1963 Poems - Poems about 1963

November 21, 1963

 November 21, 1963                                                   

Anti-Poem - Dry Ice and Cologne

a blue chevy impala basks in a suburban driveway
like a beached whale it oozes gases and black oils 
its seeping white walls beg for rubber movements
little boy inside the house sits on a pleated couch
he watches the setting sun through a screen door
fat mother stirs pudding in a wall-papered kitchen
smoking father works a tv guide

Bergman Film, 1963

It was a Swedish film they said,
Mixing real life, truth and art,
A little bit expressive they said,
Which for us was a jolly good start
And when Sunday the good Father
Preached to go and see it was a sin
The street outside was crowded
As we quietly queued to get in.

This was the early 1960’s
When standards had to be

November 22, 1963

Behind a broad fence
A grassy knoll in Dallas
Lone sniper waited
Changed the course of history
Possibly went scot-free, too.

June 14, 2021

Dallas, Texas 1963

She scrambled
from where she sat
in the back seat
climbing onto the
trunk of that
long luxurious Lincoln
not to escape an
assassin's assault
as many assumed
but to collect the shards of
skull and bits of brain
that had been blown
back onto it as a bullet
blasted a hole in his head
his body lolling over to
lie limply in her lap
as her flowers fell to
the floorboard
sure

The Far West Coast - 1963

Black flow the clouds from Cymru's heights, 
like molten lead they cross the deep, 
heavy with sorrow from the hills
they crack and weep.

The winds bring down from Wyddfa's slopes
a grief that is too hard to bear, 
they murmur it in deep regret
in dark despair.

“Tell me, you winds that scream and cry, 
that blast the rocky

Funeral In 1963

Funeral in 1963


Beveled dusty cracked glass shielding Mother Mary enthroned,
Amidst flying angelic devotions atop whipped clouds of icy air,
Enslaved by an antique miracle made manifest in stained blood,
With silent invisible memorized prayers uttered in ancient Latin refrains, 
Bowed before upright holy statues and a gold-encrusted grand altar, 
He stood back-turned under a dead Jesus hiding

Remembrance of Creation: Marcel Marceau 1963

Remembrance of « Creation » 1963 (MM)
(Marcel Marceau 1963)

Face white-clown-painted 
hands crossing invisibility
in a white-gloved glissade

a soft, silent shifting, 
a step-slide 
over non-existent windows, walls and doors

a glide into gesture

into signing
a seeking

into a stirring
a knowing 
a genesis 

the stage, his staging
the spotlight on 
in a spotlit silence

Eyes of a Montagnard Girl 1963

EYES OF A MONTAGNARD GIRL 1963
Eyes without reason,
never having an end
searching forever,
never finding a friend.

Eyes without mercy,
stealing all that was you,
changing forever
what you thought love could do.

You will love her forever.
as she'll love you the same,
But it stays in the Highlands
as if we never came.

© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Number 22 In 1963

Number 22 in 1963


The prior season and many seasons past had been great for our school. However, the ‘62-’63 season was to prove disastrous for our school. I had been looking forward to the 63-64 season when I knew that I would be ready and prepared, but the district changed the rules and eliminated the

28 August 1963-1

we were tired
after the long march for freedom hundred
miles of trekking hurting knees sweating skin
too hot a day for the mid autumn may be the pain
fever in the big city after the cherries have blossomed 
n gone like an endemic influenza
sea of people like the sand on the beaches
stretched beyond her innocent yearning hazel eyes
the

1963

Those long bus rides 
between Urbana, Illinois and Wheaton, Maryland 
were all in the interspace,  
hours of smooth nothingness punctuated 
by jangly nothingness 
at change points like Cincinnati and Pittsburg. 
Blurs in memory, dreamy, 
taste of intensly needed sandwiches 
and the desperate need to be clean. 
Long half-sleep voyages 
through fantasy, through needle-sticking 
drives,

Jfk January 20, 1961 - November 22, 1963

A handsome man, a valiant son,
John Kennedy was he.
A man who rose to President
with civil rights the key.

Who can forget the many days
like Camelot they seemed,
when all eyes were on Washington,
they passed just like a dream.

Ah, we remember Jacqueline
a Vassar deb was she,
who walked with grace on his right side
through fame and infamy.

One thousand days

Easter 1963

Every fragile flower
Weaves a different sense of power
But the old gardener 
His hands and fingers soil stained
Wears the same disguise
Over his disdain for the poor and trodden mass
The beleagured hair in relentless hands
The squirming bodies bruised and broken
The trying cross of love despised
They gathered the ignorant and stygmatized
And while sun glinted on shiny coffles
The wine

November 22, 1963

A common-born child
was changed by the death
of a man one day.
Back in the 60's,
(I remember.)
when barefoot kids
were called in,
from carefree play.
A rowdy, raucous group,
(Tag, you're 'it' No! Tag,
I got you back.)
tumbling into the backdoor,
in answer to Momma's call.
I, being first inside,
pulled up short,
knowing something
just wasn't right.
The deep voice of a man
was blaring from the radio.
(No

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