the 1950 housewife wears her best dress to clean
and pearls from Hawaii with a slick dazzling sheen.
In her polished high heel shoes, she prances in the kitchen.
Making food for her family without help and never ’n.
The 1950’s housewife cleans and vacuums with delight.
If there are any messes, she keeps them hidden from our sight.
She is gloriously giddy to spend her day mopping and scrubbing a sink.
In the evenings she goes to nightclubs wearing diamonds and her mink.
The 1950’s housewife never complains a bit about her marvelous life.
So eager and thrilled to be called Tony, Larry or Dickie’s little wife.
Anticipating her husband’s needs, putting them in front of her own each day.
If you cannot find the 1950’s housewife, perhaps she has run away.
noisy luncheonette
1950’s fast food
men in suits and ties
women in cotton dresses
wearing high heeled shoes
none unchaperoned
counter closed on Sundays
family day
everyone in church
(Dylan Thomas, Oct 1914 – Nov 1953)
I as one who has never touched the shining Big Apple –
as ruthless then as it's ruthless now –
gaze at its romantic pictures
moving on my TV screen
depicting New York's glistening streets
of the nineteen fifties,
the decade Dylan died there.
Screaming lights and busy marquees
dance in the sparkling, winking streets;
cars hopeful and celebrating the light that is night
in a weaving street of what is temporary;
but, hell, what a street! –
one I would live in,
would love in, would die in,
but only after I would cry in it,
cry my happiness to all who would listen,
and think me mad
but know in our shared, hand-held joy
that one from afar loves the streets
of a city he thinks he will never touch.
Where have they gone- those days of long ago-
when life was simple- more predictable?
When friends and family talked face to face-
eyes flashing in the sun- not on a screen.
When sightseeing and picnics were such fun;
or watching movies on the hometown screen-
then going to the soda shop to play
a song picked from the old jukebox machine.
When Sunday was reserved to pray at church-
and afterward, most families went home
for dinner- kids, their parents, sometimes too-
the grandparents who often shared great tales.
Life then- a gift, filled up with simple things;
my flashbacks top today's more complex flings.
June 29, 2021
It's early 'fifties- a group meets
in field of grass, though barren, bare-
a break away from city streets
to share some wholesome country air.
The cars behind are parked to wait
as couples sit, while others stand;
they're here to hear, appreciate
a roving five-piece country band.
No matter that the grass is tall,
this place can offer them some time
away from weekday city-sprawl-
enjoying nature's peaceful clime.
The live performance soon will fill
the air with rhythm, loud and strong;
programs in hand- await the thrill
of each uplifting country song.
March 3, 2020
For Contest, Back When
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
beware atomic attack!
1950s civil defense
duck and cover drills
Bert the turtle
showed us the way
flash of light - duck and cover!
A curious cocktail of odours greets us
as we move in from playground
to corridor, to cloakroom, to classroom.
Beeswax fragrance: freshly buffed parquet.
Brasso smell: base metal turned to gold.
Jeyes Fluid: vapour killing vile germs.
Such alchemy starts our day with clean slate.
Playground cacophony left behind.
Now each sound has discipline, has purpose.
First bell: registration shall begin.
Next bell: proceed to assembly hall.
Lasses stand on round marks; lads on square marks.
Regular rows, parallel precision.
Stand to attention. Uniform inspection.
At ease. Handshakes and smiles. Peace be with you.
Silence pervades as we ponder our sins.
With ramrod fingers Miss thumps on the keys.
Staccato. Left. Right.
'Ride on Ride on in Majesty'.
A short sermon on compassion is served.
Then, school notices: soccer successes
and the listing of scallywags destined
for public thrashing at high noon next day.
Third bell: learning shall begin.
RI lesson. St Paul's Journey yet again.
In silence we colour in his route map.
With crayons on auto-pilot we day dream.
Our apostle arrives in Rome by morning break.
Wafting on the morning breeze,
During manufacturing
Our whole town enjoyed the scent.
Maxwell House Coffee.
Freshness permeating air.
Aroma percolating.
Infusing memories of…
Grandma’s coffee pot.
June 3, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnen
.
King of Rock's
s w v l
i e hips
shocked!
Inspired by the "Septimal Fun" Contest
Sponsored by Mr. Brian Strand
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