Best Baby Boomer Poems | Poetry

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Bummed out Baby Boomer by Stevens, Daniel

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The Best Baby Boomer Poems

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A Promise Fulfilled Beyond the Breakers

Calm, cobalt seas beyond the waves beckon Baby Boomer surfer responds he stands upon his nicked, red board placing his precious cargo on its deck tired arms paddle to deep water where gulls circling the azure sky cry and so does he, this tired, old man he weeps as dolphins provide an escort sunlight ascends higher on the horizon salty spray stings his eyes and uncontrollable tears are released as he recalls his life with her this promise he made as she started to fade weighs heavily on his heart but he must fulfill this last act of love “We’re here, sweet one, beyond the breakers where you chose to rest eternally.” carefully he bends to retrieve the urn caressing it with his sun-aged arms shaking the urn, he lets ashes fall saying farewell one last time slowly he turns and paddles toward shore heartbroken and alone
*February 4, 2017


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2017


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Let s Hear It

Let's Hear It Growing up a teen in the 60s A Baby boomer baby I'm known High school was like stepping into another world Of fun sports to join, watch, and stir Class spirit Homecoming football games Proms with the big white mums glittering on chiffon dresses Basketball, volleyball, track, and cheerleading With pompoms in my hands, loud cheers, and chants Summer swimming, surfing, and lying out on the beach Getting that golden amber tan was always fun Miniskirts, tight sweaters, scarfs, and boots Sock hops parties, and vinyl records, Bowling, and parking at the drive in theater College turned things around I looked at life different Studying and working to fund my hobbies My passion became my job a business that I dearly love 2/5/2016


Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016


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She Came This Way

On a headstone in the ground, 
a life's summation can be found:
born and died and little more
marks the end with an underscore.

Before I die I'd like to say
all that happened along the way.
There's a story to be sure.
Let's begin life's overture.

My life began in celebration;
The War was over across our nation.
A baby boomer I became;
My generation was given that name.

Born on the East coast raised on the West.
Who's to to say, "Father didn't know best"?
Dad's family was left behind
but mother didn't seem to mind.

Childhood was rough and raw.
Money scarce but, from what I saw,
friends and neighbors were in the same boat.
Families worked hard to stay afloat.

We made do with what we had.
In handmade clothes we were clad.
Our imaginations entertained us
while fruits and berries helped sustain us.

Raking, mowing and bottle collecting
provided things we weren't expecting:
to see a movie or buy a mitt.
If you wanted something, you worked for it!

So, I more than survived childhood;
I learned to be all I could.
Two years of college was cause for delay
before I declared Independence Day.

I left my parents; moved far away
excited to do it all my way.
To try my wings without a net,
leaving the nest without regret.

Any job well done is its own reward.
I found many occupations to be explored:
mail carrier, bookkeeper, manager, clerk,
soldier, census taker, service rep, soda jerk.

Made many friends along life's path;
A few have met with life's aftermath.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here
but, of death, I have no fear.

Of loves, I've had a few
but the greatest love I ever knew,
is the love of a mother for her son;
With him, my family was begun.

I leave my grandchildren to carry on
the adventure of life when I am gone.
I hope they thrive when they are grown 
in a world much different from my own.

The legacy I leave behind,
I wish to be my words and rhymes.
So, on my gravestone may it say:
"Through her poetry, she came this way".

August 31, 2015
For my family


Copyright © Janece Terry | Year Posted 2015


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I Now Pronounce You, Hus-band-width and Wifi

I was sick of seeing one plate, fork, and knife
And that lonely cup of drink
As if I was a piece in a painted still life
Like those dishes placed in the sink

So I clicked on a dating site as the others
Seeking a fine baby boomer
And in time chose one of the likeliest lovers
Who laughed at my sense of humor.

We emailed, and Facebooked and tweeted on Twitter
Then Skyped every single night
Though we lived far away, I knew I wouldn’t quit her
‘Til we got our liaison right.

We transmitted vows over the wireless sky
And kept each of them sweet and short
Then after being pronounced, husbandwidth and wifi
We kissed through a USB port

by David Fisher for Put Your Best Rhyme Forward contest



Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013


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Isn't It Ironic

Don't you find it ironic?
Isn't it ironic?

As time progresses,
   this baby boomer generation
   has been exposed to radio, newspapers, magazines.
Each media touched our minds and ears early on
   with it came inspiration and emotion
   as the world was changing and evolving.
Then with education, time and knowledge
   came the television,  space exploration, modern technology 
   expanding  personal computers,cds, dvds, laptops, tablets, cell phones.
Now, we are blinded, oblivious and drowning in its ease
   and the lack of face to face communication
   within us lies the desire to find quiet and escape this false communion.
Today, I turned off the tv, the radio, the laptop, the cell
   to see you face to face, to speak and touch you
   to find the reality that surely exists between us.
For a moment
   Stop!
Stop texting, twittering and tweeting,
   shut down you phone, close your tablet,
   find your true voice
   and speak to me, face to face once again.


Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2016


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Funny Girl's A Goner Now

Deb(don't call her Debra) Wilson 
        R.I.P.


Here lies Deb who was a late bloomer
Good thing she had a sense of humor
Cos' she's turned into dust
So it's Heaven or bust!
For this fun-loving baby boomer






** for POETIC EPITAPH contest
sponsored by Andrea Dietrich


Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2010


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My Ge-Generation

Don't go calling baby-boomers no heroes
Our legacy won't be much above zero
What GRAND contributions we've made
We blessed you with cocaine and aids!
All pop wanted when he survived the war
Was a quaint little family of four
But reality busted their bubble
What they got was truck-load a' trouble
We grew up too coddled and cozy
Running rings around po' little Rosie

Whatcha' get for paid college tuition?
A spoiled brat who can't do addition
Staging sit-ins to protect the masses
With pillows for tender little asses
No Vietnam or bust for THIS Joe
(My congressman will intervene, you know)
So go stuff your damn draft notice order!
(Later dude, gotta' run for the border)

Welcome back Sarge, here's your homecoming prize
How 'bout the finger and spit in both eyes?
We stand PROUD may God bless our sweet flag!
(You SALUTING?? Good lord what a drag!)
How we LABORED to set the world free!
Hey, wanna' check out my new SUV?

***Vietnam was of course a tragic mistake and there were many injustices during those times...However many of the protesters and draft dodgers were privileged, insulated rich kids who had no clue about the real world...The ultimate insult was Jane Fonda's visit to North Vietnam in 1972, where she proudly posed on an enemy anti-aircraft gun while POW's were being tortured practically next door..One of those POW's was Senator John McCain who was offered release but refused because those imprisoned earlier were not offered the same...now THAT'S what I'd call a Baby Boomer hero!
To her very small credit, 'Hanoi Jane' later apologized calling her visit a mistake and a betrayal to the troops...ditto to you, Ms. Fondue....  


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012


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Doing as I am told

They tell me I was a most annoying child, not good looking like everyone else's son - 

ugh! nor bright as a button, but the 'thick' one. One of those who just tried to help 

both teachers and pupils, to do things the easy way, or so brainless or bored not to do 

anything anyway, anything at all. After all one cannot be criticised then? - you bet! 

So, here am I and I try to write a poem on my faithful laptop so that my mediocre 

ideas (that good?) but crystal clear English (yeah right!) before accessing the best 

poets' website I have come across - and then I - UR!!!- run out of time blaming my 

baby boomer typing mis-skills and you dear web bosses that are only doing your best 

with a Peter pest, trying to help, trying to do better so his better becomes his best.

Let's hope that when my poem goes online my gentle critics will see I aspire to play 

poetry like cricket - damn I was absolutely crap at playing the the poetry of leather 

upon willow so unlike that New Yorker Joseph O'Neill, who probably bowls a Yorker too, 

with his trinity of Irishnes, Dutchness and Americanism souping up as 'NETHERLAND' 

please intercede for me to type faster or have more time to jot down these musings as 

I know you do LOL at my poetry. Please, please be patient and so gentle, gentle my 

esteemed fellowe poets in this our republic of letters by stirring it hot and meaty fit for 

                                                       any rhyme royal.

   


Copyright © Peter Dorr | Year Posted 2013


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Hey God if u only knew me, take my advice God Dammit

There's an inner/outter counter blank element that defines our earthly countenance transparent transpire to an irrelevant parlor non native nill given gotten gave, positioned ill latently counterintuitive never minded gotten gained heretofore-d hahaha-d wtf-dis thisd? Not a lisp-d but a pronounced derivative of my God where, who, how did we get to this unfortunate unmissionary political position of sexual/politico unendeavor? At leastthose before could read, spell, form sentenances with correct grammitical structure? This was the baby boomer strength to all purpose education for future relevance before standardized testing & educational legislation from those with no sense of thought being, emo revelance, cultural enrichment, sexual endowment, only dollars for student bodies could at/test. Latent educational implorements, for media prowess & re election. All u dumb, too stressful as u need to be unincorporated for the ample time being. Watch your gonads parents to be, have your "house" in order before you pro create. Childhood, birth, procreation, is not/should never be a "surprise" event. A new soul awaits their chance for entry into a world essentially unwanted due to sexual stupidity. For example, and I quote myself, "U can HAVE a picnic, HAVE fun, HAVE a party, HAVE people over, but yet you PLAN a wedding, PLAN a vacation, PLAN to buy a car, house". You can GET a job, GET going, GET laid! Ay, there's the rub!            So, you HAVE sex, GET pregnant, then PLAN. How old are you?  

A MISTAke? Really? Get your stupid sex crap together, low life, u inconsequential, morons. Get yrself fixed, dialed out, negated, sterilized, mummified, frozen, idiocracized, so we, the somewhat normals, don't have to deal with, pay for your "UN" everythings; graduated college, 1976, half white trash boy, lucky, college grants. Dead dad, uneducated/emo vacant mom. Only SS check. Little to nothing to eat at month's end, crackers, pie dough? But the BUGULAR was always rolling. Took in washings, ironings, babysat. Got an education, thank God 101. Changed life, my way of everything and the World at large. Genius? No. Thinker? Hell Yes, about everything all the time. Game on with a psychic gauge everpresent omniguided to fulfil that which is to be verbiaged. My 3 sons PLANNED, pinpointed, produced, pasturized, protected and parented right down to their Astrology sign!! There is a latent shit/shift constraint which lends itself to a non tribal relevance unforgiving, noir complacent, to be held in a guilded grievance graded non neverance negated noided nin-compoop nasty-nuisance-nance-nill-numb nonsense soliloquey shanty styled ridiculoso radical random residual resounding intercourseingly incongruient innane idea that gets us in a voided prohibited preamble to a bareback birth control enlivened entirety of sexpression w/out representation. I didn't ask to be here.           

Hey! Brother can u help a guy out with an I phone? I need the condom app.


Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2016


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After School Jam Session

How was school today?

Fine.

Did you learn anything important?

Maybe. I'm not sure yet.

Really? What are you considering?

We talked about Howard Odum's natural trinity
of altruism.

Maybe I skipped that day
way back in premillennial times
before Permaculture Design had taken over deep learning development.
Who is Howard Odum
and how does his natural trinity
diverge from my traditional Holy Trinity?
Or, maybe it doesn't.

Howard Odum was an early systems theorist
who studied ecosystemic trends
of nutrition building and disintegration,
of sustainable balance
and runwaway monocultural disasters
like climate and landscape anti-nutritional pathologies.

Did you just say
climate change derives from monocultural overshoot,
a weedpatch taking over our garden,
also known as Earth?

I guess,
but in this case the weedpatch
is also known as over-industrialized
LeftBrain dominant
anthropoids.
But, the natural trinity of altruism
is about climates of inter-relational health,
and not about monocultures and anthropocentrism.

I'm sure I missed this class,
if they even had it back in my Baby Boomer day.

You probably just got the Holy Trinity part,
when you studied metaphysics.
I don't think they were teaching ecosystemic theory
when you took MultiCultural Civics Development classes;
although Howard was published well before your high school years.

It probably took awhile for educators
to figure out the significance
of ecosystemic balance,
within and without,
rather than merely lecturing about unsustainable imbalances
hoping for civil democratically optimizing
multiculturing
and, thereby, self-other regenerative systems
as wellness,
and not so much sickness.

Anyway, so is there a summary version of this natural trinity
that you might share?

Well, yes, I suppose the basic idea is as simple
as any convex and therefore also concave implicated triangle.

I'm already lost.
No recall of convex and concave
in my Holy Trinity.

Oh, right...
you missed postmillennial Bucky Fuller metrics too.
Let's see...
OK, Odum's natural trinity
is a dynamic model for balancing lifetime energy investments,
but at two levels.
The individual biosystem.
And, the collective species' regenerational biosystem,
conceived as a not totally discontinuous
ongoing spacetime ecosystem
sharing Earth with other biosystemic ecosystems.

At both of these levels,
individual and higher-order species,
about a third of energy invested into the system 
is required for healthy metabolic regeneration
of each and every mental-physical system.

Another consumed third of energy
feeds back to maintain mutually subsidiary subsystemic prey,
providers of fuel and energy.

The last captured third of energy
produces re-investments outward
to what Odum calls
"higher-order system controllers."

Do you have an example?
What might be one of my potential investments
in a higher-order control/nurture system?

Well, 
in class
the hierarchical trinity we used
was grass in relationship with rabbits
in relationship with a predator,
like a fox,
for example.

So the rabbit's energy waste fuels the grass,
and the more vulnerable rabbits feed the foxes.

Yes, especially the young and lame.
The ones who see and sniff and move less well.

I don't see how that works out so well as a trinitarian third.
If you are young or lame or blind, especially.
But how does Odum approximate this one-third math
at the individual creature level?

That's what we're talking about in class.
I would imagine
if you view successfully hunted and devoured
from a predator's perspective
you might feel the prey had made nearly a 100% re-investment,
perhaps omitting the larger bones,
in your higher-order controlling species.
Perhaps a hungry pride of lions.

This natural trinity of altruism
seems to suffer in the end
from more competitive taking without asking
and less cooperative giving without needing to be asked,
which is what I though altruism was more about.

I suppose Odum was looking at balanced ecosystems
as a resonantly deep whole,
in which about one third of a species' generation,
as seen from God's Higher Order perspective,
redeems the other two-thirds
by feeding the metabolic thrival needs
of higher-order predators,
controlling risks of overpopulation,
leading to monocultural landscapes and climates
of descending, and increasingly rabid,
pathology.

You mean like mother pigs eating their young
to better feed those remaining in her litter?

OK, if that actually happens
I'm not sure I wanted to know about it.
Also, if that happens,
then we are talking about an out of balance system
between generations within the same species.
Perhaps Odum was speaking of some cosmic balance of energy.
Really big picture.
Global.
Polypathic energy exchanges.

And maybe higher order systems
are not limited to controlling predators.
Perhaps a higher order ecosystems
might nurture potential victims
of Earth's imbalance,
especially our young and enslaved and addicted
to competing sensory blindness
and malnourished projects for ego-identity expansion,
continuation,
until we each discover
that pain and loss and death
could be revisited
reconceived
as equal to two-thirds of cooperative life
and multiculturing gain
through monoculturing absence,
emptiness,
loss of egocentric WinLose interest,
divestment of self
as re-investment in higher-order YangControl/YinNurture balance.

So, that would be the connection, then,
between Odum's natural trinity of altruism
and Christianity's Holy Trinity
of and for Earth's multiculturing altruism.

Where is Holonic Spirit
in this dual level trinity
of higher order control
with lower order nurturance
producing self-regenerating healthy wealth
of ego/eco-systemic Earth?

That would be the middle ego/eco feeding balance,
growing out to extend family identity
to include gratitude for nurturing embryonic cousins,
extending on through our ultimate individual biosystemic loss
to higher order nurturing.



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017


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Way too analytical

she's not elderly
or of the working class

she's poor 
but, not of the working poor

she's not young or old
just middle aged disabled
a baby boomer from the sixties

computer savvy 
way too analytical 
for her own good

deprived of a work history
no skills or experiences
just a head full of knowledge
and education

because she look lazy
or some other b/s in eyes of employers
looking to hold a girl back

from her dreams and hopes 
of a successful life in her fifties
well established by her sixties

a fulfilling life
of accomplishments
and rewards
from her successes she coulda have 


Copyright © Barbara Washington | Year Posted 2012


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INTERLUDE




Dark night
Haze shades grey sky;
Humid weather groans

~~~~~~~~~


Lovers waltz
Wedding banquet glimpses;
Joy unfurls passion

~~~~~~~~~


Old cobbler squats
Busy with mending
Worn-out footwear soles

~~~~~~~~~


Odd couple argue
Over supermarket things;
Appetites collide

~~~~~~~~~


Newspaper vendor
Old lady preaches news;
Gloomy Monday

~~~~~~~~~


Wet market ambience
Hazardous slippery floors;
Unsightly misadventure

~~~~~~~~~


Old friends meet
Rough bump and detour;
Nothing to transact

~~~~~~~~~


Salesman selling
Nobody's buying;
U-turn runaway

~~~~~~~~~


Smoke fragrance
Disturbing haze flings;
Coughing episodes

~~~~~~~~~


Bamboo trees
Marking the years;
Resilient grooves

~~~~~~~~~


Words on rice paper
Tell of old dreams;
Unfinished fragments

~~~~~~~~~


Old sepia memory
Old times forgotten;
Rainy day debris 

~~~~~~~~~


Old ghostly figures
Lingering presence;
Blessings abide

~~~~~~~~~


Mosaic motifs
Classic designs haunt;
Baby boomer keepsake

~~~~~~~~~


Howling wind
Sings eerie songs;
Haunting melody

~~~~~~~~~


Message in a passage
Wet dreams sum;
Memory reflects

~~~~~~~~~


Ecstasy greets joy
Calm the new charm;
Placid tranquility

~~~~~~~~~





Leon Enriquez
12 October 2014
Singapore


Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2014


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Bridged The Generations

I am a baby boomer, father fought in World War Two
As a teen graduated high school
Left home joined the service called branch Navy
Left joined in a conflict called Vietnam War
This day, today still don't know why we were fighting for
Now I'm old an elder man
\and I can tell all you young men, (something)
I'm a pathway of wisdom, history, knowledge have been to where you're going
As I continue to talk to you,  you say I'm boring
You are trying to come where I am
you the man, and young woman children boys and girls
elder man bridges the generation
 Of the stories that need to be seen and heard
Pathway of honor dawn, from places of my past
I can tell you things history is my are  (it last)
Rather old past middle age later life  elderly
1865 somewhat aged aging ancient geriatric long lived old older over the hill

Senescent  senior un young a certain age this is what I say...
I'm a road way over depression I am a time a means spanning built over life
Young man time when I am
Youth haven't fully become an adult yet, period between  childhood and maturity
What am (am) I gonna be now I can finally see the bridge the generations
Rashly existence between adolescence and maturity
Haven't been here on this earth long enough to see anything, not anything I go to the things of elders past
Bridges the generations
I now  go to the elders for ally they know my future and my past
Nothing new under the sun
This is what they begun
Now I am an old an alderman and I can tell all the new young men
I'm a path way of winsome history knowledge and light
Pathway of honor drawn for this is right I can tell you his things
History his story is my age, the aged
Rather old past middle age later life elderly
Now I can finally see the bridge the generations

08/18/15
Submitted to
" UNO Poetry book  Poetry to Bridge Generations Elder & Youth 2015"
written by James Edward Lee Sr.


Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2017


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RIP Prince

Too many of late,
Especially for "us",
The last of the
Baby Boomer generation,
And the reality of our placement
In the flow of existence,
Is that the realm of oblivion
Reaches it's sinewy fingers
For all of us ... with
Greater frequency
Each day, it seems.

Those "larger than life"
Mentors and icons,
Whose creativity has
Provided the soundtrack
And accompaniment to our lives,
Are no less susceptible to
Mortality's cold kiss than
We are, though that
Pedestal we place them
On sometimes seems
Higher than transience.

As with each such a loss,
The sun will rise a little
More hesitantly tomorrow,
Its rays will settle a bit less
Warmly on our faces, and there
Will be a "void unfillable"
In the world of music ...
A sour silence, the
Remedy for which only
The ears of angels will
Strain to attend.


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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Get It Right Johnny Bright

Those rulers which be amid their unison as glee, wished
A little more of thee so I thought that we, would give it to them ?
A bit in the writ with a slit for the kit and a number one hit; and they cried aloud
Another of these their, encores; while love upon the shore strung her light's down 
Low as I with the mic aside a midnight tide reached for the sky above this their, power...
Ballad chord baby boomer slang in a round about thang thus we sang, another kongo bang.


Copyright © Johnny Rhinem | Year Posted 2013


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Bummed out Baby Boomer

My skin is all wrinkled
my muscles are jello,
I'll tell you right now
I'm one bummed out fellow.

My joints are all achy
my eye sight is shot,
it feels like my head
is clogged full of snot.

My lungs are all blackened
from decades of smoke,
I'm not in good shape
and I look like a joke.

I used to be able
to run a fast mile,
now every ten feet
I rest for a while.

I need a new kidney
a heart that beats right,
I need a new bladder
that last's through the night.

My teeth are all gone
and my ears give me pain,
I don't have the sense
to get out of the rain.

Just some complaints
from a speck on the earth,
that life is not easy
for what that is worth.


Copyright © Daniel Stevens | Year Posted 2007


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Don't Blame The Flag

When the police came with clubs, dogs, and fire hoses,                                                                                          the non-violent protesters did not blame the American flag.                                                                                                         When protesters were beaten, jailed, and some killed,                                                                                               they did not blame the American flag.                                                                                                                When many were sent off to fight for the rights of others but not their own,                                                              they did not blame the American flag.                                                                                                                  When in uniform, they were treated as second-class citizens far from home,                                                             they did not blame the American flag.                                                                                                                       When their own country discriminated and demeaned them on foreign soil,                                                      they did not blame the American flag.                                                                                                                   

When on bended knees, believing in country, church, and God, against  what seemed to be impossible odds, they fought for justice through the courts and the halls of Congress and won many incredible battles.                                                 

From the segregated schools and the cotton fields of the deep south, I saw the non-violent protesters and freedom riders. They took the blows and stood tall; from the dogs, they withstood the mauls and realized that hatred and racism were the cause. Yes, this baby boomer observed it all, but I do not recall that they blamed the American flag.
01132018 PS PH FB


Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2018


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The Portables

The Portables

Baby boomer fourth grade,
We overfill Longfellow school.
Like coffee running over the cup brim.	
Caught in a saucer of portables,
Two garage like class rooms,
Like Siamese twins, joined at the middle.
Flanked by rows of single paned windows,	
That shake and rattle when the wind blows.
Bulletin board doors filed across, the back,
Masquerading as a cloak room.
Hiding coats, hats, shelves and boots from view.
One door between the two,
At the conjoined middle,
Side by side exterior doors from each class,
were never just opened,
But burst or exploded with a blast.
As forty five of us fought,
For the first breath of freedom. 	
As salmon fight to swim upstream.
Two teachers shared responsibility,
For weaving the fabric of our education.
I was lucky and got Mrs. Cuddly,
Who taught us times tables, decimal and fractions.
And reminded me of grandma, instead
Of every fourth grader's constant dread.
Whose wooden arm, it was rumored,
Was used to beat you over the head.
Mrs. Wooden arm turned out to be quite kind.
And taught nouns, verbs and spelling.
And the magic of the written word,
Like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly,
She gave our imaginations multi-colored wings.
And taught them how to fly.
Which is really the difference,
Between great fiction and an obvious lie.



Copyright © Esther Rhoads | Year Posted 2011


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Lindsay Lohan - part one

     Perhaps in another i.e. alternate world, this middled aged (baby boomer bona fide bra burner) of two well nigh near grown daughters felt caught in an invisible whirled wide web The Parent Trap. 
     Oft times, the languid days of his life seem to revisit a parallel universe, where sequels continue to air years since family time constituted shared watching thee designated Verizon Fios fiber optic channels favor by the youngest.
     I confess sitting transfixed in from the television (back in the days when me girls attended grade school) marveling at the camera tricks purportedly played identical twins Hallie and Annie, but in reality the prepubescent actress averred asper the title of this missive.
     A series of unfortunate events (perhaps abetted by Lemony Snicket) found these fictitious, marvelous, and vivacious separated in life soon after their parents divorced.
     Happenstance and cutting edge cunning movie making wizardry linkedin believable existence of two exact looking innocent ingenues incorporating various tricks of the filming, directing, and acting of said nymph actress.
     Some fluke chance encounter when both “girls” attended the same summer camp allowed, enabled, and provided the raw fitbits, whence each respective lass discovered visa vis via question asked and answered, that they shared the same mother and father.
     Soon after this unexpected (believably conceived drama), they secretly plotted to reunite their estranged parents.
     Although farfetched (which plot twist stretched to the realm of possible feasibility), nonetheless the story continued to offer appeal even after numerous viewings), when both my darling dimpled daubed daughters reveled in such small screen young adult age appropriate materiel.
     Within a similar vein, the gestalt viz zit hid within Freaky Friday (also starring the same teenage uber vixen) gal riddled with an identity crisis twas ably, admirably, and affably evincing the crisis of fifteen year old Anna (also Lindsay Lohan).


Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017


Details | Baby Boomer Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Food Glorious Food first helping

Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine

Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains 
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame

many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,

whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt 
   (during Red October) for a meme

poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized
if interest
from potential mistress didst exclaim

desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts

came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017


Details | Baby Boomer Poem | Create an image from this poem.

dehydration quenched on an island with females - part 1

one  seventh heaven fantasy of this middle aged hetero
sexual mwm would be  to take the playbook of the late 
(recently deceased) Hugh Hefner. Said reverie constitutes 
servicing a gamut of women, whose plethora in numbers 
constitutes insatiable sexual propensity sans propinquity 
perp hussy.
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despite mine middle aged (baby boomer) mwm base line 
balled (though non bald) sans truth, isle be quite Ernest 
and frank to state boldly, how thine bass concupiscence 
trumps ambience, dalliance, essence, fragrance, generates 
hefty indulgence (je nais se quois) juice kissing libidinal 
makeup nursing omnipresent phallic quintessential reverent 
seduction triggers unflaggingly (leaving me starry eyed for 

stripes sakes) vision watering x2c (to the x power of infinity) 
yielding zesty adulterous blessed coital consummation, 
delicious expeditious fulfillment, generous gentle hormonal 
insouciance, judiciously kneading lusciously marvelous 
natural occurring pleasance, quiescent radiance, rousing 
somnambulant threnody ushers victorious waltzing X-rated 
yearning zeal to take a page from the playbook of the very 
recently deceased Hugh Hefner housed within the PlayBoy 
mansion. Game gamines gestalt gifted gonads, gopher 


Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017


Details | Baby Boomer Poem | Create an image from this poem.

1965

1965


Yes, I'm the last baby boomer
too young for Woodstock, Kennedy
too old now to pretend
But I am the People
I'm this generation
freedom has been my friend
Call me niave, I still believe
we are all our beautiful color
our sister, father, brother
We are all Eve































Copyright © Kimmy Holmes | Year Posted 2008


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Que C'est Transitions

From pity desert vandal less expanse
to city scandalous plans
From stuffy padded bank
to roughed tatted skank
From rosy SoCal sunsets
to posed on social regrets
From groggy cobweb dawn
to lazy fog of mirrored midnight sprawlin'
From early eve's full moon like a kitten
with a ball of wool
to fillin' own hat weepin' on sleeves
like a fool
From sharin' strength n' testimony
to whippin' half track's length
of a tired ol' pony
From blessed hangin' up of works n' kit
to messed up jaded fangin' promise
of new day I must admit
From seeking fulfillment whether millennial 
or baby boomer
to wreaking battlement joy is tethered
instillment from above not as consumer
From speaking futile volley of small talk
to squeaking spilled folly regain ball
of new found walk.
4-11-2017 Duncan R.M. Ferguson


Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2017


Details | Baby Boomer Poem | Create an image from this poem.

broken front tooth

(Asia may not know, this LIX city split baby boomer now ranks himself as an in denture charred sir vent reflecting on that painful instant when enamel collided with frozen water versus the recent removal of all teeth - courtesy of periodontal disease, and reckons how quaint that facial fracas).
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inxs of cold playing air 
froze natural pond, where 
over head Canadian geese did blare
honking the latest goose sip loud and clear
when from behind a bush 

   (color antler protected doe against fear
of smashed pumpkin) did peek a deer
alert to any danger by parking 
   upright either one or both ear

lest predator doth lurk and induce fear
while Harris Family and friends 
   oblivious attired in wintry gear
which protection from cold caused difficulty to hear

necessitating cupped gloved hands 
   to punctuate every muffled word
to be but barely heard
akin to talking with mouth full of custard

above the quiet riotous mirth 
   from this then gawky child nerd
precariously maintaining balance 
   on his skates and glide like a bird
such attempts made 
   this then boy appear quite absurd

ah, if only this mind of mine 
   did two step quick think
but woe misfortune awaited 
   across the bumpy natural rink

blithely jettisoning myself hither and yon 
   like a rolling stone going plink
unaware while in camouflage pose 
   disguised as one sneaky slippery fink
that snuck up in a blink

that found me squarely face down 
   shattering left front tooth
immediately discovered 
   via tongue as private sleuth
finding me in extreme agitated state forsooth
as if on fire from red hot chili peppers 
   wrought from jagged booth

winning sympathy from parents 
   who did level best to tend distraught son
who ushered playback of events 
   with less disastrous rerun
praying for an angel 

   to grant reverse outcome brought none
gut wrenching grief 
   immediately terminated former fun
damage irreversible and 
  perfect white smile forever broke con!




Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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Me Late Mum, A Holly Day Mastermind Maven Maverick

Way back before this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes
(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,

or some place thereabouts) within the mind
of this prevaricating aging 
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records (those times b'fore cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,

though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot
nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum

relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks,

she frowned on giving out sweets
particularly to three children she begat,
and iced hill easily recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot

puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings
fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic

worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,

whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them on a direct route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah wont mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.











Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017