Age Poems | Examples of Age Poetry

Breach the surface within, Feelings change, Cold hands always doubting me. Ceilings hang over me, Teach me to never break down, Sealing what’s shouting “release”. I was always a dove, These feelings of love, They’re what’re crowding me. I was only a dove, Those days I was young, Cold hands were holding onto me. I...

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As I reflect on my old body’s daily decay, I wonder ~ did God really mean to do it this way? Couldn't He have let me journey to life's end, whole and entire, instead of having part after part of me periodically misfire? You assert emphatically, "Yes! He really meant to do it this way!" Okay....

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In this century, we have forgotten to value old age and the wisdom that comes with it, we worship health, virtual networks, artificial intelligence, and speed, believing we are kings of life, but in fact, we are blind slaves to unripe desires, servants of our own lives, as we live in an unfinished dream, a labyrinth of illusions. The...

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I'm really much too young to get old Something's drastically out of whack I'm still this handsome, charismatic stud Why's my body giving me flack? A strange bump just formed on my neck Don't think it was there yesterday My hair seems a bit thinner and greyer But I'm still young in all other ways My body is falling apart, bit by bit Takes...

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Age hasn’t softened me Weakened me a bit, perhaps I speak of a truth I’ve earned Cherish the right to speak it Often to the trees and stars Sometimes cursing those in cars I ponder often the mystery of Whose truth is truer Can all truth’s be true Or must one concede Tap-0ut in accepted defeat My mother told us “the truth only hurts when it’s supposed...

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"You do not think! You do not learn! You only play With fire & burn. You will not speak. You will not cry. You simply wait For me to die." Well, it is I Have held my tongue For all this time. Now you are gone. Now I am done. Well, it is you Whose Memory Lives on in me. No - Not memory. Yes - Misery! I was never good with words. I...

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Yes, indeed we have a new Pope. I wonder, however, if we have a new hope. As a matter of facts, we have two popes: One is active and the other is passive, Which means that one is inactive, The latter was a hell of a man who shocked: folks, Foes, rivals, parishioners and cardinals, By resigning his post, By becoming a different...

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I hit post and send my words into this busy, glowing website where I’m fifteen, the youngest voice, surrounded by grandmothers’ stories and grandfathers’ quiet smiles, moms who cheer me on and dads who nod like it matters. I don’t mind being the baby here your words feel softer than home. You read my late-night poems, drop comments like warm blankets, and make me feel safe when...

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went to toronto to see a doctor gettin oldt so some changes that occur are intellectual yet of a growth period that spans beyond my past philosophies to a poetic oldt-age vision of all realities in which subjectivity equals all objectivity len ...

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Love, they say  When I was fifty-two, I fell in love and that was hard; I lost my sanity for the sake of love I had been married twice before I met my  undoing, learned the rope of living a pretense of love when the only thing of interest was sex I was never a family man, leaving me, the women did...

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Whining, is age appropriate, With wrinkles - both newborns and aged. Boo-hoos - in cradle; before grave. The old straitened; babes’ swaddled. With wrinkles, both newborns and aged, They are bathed, despoiled, and diapered. The old straitened; babes’ swaddled. Rock and roll lullabies, falling. They are bathed, despoiled, and diapered. Boo-hoos - in cradle, before grave. Rock and roll lullabies, falling. Whining is age-appropriate....

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I love my age; interesting, unpredictable I want to go for a walk, I want to write, I want to fish, I want to play chess, I want to go for a vacation, I want to love, I want to retire....

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She cries during songs that no one else listens to all the way through. Her heart catches on moments like it’s made of thread, tangled in things most people walk past without noticing. The girl who feels everything has a soul that doesn’t just hum, it sings, even when no one’s listening. She gives away...

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seasons February rain Has grains of ice April rain Has promise But both have in common To make equally wet February has short evening And a long night April has a long evening And a short night Equality among months Is uneven Like wealth and poverty That’s why I chose May Hope the vines will grow strong Last year’s harvest Was sour grapes ...

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Sometimes he’s next to me. Close enough that the air feels different, like something charged is sitting between us. My stomach does that thing, tightens, flutters, not because I like him, not like that. It’s more like my body recognizes something I don’t have the words for. Some part of me is on edge, like...

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