Aging poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of aging poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on aging are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
The world slows down. That’s a good thing. Priorities change, also good. The rat race fades into memory. It’s now time to appreciate things. Let the next generation battle to climb the ladder, keep their heads above water. Time for
A vehicle is here for your review: A 1946 used hatchback heart. Not near as shiny as when it was new, But all the parts are there and it will start. It’s true it needs a lot of body work
I’ve become aware I can time-travel, particle-physics has long posited this, Stephen Hawking admits it’s possible, even likely. It starts out this way, drowsing on my front room sofa TV tuned down, & in just a moment an hour and
My head is in a real bad state My memory is running late I feel like I am going mad My eyesight now is really bad My teeth have now come to an end Impossible to ever mend My confidence
If I forget spring, bruise my face with grass to meld with soil in prescience of later ritual. If I forget summer, drip on my tongue the blood of fresh berries, and the insolent taste of mint. If I forget
The Poet Turns 100 In Honor of Stanley Kunitz When my body wears to dust let the remains be language find only verbs at the core struck flints from explosive ore nouns charged with names of foes and lovers cool
when your flesh, leave your bones. when your eyelids, become heavy to be worn. when your skin, don’t shine like a fin. when your hands, tremble holding cans. when your mouth, stops uttering words. when your shin, cant help any
I had always wondered why the sun rose in a distance and pondered if I will ever have a son I always stood far away wishing I was closer, not just a poser, why I chased and wanted a girl
Amazing how Time elapsed Just yesterday it seems I was playing with other kids in the sand To day I see myself coughing and trembling at the dust of the sand I feel I am not even a competitor to
Happiness lies in : Finding joy in little things, Every little blessing, Significance of the insignificant, Enjoying every moment of life. Graceful aging with beauty, Gazes growing with love, Waking up to a new dawn, Admiring the tiniest things. Moments
She drags her tired heels across the tainted floor Her poise held taut though her back is sore She holds on her face a cold marble stare A hard life engraved upon cheeks once so fair Her movements; once grace
A motley group had made an affiliation of sorts It sprouted and mushroomed in our back lane And there was born a poetry club with no name Passion it was for the verses written in Urdu That linked them beyond
Old-man-poet! Write from the heart; Reboot the world; make it new again! Turn its white hoary head with a start; Spin a poem of ablative gain! Let ablution be the God-ablated birth; Let it unravel the umbilical whorl That winds
Rows and rows of books wearing pressed monogrammed jackets aligned at attention upon the shelves edges stained lightly by time. To wring out one more droplet of thought from drying script These aging eyes thirst to caress sweet ebony lines
The tree covered path had me but the light, Intrigued my senses so i pushed through the fright, Crackling branches above aging before falling through, Only one entrance, i’d prefer two. Tilting my head i seemingly entered another time.. i
My looks are nothing special, My face reveals my age. My body shows some wear and tear, And my energy’s not the same. Too often my memory fails me, And I lose things all the time. One minute I know
She looks at me with soulful eyes;her brows raised in a question She looks almost like she is smiling,all I have to do is make the suggestion Don”t even have to say a word,Just pick up the leash and put
The full Moon is on wane Shedding her last attic glory on Earth And every aspect of Earth’s being Scorched too much in blazing Sun, Enjoying the Moonshine bath like budding spinsters Drenching in swelling teenage mirth. The air is
Now I remember, My math’s teacher asking a question, And I just had to look around, It didn’t have to be me! We were so many in the classroom, And so did they, I call it today Group think virus
Page 1. the celebrated sailing frog from Montgomery County went a court’n, or so the tale iz toad to a grand ole mansion built around 1910, and e’en ‘pon being razed ~2012 ah no dummy sea worthiness still plainly showed,
Airliners fell fat like poisoned bumble bees breasting their way into parking lots and highways plowing up concrete furrows tipped with shiny and jagged vehicles trimmed in flame I wake in a light sweat to a fluxuating grumble wondering at
The hurt begins to move and meets in a funeral procession. For aging fireworks this was the last chance, but lake had dried up. There was no fall tonight of the moon All the stars had gone for a memorial
For everything, there is a season, it has been foretold. When I was young and green, securely clinging to the branches of my family Sugar Maple tree, I thought it was the best I would ever be. But here, now,
Like the little droplets humming down the shore, and the yellow sparkles moving free to the core, dismayed to unbind the lore since ages, I want to stay amidst the phases. Shrinking and shivering beneath your arms, prime the relevance;
The coming of a that to dismantle the comb, unstilling trees under tracer bullets swaying in embrace for moonmilk. The unzipped planktons in sea open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive in a green passion. Does it need
The full Moon is on wane Shedding her last attic glory on Earth And every aspects of Earth’s being Scorched too much in blazing Sun, Enjoying the Moonshine bath like budding spinsters Drenching in swelling teenage mirth. The air is
Anger turns you away Holding that poison within your mind Your body and soul consumes you It diminishes your aura like acid And you allow this person to always be a factor To be the bigger person you have to
Can you hear the rustling in the trees? Can you feel the warm breeze on your face? I hear the singing of my friends, I feel their delightful presence. They are out there on the fields, dancing in circles with
Dewdrops fall on to my window on a bright morning, bringing the memories of you, the days we had, the many sunlit days, the time we spent together, leaving a small tear of happiness behind, which is the memory I
I see a coincidence, A special coincidence: A center of a circle, An infinitely meeting scale That is visibly invisible And a distance too nearby to reach And a working of an unseen gyre that lets us in And puts
You think I am dead however I am alive. I grew like livings, from a kid to fully revive. I was also born, as a piece of land. Now look at me, how big I stand. My father is an
Sitting in the examination room paper crackling under your naked spine the worm of doubt working its way through your pipes just about falling asleep white noise strong as medicine honing the edge of your fever there’s a double tap
That grave alchemy of cold fusion, of turning mercury into gold, makes me undone in a fit of anger. Punished before the crime committed, of saying no for yes, of disobedience in the face of a command, I am becoming
Dawn left bare bones Gave her his cruel temper, he, whom no one had ever loved Virgin’s blood shed not for pleasure but for body senses lust Flare of fire, modern world burnt Fugitives from Orion hide on Milky Way
As you walk the desolate streets No sound but falling feet A thick autumn mist Swirling ghostly whisps A chill in the air Creeping and crawling And brushing your face Reaching out to hold you In its icy embrace “Who’s
Think of the world minus a woman, first of all there would have been no man. If at all there was an existence, It should have met with no continuance. Right from the birth of a child, You will find
I remember her, she remembers me For a life-time like a simile, for a life time like a family It’s high time she forgot about me It’s the right time for her to release me Ask D’angelo maybe he will
In the cavernous mind a thought becomes redundant. You go straight for a snakeroot. A flat cluster of white flowers spurs a stigma at the white moon for floating rumors. This was my native pain of brilliant tapestry. The threads
This awakening has woken me Had days and days to think The route of all my evils Has been the devil’s drink It’s time for me to turn my back Be strong and to resist That deadly juice that ruined
I met her few days ago In a beautiful garden May be a new friend though face was unknowable, but as if we were known to each other from time immemorial Innocent face, solemn lines on the forehead, eyes looked like
A mother will suffer real agony for her child to feel adored And will cry so many tears to have her child to understand being truly loved She will teach her child the true meaning of good and bad And