongue's true power is forever strong.
They shoot me up into the sky
I hear the crowd
The young one’s voices screaming with delight
uncomfortable laughter of the old ones
They know how dangerous I am
Not yet! I tell myself. Hold on. Not yet!
POP!
I fizzle down into gorgeous lights
I never know my colors until the pop
I am showering bits of glitzy prettiness into the sky
My pieces sparkle and crackle
I fan out like a fountain
The oohing and ahhing of the crowd excites me
Makes me want to do it again
Alas, I only had one pop
I fizzle to the earth,
satisfied,
now
glad
to
die
When sun sets and the deepening shadows creep
When most birds go to roost under the canopy of the woods
It is then I start my nocturnal odyssey,
Flying through still air on pinions, foraging food.
I have a heart shaped face with eerie round eyes,
Positioned like two peridots fixed on a concave disc.
My claws are as sharp as razor knives.
With gyrating moves and cavorting glides
With eyes fixated, searching and observing,
With a swish and a swoop, I subdue my prey.
I love the golden sunset but hate the blushing morn.
My weird hoots rupture the stillness of the night.
Send chills down the spine of the young and the old,
Many see me as a bird of ill omen,
A harbinger of death and bad luck,
But some say, ‘there’s nothing foul about the owl’.
I am the common barn swallow. How popular am I.
Just like you, I can do a lot when I’m in the air.
I eat, drink, mate and even sleep while I fly!
My mate and I mate for life; we do things as a pair.
The males sing to us females and sometimes we sing back,
I chose my mate for his long tail; that’s the better catch.
A protective instinct our males surely do not lack.
My guy goes crazy if you get too close to eggs I hatch!
My husband finds the place for us to make our nest.
Not just in barns. On structures made by people we like too.
Please don’t perturb our nests. Old ones we like best,
for then a lot of time for building we don’t have to do.
I am sure a pretty bird. The upper part of me
is shiny blue; my belly’s orange,and forked is my tail.
Don’t touch our nests; I’ll dive bomb you. I love my life so free
careening, swooping, sweeping the sky as if on wind I sail.
Fishing Holiday
A kingfisher sitting on the old harbour wall
Listening to the geese from the mud flats call
I'm here for some sea fishing until after the thaw
Braced against the north wind so cold and raw
No Kamikaze diving into a frozen pond
The quickest route through to a life beyond
I need to cut a hole to fish with rod and line
To catch minnows like an Eskimo for my tea time
A sound of crunching from the lake what can it be
I fly over the marsh to take a look and see
Two swans are on the salt lagoon a winter wonderland
I watch from the sluice gate where the water is damned
The leaders pushing through the thick sea ice
Slowly inching forward, heroic self-sacrifice
Jet propulsion is required, web feet redesigned
Whilst tail end Charlie swims serenely behind
The Buntings skating through the reeds ask me to stay
But I've frost bitten feathers and don't want to play
The brochure promised beaches and sunshine every day
I am flying further south for my next Seaside holiday
Keyhaven Marshes, 17th January 2023
Tigers are the biggest cat in the wild
They love to pounce on their prey.
They lunge at animals' necks.
With their powerful jaws they hold on tight.
They pounce on and attack
Deer, wild boar and baby elephants.
When ill or injured, they will kill people
They can't catch their normal prey.
Tigers are known to hunt from dusk until dawn
When their prey are more active.
Their strong legs and sharp claws
Help them take down their prey efficiently.
Their keen sense of hearing and sight
Allow them to attack with precision.
Their unique coat patterns allow them
To get close to prey without being detected.
Wild, old dog singing everyday
It does not have a holiday
Singing songs about other's glow
Like, it does not have gleam to show
It sings on dark and stormy night
It always sings when day is bright
It sings to halt how others shine
It's drowsed on other's own fine wine
It chatters like an old, old goat
Instead of rowing its own boat
Feels bad when pushy dogs succeed
Just like envy is its own feed
But comes a one dog with wild dream
It does not care about the scream
It only cares about its catch
That one day, its hard works will hatch
I lurk around for prey.
Young or old, morose or gay
Seeking you is all too easy.
Cold blooded diehards that are sleazy
I’m the bogeyman a wild animal
Some of you call me Manimal
I’m a freak of nature half man,
wait for it, half animal I am
The stench of your sadistic words I smell
Yes’um, I’ll make sure you go to poetic justice hell
You sold your soul, I’m the price you’ll pay,
Did you think that you could just get away?
I’m right here forever more, savant.
I’m your bogeyman, do what you want!