1962 Poems - Poems about 1962

New Orleans’ 1962 ostentatious hotel lobby extravagant crystal fluted chandeliers highly polished walnut counter tops opulent Italian marble floors plush scarlet velvet cushioned couches swankly brass and glass décor luxury never seen after nineteen sixty-two...

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best Halloween was in 1962 I was a fairy with silver tinseled wings felt angelic in virginal white shiny gown aluminum foil wand looked fancy I felt pretty maybe for the first time be a lady my mother said but two boys tried to take my candy basket I clunked them both over the head with it mothers called my mother I dreaded hearing...

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Berlin, City of Espionage; split by a wall, divided into four only approached from the west by road, rail, and air corridor. Still carrying traces of the Berlin of Isherwood’s thirties days so very cosmopolitan still with its big Capital City ways. A certain grand style and a sort of debauched air contrasts of the strip clubs with the Eternal Flame burning there, not to be...

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too-da-loo Christmas two kids in tow Buffalo grandpa won’t be there left the gifts in Poughkeepsie where faerie lights will not glow 12/1/2021...

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As we sit in the car my sister, mother, father, and me steam rises off our rain-sodden clothes and the air fills with the smell of damp coats and wet sheep. I 'spect; I'll never smell sheep wet or dry. Or see one; other than as we pass by; from the window of our shiny red car. "They look just like clouds," I say "Silly...

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listening to the water in the water mill brings the Iowa State Fair into my mind We had a water mill ride In the sixties it was something We would wait all day for a chance to get sprinkled with water funnel cakes were not invented yet back in the day but we had lizards on a stick live ones. you had the option to...

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Pete and I were gob smacked by these saviors in October of sixty-two. Women in our apartment swiftly efficiently measured our heads too. We both wanted to know why, but back in the sixties, kids did not ask. The women were gluing and shaping with vigor, an arduous task Kids were sent to our kitchen to get their heads...

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Nineteen sixty two sky trains, You bring Seattle’s world’s fair to her senses I stare in fascination at your fresh clean streamlined windows Shining down at me with a smile, enhancing your gleaming aluminum runners. I could never ride in one, says my sister. I am thinking girls need to be engineers, because now I have a new goal. I want...

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When my twin sister and I were ten, we built snow forts. It took us most of the day, and we were excited about it. We came in for a break and ate grilled cheese and tomato soup. Our cheeks were all pink, and we were laughing. Our mother suggested we should stay inside the rest of the day. No...

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School was out for annual Christmas break Ice and snow hung around many a week A friend and I did what one should not do Went onto a frozen canal to skate Some lads we knew were giving us some cheek Boohoo One lad pinched my friends hat from off her head Chased him I did, what came next haunts me...

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Courage is a quality that describes well this star who fought an uphill battle since childhood when abandoned by a mother suffering from mental issues, and later having to overcome sexual abuse in several foster homes - then trying to build a career for herself while trapped in an era where sexy women weren't taken...

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A twelve year old boy stands covered in ‘mud’ What the plasterers call cement His Grandfather came and offered a job For each hour, he’d pay fifty cents The buckets were heavy, the scaffolding high As he kept those mortar boards full And at the end of that summer, more...

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In 1962, I was a caseworker, not a social worker, in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago. In that era, the difference between a caseworker and a social worker was simple. A social worker had a degree or two in social work and was qualified to work with the poor. A caseworker usually had a...

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Old ways have a way to replay Scenes from forgotten melodies; Those stray feelings that recall stay Upon the whim of plain fancy. See how my years have flown away, Clinging to my journey story; I barely recall yesterday, How strange these fading memories? Dangling strands of cacophony, Old Mattar Road that paved my stay; Stray echoes now pestering me, Those faded faces gone away. By that...

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Proud I am children, proud for sure, proud of day and proud of night I can finally turn the key in my own door No latent echoes filled with omnious warnings Measuring out my freedom in abbreviated noons And uncoiling mornings with elastic circuit of the sun I can plant my own ten acres of banana more Beach my own canoe...

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