Short Aged Poems
Short Aged Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Aged by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Aged by length and keyword.
Breezes, sunshine and kisses
feel as ever on my skin;
in that way,
I have not aged at all
bumps and blips appear at night
on my neck, a gruesome sight
before I was aged seventy-three
this horrible stuff didn’t happen to me
In life,
everything becomes aged,
pets, flies, people, vegetal
and things...
the life is that, follows
gradual
and indefinitely... !
Durin' the time I was passing my urine
My faeces were falling to pieces
Submitted to Juvenilia Contest
13th March 2015
Their fists were of furious intent,
But backs were too aged and bent.
It wasn't the seizing,
But rather the wheezing,
That both to the hospital sent.
Let me play the strains
Of those cadenced memories
And lost orchestrated dreams.
Strains that ebb and flow
From my blue rustic aged
Viola of loneliness.
Copyright: 1992016
The stooped gait
the squinting eye
A curmudgeon sure
personified...
Yet when from parted lips
his timeless treasures poured
The very Founts of Wisdom
yearned for even more
The silence of the morning work bells
contrasts the roar of modified Black Marias
to the old and infirm perilously weakened by the virus
it was the sound
of the start
of the beginning
of the end.
Aged men often think that their vision
will survive them with utmost precision.
So they foist on the young
obsolete moral dung
which the young then subject to excision.
Figures
drawn by the sun,
golden rays
on the banks of the pioneer lagoon...
the tiresome round running
serving as a sight to the sky...
accentuated geometry in
dizzying obsession
naturalness
and artificiality
in the aged city...
I am old and unfulfilled
I sit upon a lonely hill.
When I was young
And had the time
I could not rhyme
For one thin dime.
But now I'm old
And time is short
And I could do with
Some support.
Or at least some understanding.
An miserable old crone lived down the way
Invited young men into her house to play,
I can't imagine it, really,
It seems to me perfectly silly
She wouldn’t give us old men the time of day.
written September 25, 2021
The aged tooth fairy was too long in the tooth to do any good.
We tried to let her know as delicately and kindly as we could.
She brushed off our concerns, ignoring us, the determined hag.
Probably because she wanted to go out on the job in a fairy body bag.
bees frozen
as fossils not
caught in stone
but in petrified
tree stump
combs
trapped bringing
back the treats
that treat their
queen like
the queen
she is
but no matter the age
even ancient sweets
can be eaten
would you
care for a cup of
eucalyptus tea
Form:
Mother, Middle Aged.
Forlorn, she sinks into the abyss of a middle aged
mother, her pupae no longer the apple of her eye.
Baffled, she sees her cocoon tear open and barge
hastily, fumbling in quest of sham grown ups’ pride.
A mother she remains, middle aged. Spiteful and void.
A middle-aged woman named Jill
Believed she was over the hill
Then pizza-boy Fred
Delivered in bed
And now she's gone back on the pill
Teenage lads soon knocked on her door
With iPhones recording the score
The smiles on our street
Are a treat to greet
For Jill's not alone anymore!
this passage contains coverage
for the purpose of survival
where to turn next is not known
this sewer contains drainage
for the purpose of pure release
what to burn next is not yet determined
this heart contains usage
for the purpose of nothing
how to fix what is left is still pending
Now I lay me down to sleep
in the arms of a woman who lets me keep
the legend of me, in my mind.
My old woman is terribly kind.
Now I lay me down to sleep
in the arms of a man who lets me keep
my girlish reflection — his eyes a mirror.
My old man could not be dearer.
I am old and unfulfilled
I sit upon a lonely hill
No dreams to dream
No plans to scheme
I feel as though I want to scream.
When I was young
And had the time
I could not rhyme for one thin dime.
But now I'm old and time is short
And I could do with some support.
Or at least some understanding.
Maybe it's not what we think it is,
why you're having all these problems.
Yeah, you are on one.
It's our age that gets in the way.
It's fine.
Fine as wine.
Wine is better aged.
Not that I would know because we ain't on wine.
We're better aged.
On one is just a number.
Yeah, we're better this way.
We're better aged.
Circling ideas of fun
Laughing and dancing and some
Kissing and touching.
Sitting in front of the screen
Alone and observing the scene
Of others and their lives abundant
Isn’t it something?
Wrinkles and slowness and few
moments of loving the view,
Warmth from the river of burning
Can’t stifle the swell of my yearning
For you.
Night sweats and crazy
Hot flashes and lazy
Mood swings and a body (?)
That looks pretty shoddy
Eating and bleeding and wanting to scream
These are a few of my Favorite Things
When your doctor
Says a shocker
that your
Uterus is a lobster
I simply remember to pretend I'm filled with glee
and then
I forget that my uterus is in atrophy
. .. Aged Diary
pages so fragile . secrets still safe.
I happened on a tardigrade.
He told of places he had stayed,
and sadly sighed.
He spoke of the friends he had made,
and the times he'd been afraid,
and then he softly cried.
He'd lived in Antarctica and Spain,
the fiery desert and icy rain,
and neither froze nor fried.
He was old, in so much pain,
and asked, "why must I remain?"
before he finally died.
what tales lie behind wrinkled eyes
sagging corners tired
with life
what dance has
the crooked back danced
angled with experience
blissful and dark
many leathered hands stroked
hair wiry gray
aged by this journey
scratchy laughter remains
of this wrinkled tangible existence
yet the infinite spirit
imprints burden of proof
in the shiny new succession
of childrens giggles