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Francie Lynch Jul 2017
I wish to age like a wrap-around porch
In a thunder storm,
While generations tell tales,
Sipping drinks.
A porch of blinking stars,
A shelter out of rain,
With ascending and descending friends.

I will age like a tree,
Grow stronger in the wind;
Give shade and shelter to all
Beneath my ring-aged limbs.

I wish to age as a river bends,
Contiguous with all shores;
Floating everyone I know
On eternal waters,
A current winding with no rest.

I will age like a star,
Burning bright, giving light,
Something to reach for.

I wish to age like a mountain,
With secret caves and riches.
And you can rock your soul
Around, over or through,
Solid, snow-capped summit,
Beckoning you.

I will age as the moon,
In stages, full and new;
Each night different,
Unnoticeable fading,
As all who age will do.
Thank you all very much for your thoughtful, insightful and kind comments. It's a wonderful surprise and honor to be chosen for the daily, as there are so many **** good poems written by the poets here every day. And especially a sleeper like "I Will Age." I guess it's a lesson to be learned. Thanks again to everyone, and especially to Hello Poetry for giving us this marvelous opportunity to publish.
Peace to All.
Francie
Clive Blake Jun 2017
Chosen Child, crowned this night,
Whilst fireworks light the sky;
Take over please as ruler now
Before we elders die.

We leave you all this Planet and
Dark Universe beyond;
Your word will travel far and wide,
Like ripples on a pond.

Our generation tires now,
The baton we pass on;
Please take it and run swiftly, for
The human race ... goes on.
Every generation relies on the next generation to take over control at some stage.
I had never heard any remark by anyone in my life
Who stated anything good about such a necessary place.
Therein the stretched miles of eyes and smiles being much
Un-pre-processed on the grounds of an unaccountable nature.
But in the old folks home the goddess of good nature
Seems almost as merry as she is wise.

As I oft do I carried in with me a hand truck loaded down
With doughnuts of every kind – 14 dozen in all.
Oh the smiles that permeate from the long faces each
Time I travel down the long hall.
Bertha, Martha Sue, Betty and Clare to mention a few.
Old Tom, Billy, Bob and Jacob too.

Like the pied piper they follow me all smelling the air.
“Ummm they smell hot and fresh,” Jacob whispers to Clare.
Pushing the double doors all the way back to lock open
I place one box of 12 on each table with 6 chairs.
Each box marked with a table number as I know
Who ordered what, and where tis they sit where.

Bertha always gets powdered with strawberry crème,
Martha Sue is the true classic with her original glazed dreams.
Old Tom decided it was time for a change with cinnamon and sugar
While Billy, wild Bill ordered chocolate ice with crème filling.
Betty, Bob, Clare and Jacob said simply to make of them a surprise.
Eighty four people in all get two each as it's the golden rule.

Oh there’s many more people to talk about but
That’s not what I’m here to do.
What good is life is if you have nothing to measure it or do?
The old folks home can be melancholy with lonely walls.
All that’s needed is a smile and something to look forward to.
Especially when oft the size of a gift is so extremely small.

I watch the room as they eat, smile, laugh and talk.
Life’s more about the connection we make and not about much else.
Dark faces full of light, quick eyes smiling with delight.
Long noses turned up on the end.
Teeth no longer white now sugar coated with a childish grin.
Prominent jawbones chewing away remembering where happiness begins.
Sometimes - in order to get ones feet firmly planted on the ground, we need to look around and find the joy in ourselves by giving it away to others. If you are one filled with confusion and anger I invite you to stop in on those less fortunate in your area. You'll be surprised to learn that the give and take that you will find works both ways.
Crucifix Jan 2017
The candle light people.
What ode to them that came before, whose light shown bright before the storm. The candle light people, whose flame so bright, and warm we cherish. To douse the light, means to perish.
Having lots of family live in Brazil I found a term used when describing the elderly, and I think it's quite beautiful but it literally translates in English to "candle light people" seeing as how my great grandmother turned 101 this year I really wrote this because of her
Atypnoc Dec 2016
Lai
Something is wrong with my brain
What are we doing?
I think I'm dying
I'm dying
I'm going to die
Am I going to die?
What are we doing?
I'm scared
I don't feel well

-Chu
In memory of Lai.

I work in assisted living, and these are quotes oft repeated by a resident dear to me.
Àŧùl Sep 2016
Aaj ke bacchon mein hi nahin,
Apitu badon mein bhi sanskār,
Naammatr ke bach gaye hain.

Not only in children of the day,
But even the grownups lack it,
Ettiquette is just for namesake.

Andar se wo aadar bhaav gūm,
Aur haan gūm hai satkaar bhi,
Badon ke liye sammān gūm hai.

That feeling of respecting is lost,
And indeed is lost that hospitality,
Elderly are no longer given the place.
Foundation pillar-shaped bilingual concrete poetry.

The Hindi language poetry means the same as translated into the English language in the lines that follow it.

HP Poem #1154
©Atul Kaushal
kneedleknees Aug 2016
stay indoors today,
infantry of elderly,
lest you have heat stroke
SøułSurvivør Aug 2016
I won't be on site for some time. I'm writing the story of my father's life. He's 91 years old. In a power chair due to severe arthritis. Almost completely deaf and going blind. He can't read properly now and, being a very bright man, is filled with ennui. He doesn't know what to do with his time. I want to find out about his life. I know parts which I will put in this poem you are about to read...

My father's not a nobleman
Born a farmer's son
He has not the title Prince
In my heart he's surely one

My father is not tall of build
He's not a rugged man
But on his shoulders as a child
I saw the Earth's full span

My father is not wealthy
Has no Goods to share
But in my heart I know his worth
He is a billionaire
He is not a Wise Man
Has not those gifts to share
But he has a high IQ
Is bright beyond compare

Raised in the Great Depression
He ate the slop for pigs
Now he's a survivor
His grave cancer didn't dig!

He saw Okinawa
Eniwetok's grim atoll
Code named "Ivy Mike"
The Bomb landed on it's shoal

He went to MIT
Far 'above his station'
And he did it with a handicap
A 7th grade education

He is not a saint
He is far from 'pure'
But in my mind he's worth it
His tale should endure

So I will write his story
I believe it should be told
He is a curmudgeon

But he has a heart of gold


♡ Catherine
Thank you for understanding that I cannot read right now. This biography will be taking up most of my time. I will be writing occasionally and doing a little reading. But I want to finish this book before my father goes completely blind. We can communicate by writing right now. But he has a progressive condition which will take his sight from him eventually. And he has mild dementia. But he enjoys talking about his life and the times he lived in. I'm sure they will make fascinating reading. I just hope I'm a good enough writer to do it justice.

Please pray for me and my father.
looking in the mirror
not recognizing the reflection
when this face got so old
I have no recollection

creases around the eyes
skin looking like leather
time taking it's toll
worn out by the weather

body breaking down
getting difficult to stand
arthritis is a problem
especially in my hand

hair growing in my ears
and growing out my nose
growing places it shouldn't be
even on my toes

sight a little blurry
getting difficult to see
getting up every hour
just to go ***

even though this body
will break down and age
the fire for you inside me
will continue to rage
SøułSurvivør Aug 2016
The sun went to bed angry.
It sliced itself on the razor's edge of the mountains. Bleeding all over the sky. Rivulets of blood seeping down into the dry River beds. Mars couldn't even soothe it. He glowed red in the sky. Its fury made the moon blood.

Then the sun woke up on the wrong side of the sheets. Dawn was depressed and looked like sludge. Morose clouds muffle my breath. Weakened my lungs cry out for air... And find only fog. The kind of fog that gives you asthma. I have COPD in my emotions, and dust has seeped into my brain.

I call out to the only relief I know. My words bounce off the sky. But later that day a single sunbeam burst through the clouds,  highlighting a pair of butterflies dancing together.

God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform...


SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/15/2016
I've been in a depression. With everything that's been happening in my household (I care for two very elderly parents) I have been overwhelmed. Thank you for being patient with me. I'm just going thru a lot right now...

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