"retirees" poems - Hello Poetry

in complete melodies the frequencies i hear can not be contained by anything love is drifting through the hills and you are home to its trills she dreams of light, the fire bright and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs dozens of monuments are built just to mark the moments when we could have said i'm sorry merge with the mountains find the source of fountains shine the diamond compass if that's what you are really here for broken dams are our business feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here that's clearly redundant the tendency to dream is the most important human faculty its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power showers the atomic world in rainbows as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America govern our equipment from their parent's basements and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches a million times the victory a million miles of rope to weave a million are the paths to god and a million more are the souls who've learned to cope with tragedy i come cherishing and bearing gifts figures of speech are my playthings i am furniture remodeled daily and intuitively placed around your home the finer things in life are free so see me there upon your television set i am electromagnetic static within the black and white of advertisements i am figures of forgotten speech so record the unwatched programs in your mind’s virtual memory the hard drive of work and play creates hundreds of new retirees each day hundreds of haunted expatriates knuckle-headed people that couldn't tread lightly even if they wanted to so will you please untie me and remove these binds and chains it's time to free the lover from the psyche for that is all she wrote i am a silent p i am a violet apogee i am a cosmic minority i am a message in your tea leaves but if you stand too long in my shoes you’ll likely drown in solitude

0

Sep 6, 2018

Sep 6, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC

ganesha-michael-shapiro

a violet apogee

in complete melodies the frequencies i hear can not be contained by anything love is drifting through the hills and you are home to its trills she dreams of light, the fire bright and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs dozens of monuments are built just to mark the moments when we could have said i'm sorry merge with the mountains find the source of fountains shine the diamond compass if that's what you are really here for broken dams are our business feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here that's clearly redundant the tendency to dream is the most important human faculty its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power showers the atomic world in rainbows as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America govern our equipment from their parent's basements and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches a million times the victory a million miles of rope to weave a million are the paths to god and a million more are the souls who've learned to cope with tragedy i come cherishing and bearing gifts figures of speech are my playthings i am furniture remodeled daily and intuitively placed around your home the finer things in life are free so see me there upon your television set i am electromagnetic static within the black and white of advertisements i am figures of forgotten speech so record the unwatched programs in your mind’s virtual memory the hard drive of work and play creates hundreds of new retirees each day hundreds of haunted expatriates knuckle-headed people that couldn't tread lightly even if they wanted to so will you please untie me and remove these binds and chains it's time to free the lover from the psyche for that is all she wrote i am a silent p i am a violet apogee i am a cosmic minority i am a message in your tea leaves but if you stand too long in my shoes you’ll likely drown in solitude

57

i come cherishing and bearing gifts figures of speech are my playthings like furniture i am remodeled daily and intuitively placed around your home the finer things in life are free so see me there upon your TV screen i am electromagnetic static that illuminates your blankets and i am the black and white of advertisements i am figures of forgotten speech so record the unwatched programs in your mind’s virtual memory the hard drive of work and play creates hundreds of new retirees each day hundreds of haunted expatriates knuckle-headed people that couldn't tread lightly even if they wanted to so will you please untie me and remove these binds and chains it's time to free the lover from the psyche for that is all she ever wrote

0

Sep 7, 2018

Sep 7, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC

ganesha-michael-shapiro

silent p

i come cherishing and bearing gifts figures of speech are my playthings like furniture i am remodeled daily and intuitively placed around your home the finer things in life are free so see me there upon your TV screen i am electromagnetic static that illuminates your blankets and i am the black and white of advertisements i am figures of forgotten speech so record the unwatched programs in your mind’s virtual memory the hard drive of work and play creates hundreds of new retirees each day hundreds of haunted expatriates knuckle-headed people that couldn't tread lightly even if they wanted to so will you please untie me and remove these binds and chains it's time to free the lover from the psyche for that is all she ever wrote

22

This town is too small for secrets The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago While moss oozes out of the letters. This town is too small for secrets Through windows at night The citizens play out their dollhouse lives And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire. This town is too small for secrets Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts And place them on the counter. This town is too small for secrets Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells But the protestant one always wins And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice But whisper politely in each other’s ears About the scandalous protestors out on Main. This town is too small for secrets With its coffee shops littered with youth Who deny their wealth through coffee steam And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain Back to new cars and million-dollar homes Where daddy pays the bills. This town is too small for secrets The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups And scuttle towards their shared flats Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer Three semesters ago. This town is too small for secrets With its gated communities of retirees Where the homes are manufactured And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren And the rebellious ones packed away From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.

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Nov 30, 2013

Nov 30, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC

veronica-smith

Too Small for Secrets

This town is too small for secrets The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago While moss oozes out of the letters. This town is too small for secrets Through windows at night The citizens play out their dollhouse lives And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire. This town is too small for secrets Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts And place them on the counter. This town is too small for secrets Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells But the protestant one always wins And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice But whisper politely in each other’s ears About the scandalous protestors out on Main. This town is too small for secrets With its coffee shops littered with youth Who deny their wealth through coffee steam And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain Back to new cars and million-dollar homes Where daddy pays the bills. This town is too small for secrets The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups And scuttle towards their shared flats Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer Three semesters ago. This town is too small for secrets With its gated communities of retirees Where the homes are manufactured And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren And the rebellious ones packed away From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.

38

The schoolteacher had an affair in Santa Fe. She was a schoolteacher and a tourist. And an affair adds dimension. It makes a place more than memory. The notion of it inverts. Santa Fe now resided inside of the schoolteacher. The city had a cracked voice and blonde hair and a slightly sagging belly and pictures of a New York niece on its phone and an ambivalent relationship with combing its hair and an irrational fear of left turns. She expected young artists with vague academic worldviews, chainsmokers talking loudly about point of view and Heidegger. Instead the artists were retirees, painting nothing but landscapes of red earth, attempting to improve on the natural world. The schoolteacher did not like this kind of art. It was trivial. Wholly unnecessary. Then the blonde artist walked up behind her in a stucco gallery. He said, "You hate it don't you?" "Yes." She turned. He appeared to be in his early forties. "Tourists never understand it." "I'm not a tourist." "You are. You've never been within the land." "Don't talk to me like this." "This is how women prefer to be talked to." "Not this woman." "Even you. You want to be told you're wrong. 'I look fat' No. 'Everybody hates me.' That's not true. I'm skipping the stage where we agree. I'm going straight to the stage where we are opposites. Plus and minus." "The part where we ***** "Or connect or lose ourselves." "I bet you live in a loft. Dozens of half-finished canvases strewn about. Dabs of dried paint on newspapers." "I live in my big sister's basement. She isn't home." "There's not enough wine in the world." "That's where you're wrong," he said.

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Aug 18, 2014

Aug 18, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC

jj-hutton

Harbinger

The schoolteacher had an affair in Santa Fe. She was a schoolteacher and a tourist. And an affair adds dimension. It makes a place more than memory. The notion of it inverts. Santa Fe now resided inside of the schoolteacher. The city had a cracked voice and blonde hair and a slightly sagging belly and pictures of a New York niece on its phone and an ambivalent relationship with combing its hair and an irrational fear of left turns. She expected young artists with vague academic worldviews, chainsmokers talking loudly about point of view and Heidegger. Instead the artists were retirees, painting nothing but landscapes of red earth, attempting to improve on the natural world. The schoolteacher did not like this kind of art. It was trivial. Wholly unnecessary. Then the blonde artist walked up behind her in a stucco gallery. He said, "You hate it don't you?" "Yes." She turned. He appeared to be in his early forties. "Tourists never understand it." "I'm not a tourist." "You are. You've never been within the land." "Don't talk to me like this." "This is how women prefer to be talked to." "Not this woman." "Even you. You want to be told you're wrong. 'I look fat' No. 'Everybody hates me.' That's not true. I'm skipping the stage where we agree. I'm going straight to the stage where we are opposites. Plus and minus." "The part where we ***** "Or connect or lose ourselves." "I bet you live in a loft. Dozens of half-finished canvases strewn about. Dabs of dried paint on newspapers." "I live in my big sister's basement. She isn't home." "There's not enough wine in the world." "That's where you're wrong," he said.

41

• This great division of space. • And the untamed plants. Geckos... Pose as domestic pets - slide along its faded railings. Casing draughty walls, tethered to rafters loose lashing; hanging in jungle green. I clean up the wild flowers that float in the a i r, without explanation, without wrong measure. Is as it comes - I am ashamed that this is all I want. A testament to solitary hawks in the upper branches. Flutter in memory carefree cardinals in this leaf-strewn place, Dragonflies form wing-prayers We kneel and peel our shoes off, drop our feet to sleeping grass to be closer to the narrow splendor. Peacocks honk rough phrases, asking anyone. Commuting the tracks, between valley stream. I linger limbo roads On the jungly drive, pass a farm that repeats its exotic fruit tree, the elbows of orange blossoms Guava groves, avocado arsenal, saturated ocean views beyond pestyflower frills. At the life proof gate. This world is untidy with its muddy banks, with its eyes. 1000 flower bloom Listening feral fowl, ungulate shake Retirees friendly fire, Long forgotten barbwire crossing creeks the mountain lost in a sea of green This land, like me, is free To live a less domesticated dream

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Jun 18, 2019

Jun 18, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC

NeonRobinson

Aloha Nature Lovers

• This great division of space. • And the untamed plants. Geckos... Pose as domestic pets - slide along its faded railings. Casing draughty walls, tethered to rafters loose lashing; hanging in jungle green. I clean up the wild flowers that float in the a i r, without explanation, without wrong measure. Is as it comes - I am ashamed that this is all I want. A testament to solitary hawks in the upper branches. Flutter in memory carefree cardinals in this leaf-strewn place, Dragonflies form wing-prayers We kneel and peel our shoes off, drop our feet to sleeping grass to be closer to the narrow splendor. Peacocks honk rough phrases, asking anyone. Commuting the tracks, between valley stream. I linger limbo roads On the jungly drive, pass a farm that repeats its exotic fruit tree, the elbows of orange blossoms Guava groves, avocado arsenal, saturated ocean views beyond pestyflower frills. At the life proof gate. This world is untidy with its muddy banks, with its eyes. 1000 flower bloom Listening feral fowl, ungulate shake Retirees friendly fire, Long forgotten barbwire crossing creeks the mountain lost in a sea of green This land, like me, is free To live a less domesticated dream

37

We still have the summer that we spent together before you went to college the nights we spent drunk on the beach you with your guitar me with my smile as the surf licked our feet the times we spent hip to hip looking at the stars on that patch of private grass down the street from your house all the times spent wagging our chins about whatever came to mind we will always have the summer We still have the summer when the leaves outside my window turn crisp brown, apple red, and gold when the school bell rings like the doorbells opened upon kids trying to make five bucks When summer's lingering heat beings to chill and we are once again visited by the ghosts of our breath We will always have the summer We still have the summer when winter comes along and maybe if we're lucky it'll be a white Christmas but this is Richmond so probably not but I hope we do the city looks so pretty all lit up on a snowy night We will always have the summer We still have the summer when our birthday month rolls around a couple of April fools laughing our ***** off When new life springs out from all around and the spring showers turns the early morning grass into a field of stars or a Caribbean sea meeting a setting sun and the birds sing their pretty little hearts out just like you We will always have the summer And when summer comes round again maybe I will see you not a care in the world a world's worth of meaning maybe we will go back to that beach the sun and salt turning our skin to leather until we look like a couple of Florida retirees happy and wrinkled Maybe we can gaze up at the stars or your ceiling fan It really doesn't matter Maybe these things will happen maybe not I find comfort in knowing that I will always have that summer

0

Feb 28, 2013

Feb 28, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC

harry-j-baxter

We Still Have The Summer

We still have the summer that we spent together before you went to college the nights we spent drunk on the beach you with your guitar me with my smile as the surf licked our feet the times we spent hip to hip looking at the stars on that patch of private grass down the street from your house all the times spent wagging our chins about whatever came to mind we will always have the summer We still have the summer when the leaves outside my window turn crisp brown, apple red, and gold when the school bell rings like the doorbells opened upon kids trying to make five bucks When summer's lingering heat beings to chill and we are once again visited by the ghosts of our breath We will always have the summer We still have the summer when winter comes along and maybe if we're lucky it'll be a white Christmas but this is Richmond so probably not but I hope we do the city looks so pretty all lit up on a snowy night We will always have the summer We still have the summer when our birthday month rolls around a couple of April fools laughing our ***** off When new life springs out from all around and the spring showers turns the early morning grass into a field of stars or a Caribbean sea meeting a setting sun and the birds sing their pretty little hearts out just like you We will always have the summer And when summer comes round again maybe I will see you not a care in the world a world's worth of meaning maybe we will go back to that beach the sun and salt turning our skin to leather until we look like a couple of Florida retirees happy and wrinkled Maybe we can gaze up at the stars or your ceiling fan It really doesn't matter Maybe these things will happen maybe not I find comfort in knowing that I will always have that summer

72

Every Saturday night, the band downstairs covered King for twenty-or-so retirees at the bar. They held onto their drinks and memories as they applauded the classics, their rings and watches sounding like wind chimes against frosted glasses. Broken wing love birds smiled and laughed with one another. The bartender cut limes and dropped cherries as they rose a drunken toast. *Here's to this moment, where we're anything but old.*

0

Jun 28, 2014

Jun 28, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC

christopher-cizek

Stand By Me

Every Saturday night, the band downstairs covered King for twenty-or-so retirees at the bar. They held onto their drinks and memories as they applauded the classics, their rings and watches sounding like wind chimes against frosted glasses. Broken wing love birds smiled and laughed with one another. The bartender cut limes and dropped cherries as they rose a drunken toast. *Here's to this moment, where we're anything but old.*

11

uh who's the most dangerous emcee? on the m-i-c not from the NYC But spit classics like biggie ya gotta respect me check my pedigree makin' all newbees quick retirees ya just another flea on my paws watch yo jaw I leave crowds in awe N all they saw was yosef in the limelight sayin' his rhymes tight **** game swole as dolemite say it with me ya wanna be like me never loose to them thinner kids Make ya bleed from ya eyelids bustin' at you ya crew and ya walt disney tattoos Always catchin snafus Keep my Navigator on cruise big balla even got a statue of myself crossin' me is bad for ya health dont ya know my gun crew stays in stealth heads above the water quick to slaughter all those haters oughta eradicate ya self or im coming at cha with the gat but i aint mad at ya? bloods rushin' major concussion as ya heart beat like a percussion end of discussion still i bust on fools crushin' who dont know the rules ? from H-town to Jeruz roll through a tinted mercedes in blue jump suit quick shoot extract ya loot ya should know how i get down like Marciano I knock em out pound for pound as the crows gather around ya body as ya lay lifeless on the ground!

0

Dec 28, 2015

Dec 28, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC

Ru7hl355_Gangsta

Dangerous Poetry

uh who's the most dangerous emcee? on the m-i-c not from the NYC But spit classics like biggie ya gotta respect me check my pedigree makin' all newbees quick retirees ya just another flea on my paws watch yo jaw I leave crowds in awe N all they saw was yosef in the limelight sayin' his rhymes tight **** game swole as dolemite say it with me ya wanna be like me never loose to them thinner kids Make ya bleed from ya eyelids bustin' at you ya crew and ya walt disney tattoos Always catchin snafus Keep my Navigator on cruise big balla even got a statue of myself crossin' me is bad for ya health dont ya know my gun crew stays in stealth heads above the water quick to slaughter all those haters oughta eradicate ya self or im coming at cha with the gat but i aint mad at ya? bloods rushin' major concussion as ya heart beat like a percussion end of discussion still i bust on fools crushin' who dont know the rules ? from H-town to Jeruz roll through a tinted mercedes in blue jump suit quick shoot extract ya loot ya should know how i get down like Marciano I knock em out pound for pound as the crows gather around ya body as ya lay lifeless on the ground!

46

Caldies Park. Wet & Grey A just-want-it-over kind of day Retirees with dogs blather & jabber For little we know when a week turns sadder Long time ago, little girls laughter A life of plenty, much sought after Sands of time count down the years What once was joy, turns now to tears Doggy Church Warden smiles & chats Talking inanely of old womens' hats When valued souls lie close by And loved ones ask a lonely 'why' Always be cheery, always be kind You know not of that man's mind Sat over there with coffee, words amassing Mulling forlorn on friends a-passing. Go swiftly out into the damp garden Bump an elf & utter a 'Pardon!" For we never know when this race is run So strive only for justice, love & fun And then, then you can say you're done.

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May 8, 2019

May 8, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC

Dakes

Passings in the rain

Caldies Park. Wet & Grey A just-want-it-over kind of day Retirees with dogs blather & jabber For little we know when a week turns sadder Long time ago, little girls laughter A life of plenty, much sought after Sands of time count down the years What once was joy, turns now to tears Doggy Church Warden smiles & chats Talking inanely of old womens' hats When valued souls lie close by And loved ones ask a lonely 'why' Always be cheery, always be kind You know not of that man's mind Sat over there with coffee, words amassing Mulling forlorn on friends a-passing. Go swiftly out into the damp garden Bump an elf & utter a 'Pardon!" For we never know when this race is run So strive only for justice, love & fun And then, then you can say you're done.

21

Spring is here to stay For three months, hooray! More bluebirds are chanting More tulips are blooming More trees are growing And dusts are in the air. The weather is cool, not cold More houses are being sold More joggers run in the streets More retirees are warming the seats More athletes are at their meets And allergies are in the air. Spring is here to stay For a quarter of the year, hooray! Copyright © March 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.

0

Mar 29, 2025

Mar 29, 2025 at 10:35 PM UTC

60Etncelles60

Spring Is Here. Hooray!

Spring is here to stay For three months, hooray! More bluebirds are chanting More tulips are blooming More trees are growing And dusts are in the air. The weather is cool, not cold More houses are being sold More joggers run in the streets More retirees are warming the seats More athletes are at their meets And allergies are in the air. Spring is here to stay For a quarter of the year, hooray! Copyright © March 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.

16

My first friend was my best friend And still is to this day, A cousin like a brother I would not want it any other way. From childhood through to oldagehood We´re still both kids at heart, We have a bond that can´t be broken And have done from the start. From scruffy kids to naive teens We laughed through life together, From working men to retirees The bond remains securely tethered.

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Nov 28, 2019

Nov 28, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC

peter-thomas-balch

Oldagehood

My first friend was my best friend And still is to this day, A cousin like a brother I would not want it any other way. From childhood through to oldagehood We´re still both kids at heart, We have a bond that can´t be broken And have done from the start. From scruffy kids to naive teens We laughed through life together, From working men to retirees The bond remains securely tethered.

12