Long Poems About Aging
#aging
BlueBeastGirl
Beasty
Beasty
Poem Published
23rd Mar 2022 9:30pm
23rd Mar 2022 9:30pm
To the Ghost of an Old Man
Old man in my mind I just dont know
Loved or hated you sure seem polarizing
I guess we have that in common, huh?
It's like everything I've been told of you
Is full of was and wasn't, had and had not
Were you a good father and a good husband?
Or were you a bastard drunk traumatizing both
Were you simply human and capable of both
Alcohol can poison the sweetest of hearts I know
I know you loved your truck and fishing
I know you worked at a junk yard crushing things everyday
But who were you old man? I sure don't know
I'm...
Loved or hated you sure seem polarizing
I guess we have that in common, huh?
It's like everything I've been told of you
Is full of was and wasn't, had and had not
Were you a good father and a good husband?
Or were you a bastard drunk traumatizing both
Were you simply human and capable of both
Alcohol can poison the sweetest of hearts I know
I know you loved your truck and fishing
I know you worked at a junk yard crushing things everyday
But who were you old man? I sure don't know
I'm...
#marriage
#death
#aging
#MovingOn
#escape
382 reads
10 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
19th Dec 2021 7:52am
19th Dec 2021 7:52am
Power, Pizzazz, and All That Jazz!
It’s the summer of 1937
Gertrude is only fourteen
She and her older sister sneak out of the house
And Gertrude’s eyes have that certain gleam
She’s mesmerized by the big city lights
It’s something they’ve never seen
They go into a club to see Benny Goodman
As the big jazz band plays Sing, Sing, Sing
- - -
Henry has just turned twenty-five
He and his friends go to see Cab Calloway
They dance having the time of their lives
Jumping and jiving celebrating his birthday...
Gertrude is only fourteen
She and her older sister sneak out of the house
And Gertrude’s eyes have that certain gleam
She’s mesmerized by the big city lights
It’s something they’ve never seen
They go into a club to see Benny Goodman
As the big jazz band plays Sing, Sing, Sing
- - -
Henry has just turned twenty-five
He and his friends go to see Cab Calloway
They dance having the time of their lives
Jumping and jiving celebrating his birthday...
#music
#memories
#aging #dance
#aging #dance
463 reads
8 Comments
LostViking
Lost Viking
Lost Viking
Poem Published
29th Nov 2021 2:48pm
29th Nov 2021 2:48pm
Warm Showers
The same hands that soothed the fevered brows of her now-grown children kneaded dough for the dinner rolls, served hot this evening. She had outlived two husbands and one child, but her smile could clear the river valley below her home of fog in seconds.
Her finger touched mine as she passed the plate and it felt like a cool wind through a crack in the door. I caught my breath while thinking of the stories in those fingers.
I smiled while pouring honey over the hot buttered roll. Glenda’s face softened as if remembering others who’d taken nourishment from her bread. ...
Her finger touched mine as she passed the plate and it felt like a cool wind through a crack in the door. I caught my breath while thinking of the stories in those fingers.
I smiled while pouring honey over the hot buttered roll. Glenda’s face softened as if remembering others who’d taken nourishment from her bread. ...
#sex
#travel
#aging
604 reads
3 Comments
SOPOETIC
Poem Published
24th Sep 2021 2:09pm
24th Sep 2021 2:09pm
Looking Through
I keep seeing flashes of light shadows in the corners of my eyes
I tell myself they are spirits of loved ones come fallen from the skies
I find myself staring into thin air like trying to trick their ghosts
I pretend that I can see them and hope they're the ones I love the most
I wonder where my modernity distaste came from in this empty house
I wither away at procrastination and steal the cheese from the second mouse
I feel the vibrance of my mind drain away with every anti-pyschotic pill
I touch myself as avid as...
I tell myself they are spirits of loved ones come fallen from the skies
I find myself staring into thin air like trying to trick their ghosts
I pretend that I can see them and hope they're the ones I love the most
I wonder where my modernity distaste came from in this empty house
I wither away at procrastination and steal the cheese from the second mouse
I feel the vibrance of my mind drain away with every anti-pyschotic pill
I touch myself as avid as...
#love
#sex
#ghosts #aging
#ghosts #aging
542 reads
0 Comments
LostViking
Lost Viking
Lost Viking
Poem Published
22nd Sep 2021 12:25pm
22nd Sep 2021 12:25pm
Frozen in Time: Faded Polaroid
The cardboard cigar box smelled of attic dust. I opened it with reverence.
My father, now dead, seemed frozen in time to me as an older man, but the Polaroid image in my hand showed him at sixteen, staring at a sender girl in a white bathing suit.
Was this my father, his eyes filled with such grown-up desire?
Her face seemed innocent but determined, and I thought, beautiful.
On the back of the Polaroid, he’d inked, “Susan 1980.”
I held the thick edge and looked at their faces, frozen in time.
How long must life have looked to them as they...
My father, now dead, seemed frozen in time to me as an older man, but the Polaroid image in my hand showed him at sixteen, staring at a sender girl in a white bathing suit.
Was this my father, his eyes filled with such grown-up desire?
Her face seemed innocent but determined, and I thought, beautiful.
On the back of the Polaroid, he’d inked, “Susan 1980.”
I held the thick edge and looked at their faces, frozen in time.
How long must life have looked to them as they...
#love
#sex
#aging #FirstLove
#aging #FirstLove
598 reads
3 Comments
buddhakitty
Poem Published
1st Sep 2021 4:23pm
1st Sep 2021 4:23pm
HEY! where did you come from?
while drinking coffee, or
reading a book,
I feel his hand resting
upon my
shoulder.
I look back and no one is
there.
when walking down the
street,
I see his shadow
following me.
I turn around, but nobody
is present.
I taste him in bites of my
food and sips of wine.
I sense him in the words
I write,
and see him in the eyes
of others.
in bed at night,
I think...
reading a book,
I feel his hand resting
upon my
shoulder.
I look back and no one is
there.
when walking down the
street,
I see his shadow
following me.
I turn around, but nobody
is present.
I taste him in bites of my
food and sips of wine.
I sense him in the words
I write,
and see him in the eyes
of others.
in bed at night,
I think...
#death
#aging
#nostalgia
413 reads
10 Comments
Razzerleaf
Poem Published
19th Aug 2021 7:16pm
19th Aug 2021 7:16pm
Whispers from the megaphone
We all have talent
and the audience must sit
through so much of it,
when a five-pound note
rolls up to shine.
We funnel words down cables
hoping digital fish
will swim across our table,
Sealions clapping backwards
for rewards.
but what of fame,
however it’s earned,
we sleep with the same
mask of reality
and wake with the mistakes
of our morning paper reviews.
The talking cats have a billion hits ...
and the audience must sit
through so much of it,
when a five-pound note
rolls up to shine.
We funnel words down cables
hoping digital fish
will swim across our table,
Sealions clapping backwards
for rewards.
but what of fame,
however it’s earned,
we sleep with the same
mask of reality
and wake with the mistakes
of our morning paper reviews.
The talking cats have a billion hits ...
#LifeStruggles
#LifeCycle
#aging
482 reads
10 Comments
LostViking
Lost Viking
Lost Viking
Poem Published
29th Jun 2021 12:56pm
29th Jun 2021 12:56pm
Wholeness, However Fleeting
#love
#sex
#aging
427 reads
1 Comment
APissPoorShaman
Ryszard
Ryszard
Poem Published
27th May 2021 8:48pm
27th May 2021 8:48pm
Trees dreaming of man dreaming of trees
My soul splits open
as I dig feet deep into loam,
setting down roots,
anchoring life.
The bones of my feet
become the bones of the earth,
roots to nourish my soul
as I look toward the heavens.
Slowly day by day,
reaching higher,
seeking the warmth of the sun,
my spirits soars,
branching out,
a thousand directions at once.
I learn of frost and cold,
drought...
as I dig feet deep into loam,
setting down roots,
anchoring life.
The bones of my feet
become the bones of the earth,
roots to nourish my soul
as I look toward the heavens.
Slowly day by day,
reaching higher,
seeking the warmth of the sun,
my spirits soars,
branching out,
a thousand directions at once.
I learn of frost and cold,
drought...
#birth
#aging
#philosophical
348 reads
7 Comments
OyateInyanNajin
Poem Published
21st May 2021 2:03am
21st May 2021 2:03am
RETROSPECTIVELY REFLECTIVE PERSPECTIVE OF MY LIFE IN ONE MOMENT'S BRIEF REPRISE (5-19-2021, Palm Springs, CA)
twenty eight
and wider still
life s brimming cup
not nearly
filled
just as it
still feels
here now
in this fleeting
moment s
sudden flashback s
fluid passing
despite all
and everything else
both good and bad
that s come and gone
oer the years
since i first wrote those lines
in another poem
at twenty eight years
of age ...
and wider still
life s brimming cup
not nearly
filled
just as it
still feels
here now
in this fleeting
moment s
sudden flashback s
fluid passing
despite all
and everything else
both good and bad
that s come and gone
oer the years
since i first wrote those lines
in another poem
at twenty eight years
of age ...
#LifeAsAWriter
#memories
#LifeCycle
#aging
#SelfReflection
319 reads
0 Comments
LostGirl18
Poem Published
3rd May 2021 7:42am
3rd May 2021 7:42am
30
30 years on this planet.
I wanted to die at 27.
I’ve never been good with time.
3 years past my prime.
I’m still here.
Little girl, Lost. ...
I wanted to die at 27.
I’ve never been good with time.
3 years past my prime.
I’m still here.
Little girl, Lost. ...
#aging
485 reads
goldenmyst
Poem Published
18th Apr 2021 3:08am
18th Apr 2021 3:08am
Napoleonic Veterans Reborn
Napoleonic Veterans Reborn
The old man voice of the café tells me
“We don’t keep boiled eggs but look here they are.
The proof is they are hot.”
Mealy mouthed I reply, “I see.”
He replies, “What do you mean you see?”
My mountain salad arrives
But the dressing is absent.
I repeat, “Italian.”
The cooks banter, “Damn, Italian sounds mafia,
like something straight out of Little Italy,
he probably has some politicians in his pocket.” ...
The old man voice of the café tells me
“We don’t keep boiled eggs but look here they are.
The proof is they are hot.”
Mealy mouthed I reply, “I see.”
He replies, “What do you mean you see?”
My mountain salad arrives
But the dressing is absent.
I repeat, “Italian.”
The cooks banter, “Damn, Italian sounds mafia,
like something straight out of Little Italy,
he probably has some politicians in his pocket.” ...
#father
#food
#aging #nostalgia
#aging #nostalgia
356 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Long Poems About Aging
