Poems about aging

There have been many memorable poems about aging over the years. I hope you enjoy my selection – and please contact me if you have any suggestions for new content!

Will I Have To Be Sexy At 60?

Will I have to be sexy at sixty?
Will I have to keep trying so hard? Well I’m just going to slump,
With my dowager’s hump
And watch myself turn into lard.
I’m not going to keep exercising,
I’m not going to take HRT,
If a toy boy enquires I’ll say,
“Hah! Hard luck squire!
Where were you in 73…?”
I’m not going to shave my moustaches,
I’m just going to let them all sprout,
My chins’ll be double
All covered in stubble,
I’m going to become an Old Trout!
My beauty all gone and forgotten,
Vanished with never a quibble,
I’ll sit here and just kind of gnaw at a crust
And squint at the telly, and dribble.
As my marbles get steadily fewer,
Must I battle to keep my allure?
Have I still got to pout
Now my teeth have come out
And my husband has found pastures newer?
Farewell to the fad and the fashion,
Farewell to the young and the free!
My passion’s expired,
At bedtime… I’m TIRED!
Sexy and sixty?
Not me!

The Cat In The Hat

I cannot see
I cannot pee
I cannot chew
I cannot screw
Oh my god, what can I do?


My memory shrinks
My hearing stinks
No sense of smell
I look like hell
My mood is bed-can you tell?


My body’s drooping
Have trouble pooping
The Golden Years
Have come at last
The Golden Years
Can kiss my ass.

Dr Seuss

Happy Couple

Dust If You Must

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Rose Milligan

Poems About Aging

My Rememberer

My forgetter’s getting better
But my rememberer is broke
To you that may seem funny
But, to me, that is no joke.

For when I’m ‘here’ I’m wondering
If I really should be ‘there’
And, when I try to think it through,
I haven’t got a prayer!

Often times I walk into a room,
Say “what am I here for?”
I wrack my brain, but all in vain
A zero, is my score.At times I put something away
Where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from
Is, generally, me!

When shopping I may see someone,
Say “Hi” and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away
I ask myself, “who was that?”

Yes, my forgetter’s getting better
While my rememberer is broke,
And it’s driving me plumb crazy
And that isn’t any joke.

I’m Fine, How are You?

There’s nothing the matter with me,
I’m just as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both knees,
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about.
I’m overweight and I can’t get thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

Arch supports I need for my feet.
Or I wouldn’t be able to go out in the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I’m all right.
My memory’s failing, my head’s in a spin.
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

The moral of this as the tale unfolds,
Is that for you and me, who are growing old.
It is better to say “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.

I’m fine, how are you?

The Twist

A gal was attempting the twist —
A dance from her youth she still missed.
But this hard kind of rock
Left her hips in a lock
She was wistful, as the Doc said: “Resist!”

Mr Happy Laughing At Joke