Love Poems About Old or Old Love Poems

Old love poems and/or love poems about Old. Read, share, and enjoy these Old love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.

Poem Details | by Rachel Kovacs |
Categories: caregiving, childhood, daughter, growing up, life, mother, mother daughter, nostalgia, women, me, home, cry, home, love, me,

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless, 
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
cautiously, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

But 
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for himYou gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "


Poem Details | by Catman Cohen |
Categories: angst, death, dedication, depression, funeral, love, mother, nostalgia, sad, song-words, song, write, old, day, me, old, song, write,

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….



Poem Details | by Andrea Dietrich |
Categories: lost love, love, me, music, old,

Sweet Ghost Valentine

An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of Memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love. A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind. I open up its creaking door to see what I might find. Lovely notes of music come wafting down its stairs So poignant is its melody that my poor heart tears. It brings to me the image of one afternoon When I walked with someone in summer by the dune. I listen to the tickling of the ivory Picturing two people splashing each other by the sea. The music now is drifting to me soft and low. I see the setting sunWe’re bathed in crimson glow. Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played. In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed. The keys of the piano now are pounding fast. In the moonlight he and I are making love at last. Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed. And a bitter sweetness swells within my breast. Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth. Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth? On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies, And I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs. Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return And play again that melody of love for which I yearn? For the Sweet Valentine Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron


Poem Details | by Brenda Meier-Hans |
Categories: grandparents, lonely, love, old, rose, sad love,

The Special Rose

She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.

Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.

Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.

After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….

And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
11.25.2014
Contest: Encounters with Flowers 
5th


Poem Details | by Sharon Tideswell |
Categories: lost love, love, nostalgiaday, day, silly,

Tattered Jeans and Old T-shirts

That day by the lake,
tattered jeans and old t-shirts,
my hand in your back pocket as we walked,
your thumb
hooked over the top of my waistband.
It was hot,
...damned hot.

You tilted your hat at a silly angle and laughed,
I looked over and thought
'Hot,
...damned hot'

Smiles exchanged and then a kiss,
I think I melted inside.
We took turns walking backwards
holding both hands
drinking in the sight of each other.

Of course we fell,
you to the floor
and me...
     
completely in love.

Making a frame with my hands,
a captured moment,
'smile for the camera'
and what a smile it was.

Sitting together in the long grass,
both our hats at silly angles,
you made a frame in front of us,
as I kissed your cheek,
and captured a memory.

Images stored safely in my jeans pocket,
not the one with the hole,
that day by the lake...
it was perfect.

Only now I realise
one camera never worked.
The image of you, still vibrant
as that day,
but the one of us
you made with your hands
faded to barely a whisper.

That day by the lake
we both fell...
but only one fell in love




Poem Details | by Vince Suzadail Jr. |
Categories: fantasy, lost loveheart, old, memory, heart, love, memory, old,

Just an Old Memory

She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.


Poem Details | by Robert Lindley |
Categories: encouraging, family, humanity, life, love, truth, wisdom,

Bit Of Truth And Wisdom, Found In Old Age

Bit Of Truth And Wisdom, Found In Old Age

At that age wisdom says life is a joke
consider blindness of other poor folk.
Stop to ponder why on earth we exist
you may just find giving on that big list.

To live well, love hard and thus procreate
easy to see easier to relate.
Living life together with your soulmate
should be a part of everybody's Fate!

Finding life is not about what you got
should be holding solid, number one spot
Tis more about life lived well and deeper
with one you found, knew to be a keeper

If long life, happiness is your great aim
if reaching not for it, you are to blame!

Robert JLindley, 1-16-2017
Sonnet


Poem Details | by Elaine George |
Categories: heart, love, me, old,

Where The Heart Resides

Like open arms
These broken gates reach out to me
And lead me to the lonely house
That overlooks the sea

Her door once proud and stately
Now splintered hangs in shame
As she realizes no longer can she
Keep out the wind and rain

I look into her beautiful
Sad and haunted eyes
These windows to her soul
Where alone she waits to die

Her rooms I see before me
Stripped naked raped and bleeding
And somewhere from within them
I hear her softly pleading

She beckons me to enter
I cross her threshold timidly
And suddenly an old familiar feeling
Comes washing over me

The floorboards squeak beneath me
As I move slowly down the hall
Tip-toeing through the paper roses
All withered on her walls

I step into her parlor
With tears falling from my eyes
As precious memories carry me
To the place my heart resides

I see her in her former splendor
Dressed in satin and old lace
Crystal chandeliers reflect the light
And caress her lovely face

French doors open to the fields
Where once I used to play
Make believe in lands of dreams
On sunny summer days

Silky curled beside the hearth
Purring softly as she sleeps
I caress her so tenderly
As my heart falls at her feet

The air is filled with music
As grandma strokes the keys
The aunts and uncles all join in
And sing in harmony

We take our places at the table
Laid out in fine bone china
We bow our heads and thank the Lord
For all the ties that bind us

Grandpa carves the giant turkey
Grandma brings the platters
We fill our plates with food and mirth
And an endless stream of chatter

And when the moon hangs overhead
In a soft and velvet sky
One by one we take our leave
With hugs kisses and goodbye’s.

I love you Grandma
I love you Grandpa
Rings into the night
And once again in my world
Everything is right

I close the door behind me
I say my last farewell
As I hear her take her final breath
In the trill of a whippoorwill

                    ~~~~~
Author:  Elaine George

My first entry on Poetrysoup  - Feb2, 2006


Poem Details | by Jim Skinner |
Categories: happiness, life, love, people, old, me, old,

A Tomboy At Heart

   She's just beautiful,her outfit is of the latest style,
hair is perfect not a one out of place.
Long maniured nails ,done in a salon,
down to the makeup ,perfect on her face.
I groan inside,another meal out,
i'll have to take out a second mortage to afford.
Another night on the town ,a mall shopping spree,
donating blood untill I'm 100 ,please help me Lord.
Hey lets do something fun tonight.............
Then......then theres this girl,cute
she's a tomboy ay heart.
What do you want to do tonight,anything,
anything at all,a movie,fishing,something kinda fun.
We could go to the ballgame in our teams colors,
grab some fries and a hotdog on a bun
Wearing a beat up old ballcap,hair in a pony,
faded bluejeans,and her favorite good luck shirt.
She has a lithe spirit,that come easy smile,
someone to tease with no feelings hurt.
No long fancy dresses.or high dollar  gowns,
sleeping apperal  simple, just  my old beat up tee.
Waking in the morn ,her hair all a mess,
green eyes still sleepy ,true beauty I do see.
Give me forever ,a girl 
who is a tomboy at heart.


Poem Details | by David Meade |
Categories: car, fear, love, mother, old,

Mother -- Come Home





Sitting with her now
       Watching 
How did she get so old?
       How did I get so old?
So many pills
       Green, blue, white, red, yellow, orange
All kinds of shapes
       Round, oval, oblong – big and small
A tackle box with markings
       Monday through Sunday

We talk and laugh then
       A knock on the door!
I’ll get it
      A police officer – young, clean shaven
As I open the door
      I jokingly yell  He’s here to arrest you mom!
Sir, I do need to speak with your mother
      What, Oh come in

MrsMeade, did you hit another car?
      Her face showed confusion, concern fear
With a trembling voice No officer,  I    dd i d        not
      I followed the young man to the garage
A scrape, red paint, a missing mirror
     My heart sank
Thinking to myself – is she lying?
     Or does she not realize what she has done?
Does it matter?
     The time has come 

As I hug this frail old woman
     Shoulders shaking, tears soaking my shirt
I whisper in her ear
    Do not fear everything will be OK I love you
Standing there I realized 
    Our roles had changed 
Come my darling 
    It is time for you to live with us
Happy Mother’s day
    I do love you! 









David Meade
May 10, 2015
Love Generously 


Poem Details | by Danielle White |
Categories: devotion, faith, holiday, inspirationalhouse, god, heart, old, wife, god, heart, house, love, old,

Mysterious Ways: A True Christmas Story

A true story, based on family oral tradition
from the oldest part of the city of Bern,
capitol of Switzerland, where my mother was
born and raised, in the Nydegghoff)

He lighted the candle with a quivering hand,
his overcoat seeming to weigh down the old man.
He paused in the aisle to genuflect,
and wondered if God knew his heart was a wreck.

He found a pew and got to his knees,
hands clasped together, he sent out his pleas.
He is old and he's tired, now he's alone,
his wife died last Spring, now his house wasn't home.

They'd been blessed with one son, he'd died in the war,
and now there was nothing for him to live for.
He prayed until his knee pain was great,
then sat back in the pew and tried not to shake.

The cathedral was beautiful; he loved the stained glass,
but, oh, they brought memories of Sundays past.
How could he make it through Christmas alone
in a house that was empty, no longer a home?

The kitchen was silent and cold as a tomb,
but her scent lingered on in their modest bedroom.
He said one last prayer, then rose to his feet,
genuflecting again, he went out on the street.

He walked home near blindly, not even aware
of the snow that was landing on his shoulders and hair.
He was cold inside, his heart like a stone,
and he felt completely and utterly alone.

He turned down his street, saw his porch light's glow,
and only then realized it had started to snow.
He opened his gate, thought of making some soup,
but froze in his tracks at the sight on the stoop.

On his porch sat a basket, the old wicker kind,
he thought for a moment, he was losing his mind.
Inside the basket that sat on his mat,
were three tiny kittens and one momma cat.

What a pitiful sight, so cold and so thin,
he scooped up the basket and hurried them in.
He found some canned tuna and warmed up some milk,
gently petting the babies, whose fur was like silk.

He never discovered who left those cats there,
but, as his love grew, he no longer cared.
His wife had loved cats and this comforted him,
as they slept on his head, or tucked under his chin.

The kittens grew quickly, as they're wont to do,
amused by their antics, his love grew and grew.
There was laughter and joy 'til the end of his days,
for God works, as you know, in mysterious ways.


Poem Details | by RALPH TAYLOR |
Categories: lifeme, heart, old, heart, love, me, old,

CRABBY OLD MAN

This poem was written by an old man who died in the geriatric
Ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Neb He left nothing 
Of  value, only this poem which I thought had a very strong
Message and wanted to share with you soupers.

           CRABBY OLD MAN

What do you see nurses?What do you see?
What are you thinkingWhen you’re looking at me?
A crabby old manNot very wise,
Uncertain of habitWith faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his foodAnd makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice  “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to noticeThe things that you do.
And forever is losingA sock or a shoe?
Who, resisting or notLets you do as you will,
With bathing and feedingThe long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurseYou’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I amAs I sit here so still,
As I do at your biddingAs I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of tenWith a father and mother,
Brothers and sistersWho love one another.
A young boy of sixteenWith wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon nowA lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at twentyMy heart gives a leap
Remembering, the vowsThat I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, nowI have young of my own.
Who need me to guideAnd secure a happy home.
A man of thirtyMy young now grow fast,
Bound to each otherWith ties that should last.
At forty, my young sonsHave grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside meTo see I don’t mourn.
At fifty, once moreBabies play ‘round my knee,
Again, we know childrenMy loved one and me.
Dark days are upon memy wife is now dead.
I look at the futureshudder with dread.
For my young are all rearingyoung of their own.
And I think of the yearsand the love that I've known.
I'm now an old manand nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old agelook like a fool.
The body, it crumblesgrace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stonewhere I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcassa young guy still dwells,
and now and againmy battered heart swells.
I remember the joysI remember the pain.
and I'm loving and livinglife over again.
I think of the years, all too fewgone too fast.
and accept the stark factthat nothing can last.
So open your eyes, peopleopen and see.
Not a crabby old man, look closersee ME!!

GOD BLESS ALL WHO READ THIS POEM


Poem Details | by OP Threat aka God |
Categories: age, dad, emotions, grandchild, grandfather,

I Love You, Old Man

I once had knew a man 
Who became older than a dead man 
A tired soul, he was.
Looked like he'd never seen a bed 

        And

His gray hair resembled a cloudy day, 
With fog, and his swollen eyes -
- looked like someone had just punched him in the face 

His skin was wrinkled like a dollar bill in a child's pocket 
Told to put it in his wallet, but Gosh darn it, he didn't think it 

Through, 

the skin on his face was sagging like the jeans of a teenage delinquent, 
Or like borrowing a pair from someone who weighs a hundred more than you 

His back was hunched like he was searching for answers that lie upon the ground 
He had always kept his walker close to him, it helped him get around.

Too someone else, he may just seem to be an old man 
But too me, he is a gold man

'Cause That's my old man.


Poem Details | by ahellas Alixopulos |
Categories: allegory, love, old, old,

Do You have a Song?

When Whitman said
make your life a song,
had he spoken to old whalers?
Did they tell him of nights becalmed
on a pacific salty sea,
when no sound of lapping waves,
or rope stressed wood,
could interfere with the silence in the hold?
Did they tell of a time beyond sleep
long after the oil lamps were shut down?
When the silence of the briny deep
was broken by the eerie songs of whales,
oozing through the wooden walls.
Did they know, then, what they heard,
or did they talk in hushed tones
as ancient seamen did,
of harpies and sirens and
devils of the deep.
Did some say, "Those are our prey."
and recognize the song
and even familiar melodies and laments
from earlier seasons spent
plying these same seas.
Short songs and long songs,
and new songs built upon old songs,
pod songs and fractal songs,
and interminable songs of pain
and love songs that can be heard
by those who hear
from one edge of the basin
of the sea, under to the other edge.
Do you have a song?
Have you worked on it each season?
Is it short and repetitious
or have you worked to improve its sound
each turning of the moon?
Is it deep and subtle?
Does it provoke a laugh?
Would I recognize it far away
on a dark and briny night?
Would you mind if I wove my song
in and out of yours?
Do you have a song?


Poem Details | by Robert Lindley |
Categories: dedication, father, longing, love, meaningful, memory, uplifting,

Just An Old Man

Just An Old Man

Just an old man I came to know
his mind still busy, feet were slow.
Tired feet lounged in old, worn shoes
he had lived, lived and paid his dues!

An old man, one I always loved
one who taught me to fight when shoved.
Showed me to be kind when one could
how to work hard and saw firewood!

An old man, long ago I knew
taught me to say, yes sir on cue.
Suffered to give more than he had
to raise good sons, not to be bad!

An old man, one God took away
taught me true love and how to pray.
Gave his kind heart and gave his all
to teach me to stand proud and tall!

An old man, that never forgot
to aid me, were I on the spot.
Old man that gave, not being asked
in that bright light, this soul once basked!

Just an old man, so brave and true
wore the old, to buy me the new.
An old man, one I so cherish
I pray to meet, when I perish!

An old man, one I hope to see
that good son, he raised me to be.
Just an old man, one that loved me
pray I, to one day be as he!

Robert JLindley, 9-24-2017
Rhyme( A Tribute To My Father)

NOTE: Greatest blessing in my life was to know, love and be loved by this brave and kind manHe passed away in his sleep on the morning of his 68th birthday.


I have labored on writing this tribute poem for about 9 weeks nowLeaving it, coming back,making changes.
Always trying to improve it, as nothing seemed good enough.
Then I finally saw the light, my father tho' extremely intelligent was still a simple manOne that believed good triumphs over evil, that people are only human and thus they should not be judged against a perfection yardstick.

For weeks I sought perfection to honor him, one I so dearly love.
Then he seemed to say to me this morn-- " son, when love is true it is already perfection, regardless of how its presented."
With that in mind, I finished this poem todayAnd hope you may enjoy it and think beautiful and loving thoughts/memories of your
father, be he now living or passed on as is mine..


Poem Details | by Janice Canerdy |
Categories: love,

For Young and Old


		               

	The gray-haired feel as blessed on sunny days
	as those as yet untouched by Time’s harsh ways.

	Spring rains transform the earth from brown to green
	for young and old and all those in-between.
	
	Like nature, love is powerfulIts part
	in every life thrives deep within the heart.
			
	Romance exists not only for the young.
	Love’s words don’t fall just from the youthful tongue.

	The seasoned love can be as strong and sweet,
	though stimulated less by passion’s heat.

	The rose is sweet in smooth or wrinkled hand,
	as is the worn or shiny wedding band.
		
	
		
Date written and posted: February 5, 2018

February 26, 2018, entered in Laura Loo's Your Favorite Poem Written 
in February Contest


December 29, 2018, entered in Mark Toney's 2019 Poetry Marathon, Mile 6










Poem Details | by Rhona McFerran |
Categories: age, life, love, people, uplifting, woman,

Old Flames

They called her the Fire Woman
for wherever there was fire
she was there

In the Fall
when all
the brush needed clearing
in Spring
when everything
else needed to be burned
she showed up, smiling
beguiling flames
to her beck and call

Her tall, brown-skinned frame
'though lean and weathered
and stooped a bit
was still powerful and somewhat
imposing- not so much in
her physical presence
as in her demeanor
and the silent
sparkle
in her amber eyes
as if embers
from the flames
were in her spirit
and fire itself was in her soul

She was old
no one knew her exact age
or much about her
except that she loved
to play with fire
and it fell and rose
to her every whim

No one could lay claim
to controlling fire
but her...
and then him-

A strange romance
between the Fireman
and the Fire Woman began
a love that revolved and
flickered around
their common passion
for flames
one who started fires and
one who put them out
without a doubt
it was intense heat
that drew them together

But unlike young lovers
who easily get burned
they were slow and steady
patiently tending
their home fires
taking care to control
and manage the blaze to
gently keep it going, and not
let it get too cool or too hot, but
just right for a brisk, chilly night

Two old flames
burning toward the end of life
keeping each other
from the cold


Poem Details | by Sunlite Wanter |
Categories: angst, love hurts, song,

Sing Me An Old Style Song

Sing Me an Old Style Song

Sing me an old style song,
With pretty flowing phrases;
A story of love gone wrong,
In other times, in other places.

No trumpets blare, just sweet trombones,
A crooner, smooth tongued and mellow.
Hurting, aching, quiet, for me alone.
Sing me an old style song.

Let bottled tears stain my cheeks,
As your freckled nose appears before me.
For I cannot cry to beats and bangs,
Please sing me an old style melody.

That I may cry and cleanse my heart;
Empty and ready for a new filled start.


Poem Details | by John Crowe |
Categories: imagery, love, memory, passion, remember, romantic, writing,

The Old Photo

I saw the young couple In an old photograph He was saying something She was in mid laugh He's making a gesture Her hand's on his thigh You see that she loves him That he is her guy A love story unfolds That small moment in time A captured emotion Stirred memories of mine Of the times in my life And there are just a few You're in love with someone And they are with you So, when I started this poem It was about how love dies But as I write these words I suddenly realize The young couple is gone But their love still survives When you look at the photo It then lives in your mind


Poem Details | by Robert Candler |
Categories: age, angel, animal, bereavement, best friend, blessing, care, caregiving, character, death, dedication, devotion, dog, emotions, farewell, feelings, friend, friendship, grave, heaven, husband, life, loneliness, lonely, longing, loss, lost love, miracle, moving on, mystery, old, pets, prayer, religious, sorrow, soulmate, spiritual, sweet, together, tribute, wife,

Pal

Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after he sniffed the last one planted, 
He turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled“I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.

Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.” 
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.

She smiled through her tears 
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too His name was Pal.”


Poem Details | by D.W. Rodgers |
Categories: love, time,

Old love

Our fire, which once shone brightly through the night,
whilst tempered by age, is no less warm
and still burns slow with cherry embers bright
to keep us safe and sheltered through life's storm.

Our light may dim, yet always kept its mark
though summer doldrums, winter's icy gale
to show our path and guide us through the dark
hold steadfast to our course let love prevail.

In time, our flame gave rise to three new sparks 
to nurture, guide and teach of worldly ways
and then release to find their own true arcs
and bear this fire to yonder days.

Face lined, flesh soft, and hair now grey
together love we greet each coming day.


Poem Details | by Terry O'Leary |
Categories: loneliness, love,

In An Old Cathedral

She knelt upon a plank, old oaken,
(sable cloak, her mourning guise),
and sensed the breath of distant sighs,
pale shades of pain behind blue eyes…

While clasping close a cross-like token
(holding hope for those in need)
she prayed her Lord "please intercede,
my woe be washed, my soul be freed"…

Archangels, in the skies evoken
(candles flickered, shadows shivered),
through the panes, the moonlight quivered,
summoned forth, the wish delivered…  

Forgotten words he once had spoken
(echoed dim beneath the dome)
swept sweetness of the honeycomb
o'er distant realms they used to roam…

At midnight's knell, in dreams awoken,
memories of love unchained…
Though loneliness of grief remained,
she still held hope… hope hadn't waned…

And when the dawn had early broken,
by the font, in peace she lay…
As sudden as a sunset ray 
the light of life had slipped away…


Poem Details | by Seren Roberts |
Categories: love,

OLD GARDEN SWING - Poets Lyric Man and Seren

OLD GARDEN SWING 


Oh, recollection is 
such a powerful thing 
I think of us together 
on this old garden swing 

Our love was birthed 
when we first danced 
You were my music 
we were so entranced 

That first touch 
and we couldn't let go 
It wasn't intentional 
but we put on a show 

Music slowed down 
and you held me tight 
When you leaned in to kiss me 
I didn't fight 

Saw it in your blue eyes 
mine were thinking it too 
A private dance would be nice 
Yeah, just me and you 

The summer was hot 
the temperature high 
Inhibitions gave way 
we danced in the sky 

Then autumn came 
and things got cold 
We tried so hard 
but our love couldn't hold 

You packed your bags 
but left me memories 
The good and the bad 
those sweet miseries 

Now Spring has arrived 
got this letter from you 
I'm on my old garden swing 
..wondering what I'll do 

Date: 8-20-14 
Poets: Seren & Lyric Man


Poem Details | by Danielle Wise Baxter |
Categories: faith, family, friendship, love, native american, nature, nostalgia, political, religion, old, old,

Two Old Friends

Dusty roads and fresh grass
summertime rodeos approaching fast
riding with a friend down on sandbars 

A piece of hay hanging out of his mouth
though some trapped water, out the other side
I had forgotten this wonderful life

I still see some twenty year old boy helping me up
now a sixty year old man rides in front
pointing all the changes in the last five years

I could not believe what time I lost
4 am to a cowboy is not early enough
my pants soaking wet my boots fixed

We rode on down to his dads favorite spot
to meet God when the sun comes up
we turned to face it and did not say a word

God's spirit was the only thing we heard
as earth to air, and water to fire, met in the sky
right there two old friends prayed to God



 


Poem Details | by JSLambert Mister ROBOTO |
Categories: character, fantasy, gothic, old, passion, romance, sexy,

Grace Thou Love Nary Forlorn----OLD ENGLISH

Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Tread cobbled path of wandering heart;
She speaks in moonlight spirit,
Thine treasure chest come undune,
'Till I lose mine feathers,
Frozen by her sole divinity;
She, found to mine lost,
Twixt these street exile redefined by her golden glory,
pounding on my chamber door;
I must forego the counsel of my twisted devils,
Rise from lay 'pon this brow beaten soul;
Swell into her wonder..lift love anew!
Heaven restore mine black gloom;
Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Spilleth' over, soothing matrimony.


~JSLambert                                      

                                                                             ©    PoeTTreeZ Publishing


Poem Details | by twanna Irisha |
Categories: childhood, daughter, depression, faith, family, father, growing up, inspirational, life, religion, sad, sympathy, day, child, father, me, old, body, child, day, father, love, me, old,

Fatherless Child

There once was a day I would watch every airplane.
Praying you was on it to come take me away.
As a child I wanted you around until the day, you actually came.
The day you came is the day my life forever changed.
I remember as if it was yesterday when you physically violated me.
Mental visions as early as the age of eight, but old enough to vociferate.
Visualizing mental pictures in my mind while I am awake very aware of the improper abuse I take.
Your body on me feels something like an autopsy of a dead body.
While you lay on top of me as you press aggressively on me.
Against my will your force kept me still.
I am trying to understand if you recognize who I am.
I try to say no hoping you can comprehend; I am weakling as you apprehend.
Mentally and physically I became involuntarily your property
A main character in a horror story, and you were my predatory.
I asked “God why?” as I bare to stare into his eyes.
This is not thee love I seek; all I wanted was my father to love me, but not like this injustice of violation of my rights.
This love is not real; not the love I wished to feel.
As he tries to stick his tongue into my mouth too young to know what this is all about.
I grip my lips painfully tight as he tries to slip his tongue inside.
I close them tighter with all my might, as he whispers, “let me love you right” 
I beg him to leave as he pried my legs open with his knees my insides scream “somebody please help me!”
As he whispers how much he loves me I’m praying for God to just kill me.
I rather be dead then a man’s punching bag.
As I lay there my body was dead, and I laid my soul to rest.
I looked around the room and seen the Old Spice on the desk the same fragrance he wore around his neck.
The sun began to rise as he began to close my thighs.
In that moment in time I had made up my mind any man that ever say they love me was just telling lies.
I learned the hard way that love does not kill your inside; love does not take your pride.
A fatherless child I shall forever reside.
Every day that passes that little eight-year-old girl dies slowly inside.
Asking Jesus,” Why permit this?” and he slowly whispers…as I gently whimpers, “faith is the light that guide you through the darkness, my words reflecting as a lamp unto my feet.”
“Walk unto my path I’m here to carry the weak, come into me you are weary and overburdenedI will carry the pain you have obtained.”
“I am your father and you are my child you are never fatherless because I’m always around.”


Poem Details | by Tim Smith |
Categories: love,

Grow Old With Me

Breathless beauty shine bright tonight my loving arms will hold you tight no wind, no storm, no evil tide will whisk you away from my side I'll fly you to a land where eagles soar where mountains climb from the shore guide you to a meadow where nature plays where geysers spout most every day show you a place where the buffalo roam where a simple man can make a home we'll sail the sea under star filled skies gazing deeply into those caramelized eyes we'll have no worries, we'll be carefree so take my hand and grow old with me


Poem Details | by Bob Quigley |
Categories: animal, care, dog, friendship, hope, joy, loneliness, love, old, pets, sad, together, uplifting,

Walter

He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel All so familiar, so ordinary Just like every other day he mused Nothing new Nothing special.

Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him But in reality, he was bored It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation Too many days  Too much disappointment He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of  their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.

Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with You know the type Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog Kids poking their fingers  through the kennel screen or banging on it Some even making barking sounds He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.

Walter was very picky Set in his ways after so many years He had had it good for  a long time An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself No tricksNo stunts Just long naps and daily walks A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.

But those days were gone now First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly The walks became less frequent Walter did what he could  He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their lossHe would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.

He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.”  Walter could see the tears in his eyes He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist It was obvious there were no alternatives And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner But he was going to miss him It was not going to be easy to adjust.

But adjust he did  He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs  trot past his cage with light hearts and  new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound Everyone wanted the young ones So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.

He heard them before the saw them ”Honey” the voice said ”That looks like Walter, old MrWhitney’s dog.”  Walters ears perked up a little ”Do I know them” he thought ”They seem to know me” I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.

“It is him” the man said ”Walter, how you doing boy?  Do you remember me?”

And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him He used to live right across the street He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing It was good to see an old friend.

“What do you say hon” the man said ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”

Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”

The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter?  Would you like to go home with us?”

Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew What was there not to like.

Soon the woman returned and the gate opened A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought ”Good luck and goodbye”.

As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter There is someone I am going to take you to see I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”

Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.


Poem Details | by ahellas Alixopulos |
Categories: allegory, introspection, life, seasons, old, love, old,

Moving Lightly

I move lightly at sixty,
a little less than the max.
Any faster, and the sunflower shells I spit
blow back in my face,
and any slower and the driver behind
becomes too distressed.

I move lightly at sixty,
homeward through the rural landscape,
past barns and combines,
engine humming, without straining,
secure that I need not be anywhere,
or anything, but myself.

I move lightly at sixty,
through the longer shadows of fall,
short days and warm afternoons,
trees variegated with the leafy
nostalgias of the year past,
and the years before.

I move lightly at sixty,
the old van's engine drones
as I "OM", indistinguishable
one from the other, both well worn,
and oblivious of the
years we show.

I move lightly at sixty,
no longer with a need to lie,
or prevaricate,
in love with every woman I see,
and no longer afraid
to say so.

I move lightly at sixty,
in love with the journey,
rather than the goal.
In love with the moment
rather than the hour and 
the need to mark it.

I move lightly at sixty,
bemused by public anger over
a rappers words, knowing they
are far less harmful
than the blood shed
in my time.

I move lightly at sixty,
ready to gear down if necessary,
still able to speed up if needed
to avoid the hazards
of an overactive ego
and libido.

I move lightly at sixty,
content to be alone,
joyful to have company,
regretting neither,
thankful for old friends,
and old loves.

I move lightly at sixty,
finding that not acting,
is as important as the act,
knowing that one can be undone,
and the other, can't.

I move lightly at sixty,
like a comfortable breeze
on a fall day, a thermal for a bird,
uplift for a friend,
a drying wind for a
tearful cheek.


Poem Details | by Dr. Upma A. Sharma |
Categories: emotions, love, memory,

Memories of good old days

Memories of good old days


When memories give you tears, 
you sit, there is nowhere to go,
and you have the worst of fears,
Can you ever retain your glow ?

Those nostalgic evening walks,
drives in the dark that made crazy,
stuck in mind like stubborn plaques,
Can those pictures ever go hazy ?

Engraved in marble you can't erase,
Successive thoughts bound to depress,
Echoing in ears stays every phrase,
Alive are memories you must confess,

Emotions flow with good old memories,
as souls dance serene in mind galleries!




Written October 28th, 2014
Poet- DrUpma ASharma
Entered for contest 'Whatever' by PD A on Oct 29th

Awarded 10th place

Now for contest "Any old poem#8" by SKAT A