1940S Poems | Examples

Classic Reel

in the 1940s many movie comedies dealt with heaven
hell, reincarnation, the devil, angels, body snatching
I get a channel called Classic Reel with my Roku
The movies shown are from the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s and 60’s

I saw three of these shows this week
the one about hell was spooky in black and white
maybe more creepy than if it had been in color
they were plausible, warm, and witty

I got reintroduced to Betty Grable, Betty Hutton
Bob Hope, Bing Cosby, and Jimmie Stewart
They were intriguing shows, amusing
I was not bored, I was intrigued
Plots much more entertaining than today’s movies

My Grandma

I remember my grandma’s house
Spending so many hours with her
She always had that one special chair
No one but her was allowed to use
She always told stories of life in the old world
And I would listen to every word
Trying to imagine what she went through
I would always bring her her favourite foods
None of which was allowed
Her favourite though was her veal breast
Cooked in her kitchen from the 1940s
But that was my grandma’s life
She kept the best from her past
And I was happy to have seen it all
At least for a while

© Poem – XXV/V/MMXXIV
LRET

In Memoriam of a Broken Family

Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight 
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.

Weekend Memory

Late 1940s England

the square
   was packed
& the high street full
meat&veg seemed plentiful

market barkers
  drew the queues
with jokes
         impromptu

shoppers filed
     neat& formal
in sainsburys greggs
  & home colonial

the bacon slicer
  shuttled back& forth
rashers scaled
 in halves&fourths

bread mealed smooth&strong
   butter patted shaped oblong
cheese cut with twangy wire
 toasted later on an open fire

ham sliced from the bone
 spuds bagged    weighed in stones
tea from open square tins
 packet-served with a welcome grin

'woollies' snackbar smells
  'elevenses'  hunger time to quell
one mug of ovaltine must'nt dally
so shortcut thru' market alley

where auctioneers tones rise&fall
 above the sheep&cattle stalls
  then off homewards at a trot
 last pennies spent in feaseys   sweetshop

on the train bridge 'spotted' numbers new
waited    whilst the 'cutler' raced thru'
 along pebble brook   time to climb a tree
    on this day  shopping was made coupon-free

Marks and Sharks

peter marks, rhymes with sharks, warns the people
To be sharp.? Your life he wishes I note to save.?
He advocates 'a new stab' in three months its to be
Made.? I thought in the (dark winter) exerscise Col
James Bush implied in 2007 that process was live.?
Maybe i'm wrong.?? But lets move along; to the latest
Jingle sound-byte or song.' Dear old Dolly Parton put
One out, quite stab positive, that I don't doubt I 
Wonder did she charge a fee.? Or was her service only
Free, yet move along..Its a fast paced time, kinetic
Screens and 5g tuning fine..its all about our health we
Hear, self preservation and promoting fear.' Is that a
Good way to keep us fit.? Just listen to the narrative ?
I don't see bulliten boards, agin rolled out those 1940s
Innovations sticks and suits, a politicans roundabout '
Such a sideshow..Aimed i think at the over 60s if we
Stop to think ww2 spirit was invoked I hope the planners
Curl up and choke.' With these as friends we struggled on
With their (well-wishes) lectures advice quite wrong?
Well here we are, society split..Or divided as I call it.!
Such easy prey..? I pray to God its not the case maybe
I'm just odd.?

Childhood Sex

CHILDHOOD SEX
	(for D.P.)
Oh, where is she now, love of my life, the woman I adore?
(I was five that summer, and she eighteen–—
in my childish heart of hearts, I had promised to marry,
knowing nothing of heartbreak and the grownup world of desire!)
— she walked up the steps ahead of me—
wearing a pair of those 1940s-style-cut white short-shorts 
like Lana Turner wore in “Postman”: 
and my heart did a tailspin–a turnover–—
from which I have never fully recovered!

He Served He Fed His Fellow Man-

Early 1940s
 13 years before my birth
On the seas 
during World War II 
My father served as a Navy chef
That's when the waves 
Did wave
And the banners windley gauge
Sailor at sea served his country and his seamen
Alas! 
13 years later 
As a husband and father he served
Sailor chef my father he fed me

6/23/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021

The Cliffs of Sand and Sea

The music 
is her breath, 
or…wind…

into the open
bottle. The songs
of folk-lore.

***

Around her bon-fire, 
embers sear the sleeve,
of her Hoodie;

The sparks 
are as red
as the blood

of a burst 
aneurism.

Thus...
she could have

a "broken heart".

The sparklers
in their hands,

the flames
of our Sun,
dressing

the edges...
of Sorrento Cliffs,
that think

they could
conquer
the sky.

The beach
in a dream...
melts the sea

and sky 
into a flesh-
colored

palette
of all
light browns.

I said,
She listened...
I like her.
***
A chord,
of a guitar, 
strummed; 

a piano
played
by ear. 

Meg rocked
to the melody
of her life.

Human-like 
spirits...Gods…
in her eyes.

***

He remembers:
The 1940s- 
a decade 

as dark 
as a tree
in the night…

to me.

A poet’s verse. 
By 
Walt Whitman.

The "Nor' Easter"
crushes...

yet...

the snow
falling:

hush...

such a
yearning 
is mine.

***

Dissection…
of the sentence;
a line...

" No, this is a true story!"

The story…

as simple 
as the BUD 

in Spring,

as complex
as the flower,

as it BLOOMS.

There Was a Crooked Man

There was a Crooked Man

There was a Crooked Man
in His Heart He had hate
in His Mind He had no Plan
On care for a better World

Others Who also Hated loved Him
He held up a Cross to Them
He didn't even know what it should mean
And now We must be for Right

It is on Us now to set this right
Be awakened to end this Fright
This is not the 1940s
Unless We want to repeat History

Stand up for Humanity of all
No Man should be Lesser
I want all to be loved
Hate has no Place in Love

The Sixty-Four Dollar Question

Now that my love is the sixty-four dollar question.
Named for a TV show back in the 40’s, before most of you were born.
Maybe even before your parents were born.
And guess what the grand prize was in the 40’s?
You guessed it!

Love Jesus and Keep Stealing and Hating

We accept the GREAT Grace of Jesus, works of pure love
So we get eternity and so much else

Does it mean we defend those who steal and hurt others
again and again and again and again (only westerners)

When we suspect Syria used chemical weapons, we do not wait
We bomb the same day (in whose Name? Hubris, not Jesus)

So, let us help other nations prosper, reduce emigrants
And we will not have to return precious artefacts, pay millions in fines
And have courts tell us, "Don't separate refugee children from Moms"
Because we are forgiven much, given much (USA!) and need reminding:
Don't turn refugees as you did Jews in the 1940s from these shores
Or intern Japanese Americans because we went to war against Germany
(But preferred to turn yellow when race matters impinge on humanity)
Race matters .... yes, race matters: even in forgiving, it seems
No, to the question as title to this poem: Let's get real, kinder. Kinda ...

A Noble Fir For Christmas Morn

At first sight of first snow colour 
Scrapbook memories stir with folk within
Where spirits of love, caring, and sharing were
Whispers of our life we shared, brings wet tears that blur
Of the old farmhouse toasty and warm within-doors
Stipend oak wood was fed into its heart to burn 
Fiery amber, yellow, and reds comforting flames would flicker
Crackling, sputtering sound of burning cinders

   Wisps of oak mixed with ma’s cooking would journey
Shimmying up its way through the chimney

   Outside world had been cloaked in a white glittery sheen
 
A heartwarming Snowman was always seen
Decked out in his red scarf and top hat beaming 
By the front porch greeting passersby 
 Red Birds perched and rustle the winter evergreens 
Conifer and denuded trees would unfurl a story book scene

   We would peek out the window when pa honked the horn  
On his 1940s green worn out pickup to warn
He was back with a fresh cut noble fir for Christmas morn


11/28/2016

Zapatos

Shopping with a girlfriend, we went to schmooze 
at Steinmart: she looked at clothes,
I looked at shoes, found D'Orsay pumps, 
circa 1940s, black leather, of course, 2" heels, 
and even worse, zero support of any kind.  
To the world at large, I posed this question, 
"One more pair of high heels before I die?"  
"You Go Girl," was one reply from woman nearby.  
They made my legs look like New York City, 
but more's the pity, I'm 80, not 40, and 
these killer pumps so sexy pretty, I took them 
home to the practice zone.  Next day,  
a train wreck of reality check-- much regret, 
Steinmart accepted my D'Orsays back.

Chains

CHAINS

1940s

“Joe’s”
“Good food”
The sign says
Hole in the wall
All you can call it
Joe and Ethyl – owners
Honest as the day is long
Just plain folks and nothing fancy
Never make the show on Iron Chef
Just looking back this modern day and age

NOW

Chains
Yes    chains!
Big city
Bit city chains
And modern people
Honest folk    all in chains
The chains have run all Joes out
We all clank like Jacob Marley
While the rich eat at the country club
And not at chains – Joes are gone forever

At the Beach With Elizabeth

I wish my granddaughter paper dolls:
"Princess Elizabeth and Margaret Rose,"
circa 1940s.  I wish her pick-up sticks
of rainbow colors, or a rubber ball,
Say, and its metallic jacks.  I

wish her a Monopoly board, lots
of property---rows of dominoes
as black as the hearts 
of those bad boys who ran away.  "I wish, 
I wish, with all my heart," says E.

with wave of good witch 
Glinda's starry wand, while I ask 
Bring Elizabeth back 
that heartless pack who 
would not let her play.

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