old age poems

The Shivering Hands and Shaky Voices | Anupama Mishra - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

The Shivering Hands and Shaky Voices | Anupama Mishra

The shivering hands and shaky voices are left alone, nowadays.
The days are unpleasant, perilous and grave for the old.
Having been deserted and left
he is avoided like an abandoned house
with its broken doors and sagging porch.
Poor old, considered as an oxidised lock,
is now felt unsafe, unsound, and fallible for the new dwelling.
Although he is like an old peepal tree, the bodhi tree
Which offers no food but offers the shade from the scorching sun.
That’s why it is deserted, not being able for the fertility ceremonies
Like marriages and childbirth,
But in the reality he is the soul like the peepal tree,
never dying, never renewing itself.

Waiting for the Last Time | j.lewis - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Waiting for the Last Time | j.lewis

because the human body is not infinite
nor is it immortal at least not yet
the inevitable is only a question
of timing

perhaps it has already happened
with no way to know it
my father said goodbye and
it was sure nice to see you
wish you were closer
hardly anyone comes to see me
wish my kids were closer
don’t see you ‘old guys’ much
maybe if some were closer…

and maybe he said more
i don’t recall because
this was a litany on replay
cued by any break in the long
silence from california
washington
utah
and anywhere in new mexico
other than where he is

not that any of us mean
him any disrespect
or would ever think of offending
but life happens for us too
and there is always a cost
involved in every visit

it makes me wonder
if the complete lack of loneliness
that i feel about my own sons
and their infrequent contact
is just a way of warding off
talking the way my father does
fencing off a sense
of abandonment and
waiting for the last time

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Geriatrics | Stan Morrison - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Geriatrics | Stan Morrison

just another old man on the road to nowhere
just another old man too far from his home
too many stories he would love to tell you
too many stories to tell and he’s all alone

i’m just another man goin my own way
i’m not another old man, I;ve got a home
you don’t have to hear any of my stories
i’m not selling them and I’m not all alone

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