Short Ninety Three Poems
Short Ninety Three Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Ninety Three by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Ninety Three by length and keyword.
That will
I swear
Be me,
On the
Beach
In a bikini
At ninety three.
Tan
Roasted
Golden brown
Ignoring
While
Soaring
Those
Judgmental
Harsh frowns
Every year Mert and Sam got ready
To join the circus, isn’t that right Freddy?
It’s what they tell me, he answered me.
This year they almost got snapped up at ninety-three.
"I think," she said,
at ninety-three,
"I have the gift:
longevity."
She said, "I'm sure,"
at ninety-four;
at ninety-five,
"I'm still alive."
"I'm sure to see
one century
and thirty-three!"
Joe and Ann liked to play docs and nurses
When their kids all came home there were curses
Well the problem you see
Is they're both ninety three
And both not quite ready for their hearses...
Written on 24th August 2021
When I was but a lad of three;
I saw an elephant in a tree.
I told my mother, she doubted me;
Now she’s old, like ninety-three;
You’ll never guess what she told me.
She saw an elephant swimming in the sea.
You too can see it if you please;
She only charges a tiny fee.
Our relationship is one for the books
We didn't start it based on looks
You saw my heart, I saw yours
No privacy, we were outdoors
Our lives flow through us, showing what's inside
We smiled, we grinned, our mouths opened wide
Still together, since ninety-three
You and me
My little darling went to the dogs,
then she expired.
Her bark I hear no more.
She was blond, maybe,
she was intelligent - maybe
She sure was pretty.
I never knew her in a carnal sense,
but the dog in me howls now.
She is gone, gone gone,
and she only ninety-three.
Sheila cleaned the microwave
And one kitchen counter and the stove top
There are ninety-three empty boxes in the corner.
She congratulated herself on what she had done
And then took a nap
Living in a mess is exhausting
This is her third nap today
Tomorrow she plans to empty the dishwasher.
Joyful happy snow cone day.
Laughter. Singing. Skipping.
Every child who has almost perfect attendance.
Ninety-three percent was the cut off percent.
I felt really sorry for the two or three children
In each classroom who could not participate.
Especially since none of them can drive a car.
It is mothers who oversleep and do not bring them to school.
At age three, it's 'Mommy, mommy'
At twenty-three, I'm still carefree
At thirty-three, it's not quite all about me
At forty-three, there's responsibility
At fifty-three, I'm starting to see
At sixty-three, all night I pee
At seventy-three, retired and free
At eighty-three, just you and me
At ninety-three, drink herbal tea
~At one-oh-three, I'm a mummy
A scampish little rascal was he.
Dancing truth on the silver sea.
Collecting nickels for his fee.
Slapping his tummy at the baby’s knee.
Singing loudly with yellow chickadee.
Using phrases like wanna-bee.
Living in sin was the key.
We called him little Dicky Dee.
Lived every single second with glee.
Was a friend to all you see.
Lived to be a ripe ninety-three.
What better scamp could ever be?
True Story
My hubby's aunt was ninety three
Spry and full of energy
Lost her man of sixty years
Remembered all the joy and tears
Retirement living she could thank
For meeting up with new beau Frank
Her new mate was ninety five
"Hey, she said I'm still alive!'
Lil and Frank have set the stage
Love can flourish at any age
Hand in hand they share their love
Until the call from up above..
I have no idea how scientists know this.
But they know everything.
Or think they do.
They recently stated that a super volcano exploded
seventy thousand years ago
this volcano wiped out ninety-three percent of the human race
all of us are descended from the seven percent who survived
How they can prove this I have no idea.
But scientists are confident
that they know everything.
their mothers probably agree
We stayed in chalets by the sea;
the holiday was worth the wait.
My happy place, my happy face.
Such fun for cousin Joan and me -
she hadn't seen the sea before,
and shouted out with playful glee;
I hadn't played in sand till then,
my trousers rolled above the knee.
The Punch and Judy show was great!
My happy face, my happy place...
the day I got to ninety-three...
written 11th March for William's Abracadabra contest
I go to face book and with few friends she is still there
as she died early spring never to be erased
to me she was a mentor and I loved her
taking the time to read me at ninety three of age
she was fabulous and more surrounded with books
and so I joined the soup to fill the void
a box she sent me on a shelf I cherish
keep it alive with mementos and why not
and a beach never to be replaced
I probably have sand hidden in my sandals
(Dedicated to Frank Johnson who died in 1981.)
He was born in 1888 and he died in 1981.
His name was Frank and I'm his great grandson.
When I was a little boy, I remember him giving some change to me.
He was a great man who almost lived to be ninety-three.
I wanted him to live to be a hundred,when I was a kid.
If anybody deserved to make it to a hundred, he sure did.
When he died, he had a forty something wife.
He had a long and happy life.
INDECISION
He fell in love when he met her
In nineteen eighty seven
But didn’t get round to telling her
Till June of twenty-eleven
He’d drunk some double whiskeys,
Followed up with gin,
Then turned up on her doorstep,
Begging to be let in.
He told her how he loved her,
He got down on one knee.
She told him he’d left it too long
For she’d wed in ninety-three.
8th June 2021
Lipogram contest - No A
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
Santa had been on a diet for ninety-three days.
He had not lost an inch or a pound for he loved to graze.
You may have to take up exercise, his mother told him.
He was reluctant to get a membership down at the gym.
They’ll laugh at me, call me names and indicate that I am fat.
Well, said his father, puffing up all big, what is wrong with that?
Santa ordered himself a small round tight taunt trampoline.
By Christmas day, he vowed, I had better be lean!
LETTER TO MOTHER UNSENT
Forty years since we last spoke in that park.
Not my choice, hiding in the dark.
Lots of changes in my life
Got three kids and a wife.
Uncle John died thirty years ago,
Your brother Martin was the last to go.
My oldest son lives in Canada
My girl, sixteen, is pretty good at algebra.
I wanted to finally speak
‘Cos it’s your birthday next week.
No, I didn’t forget , no need to forgive.
You’d be ninety three if you’d lived.
Exceptions disregard the rules
Like neither’s “i” and “e”
Or smokers who refuse to quit
And live to ninety-three.
Cops who park illegally
As if they were allowed
And those who pass the velvet ropes
That won’t admit the crowd.
Parents who refuse vaccines
For reasons none too clear
And A-list folk for whom a table
Seems to just appear.
There’s an expectation that
From rules, some will depart;
Exceptions, though, remind us that
What’s fair plays little part.
Your nose bled last night,
suddenly, without reason
except for the blood thinners you're on,
but then you are almost ninety-three.
I worried about you, my historical, fun loving father,
though we laughed when I said,
"You'd better not die before your book launch,"
and you asked, "Can I die after?"
Still we put our joking away
when we heard the little girl inside me begging,
"Please don't die, Daddy and leave me an orphan,
please, please, please, although I'm sixty-three."
Form: