Tag Archives: poems about old age

Rivers

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11 
In her life, she has crossed many rivers.
Some she swam with sure, steady strokes;
Some she walked over on burning bridges;
Some were so shallow, she easily waded.
But fording the last one, she almost drowned,
Failed to reach the other side.

The swift, black waters dragged her down,
Filled her lungs with life’s heartaches,
Then cast her battered body back to shore;
Left her choking, gasping, gagging,
Down, but not defeated.
Never defeated.

Older and wiser, she bided her time,
Waited at the river for the dire wolves to come drink,
And built a raft from their strong bones,
Made a cape from their warm, gray fur,
Then floated across the cold choppy surface
And stepped off safe and warm on the other side.

She fashioned a home from the raft bones,
Made a bed from the sleek fur cape,
And she abided there in the high desert
Content and happy as she grew old
Until the time came for her to leave.
For there was one more river yet to cross.

©2023 jai

Image by freddy urbina from Pixabay

Little Girls and Old Women

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20 
told to honor and obey
little girls can’t find their way
lips zipped against food and speech 
gotta stay skinny, gotta stay meek

or true love won’t come their way
submerging self, the price they pay
striving to be who he wants her to be
she loses her and becomes his she

put Prince Charming on lofty pedestal 
feed the ego of immature male
make him feel like a mighty king
no matter the fact you’ll never be queen

for him, queens are the porn-star pack
perfect dolls all waxed, maxed, and stacked
always ready, willing, and able
not real women...just juvenile fables

poor little girls become old women
before realizing there is no winning
for the enlightened, this epiphany brings joy
no more worries about pleasing a boy

just march to the beat of your own ditzy drummer
pick white daisies in your own field of summer
dance in the rain while the devil beats his wife
and always carry a big suspicious knife

©️2023 jai

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Sowing

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8 
never able to love and obey

always going her own way

damn fiddler to pay

every day

own



wielding machete, she hacked her way

all would-be white knights, she slayed

damn fiddler to pay

everyday

sown



now body worn out and hair of gray

feet planted in self-made clay

damn fiddler to pay

every day

lone



©2023 jai



trinquint

Image by James Deutschkron from Pixabay

Driftwood

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9 
home in my memories sets monochrome
monochrome walls, roof, and floor—my home
gray, the kitchen where my family prayed
prayed at a table of weathered gray
old photographs of yore yet sparkle gold
gold that never tarnishes, nor grows old

love cradled me in a warm, velvet glove
glove worn by Mother, fashioned with love
safe, was I, in that time, in that place
place of antiquity—nevermore to feel safe
childhood long gone, now rotting driftwood
driftwood littering dead sands of childhood

©2023 jai

mirrored sestet

Image by alefolsom from Pixabay

Roads

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13 
a child knows nothing

about the consequences 

of the many roads

she will walk in life

until the end

when the last road is chosen 

and for better or worse

she arrives at her destination



old, with no more roads left to walk

she then ponders

those fearlessly taken

the ones passed by, unexplored

the hurtful ones

paved with nails and glass

and she realizes that long ago

she lost her way



too late now

she knows, over and over

she picked the wrong roads

always in a hurry

she veered left on a whim

right on a wish

and only has herself to blame

for this damned dead end



©2023 jai

Image by Markus Distelrath from Pixabay

Mistress Youth

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14 
youth is a fickle mistress

batting her clear green eyes

whispering in your ear...

I will stay with you forever



naively, you believe her

slug through the weeks

and months and years

thinking she will always be there



you live your days for others

instead of yourself and her, while

work and family obligations

mindlessly gorge on time perennial



time you should have spent loving

time you should have spent living

time you should have spent just being

time you should have spent with her



until one morning you wake up alone

she has left you for someone younger

leaving you old and worn out and used up

no good to yourself or anyone else



you see her out with her new love

and grow angry and resentful and hard

hating her for abandoning you

hating her for being happy without you



then, slowly you come to realize

that she did not leave you

you left her, long ago, standing alone

crying, ‘neath the glow of a fallow moon


©️2023 jai

Image by Victoria_Watercolor from Pixabay

Far From Home

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10 
a biting wind blows through wistful oaks
winter settles in her heart
far, far from home…happiness long gone
she covers sorrow with words and art

snow fills in the footprints of her youth
she digs them out every spring
happiness long gone…far, far from home
to erstwhile days, she stubbornly clings

her heart beats in sync with short, gray days
as her thoughts flow back in time
far, far from home…happiness long gone
she dreams of childhood, ever sublime

in this frigid land, ice fills her veins
a red sludge of days passed by
happiness long gone…far, far from home
soon, she prays, soon let my spirit fly

©2023 jai

ZaniLa Rhyme

Image by AnneBourbeau from Pixabay

Sweet Time

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18 
Listen now and heed me well
To this tragic, timeless tale—
We’ve all lost loved ones
To distance and death
And occasionally, to circumstance.
Or just by believing there was time,
Sweet, sweet time, always time,
To visit and while away that time.
Yes, all the time in the world,
Static, breathless, endless time
I believed—
When I was young.

Years pass by in the blink of an eye,
And you notice one day
How many have died.
Gone, all gone, with time’s treacherous tides,
Their scattered, ivory bones picked clean
And carried away into death’s dawn.
Time, sweet time, and them—
Now gone.

Time is not so sweet anymore,
You long for the grim reaper
To knock upon your door,
And drag you away,
You care not where,
Over here, over there, anywhere.
It makes no difference,
Any place will do
As long as it is far away
From this world now without you—
And you and you and you.
Far too many yous
Have stepped beyond the veil.
And you contemplate,
Anticipate—

Do they frolic upon some sandy shore,
No aches, no pains,
No worries anymore?
Is there a chair saved just for you
At the table where they meet?
All say a prayer upon that beach,
Good bread, good meat,
Good God, let’s eat.
Teeth young and sharp,
Do they tear into food?
And lusty, not rusty,
Into each other too?
And be not at the mercy
Of fickle, tricky time,
For in this hallowed place
There is no time.
Just laughter and love
And the joining of friends,
God knows I long for that—
As I long for the end.

©2023 jai

Image by clariston from Pixabay

The Old Woman

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11 
the old woman rises at dawn
cooks breakfast for the old man
as she stirs the bubbling gravy
turns the sizzling bacon
her eyes stray to the open window
where the newly-plowed earth awaits

dishes stacked in the sink
she joins the old man
beneath the cerulean sky
laying out the rows
mounding the hills
dropping in the seeds

as the days grow longer and warmer
the old woman weeds and waters
tending the green growing plants
with love and care
as if they were her children
who all have grown and gone

the old woman picks the lettuce first
along with green onions
she drizzles them with bacon drippings
and while they eat in front of the TV
she and the old man
talk of long-ago gardens

a passel of barefoot kids
running up and down the rows
more hindrance than help
so sent off to play
while the young old woman and the young old man
do the work

in the height of summer
the old woman picks juicy tomatoes
and the last of the cucumbers
she and the old man
eat them with a little salt
while watching Wheel of Fortune

the old woman rises at dawn
cooks breakfast for the old man
as she stirs the plopping oatmeal
butters the toast
her eyes stray to the frosty glass
at the barren, snow-covered garden

arthritis torments the old woman’s joints
her heart flutters in an unsteady rhythm
keeping time with a lonely mind
that is muddled with yesterdays
she wonders if she will see another spring
or if she even wants to

©2023 jai

Image via Shutterstock