Best Seventy Nine Poems
In eighteen seventy nine; twenty second of January
Was the day of a great battle and for the Zulus victory
At Isandlwana the Zulu army showed no fear
Against British guns, armed with shield and spear.
Twelve thousand warriors from the Zulu nation
Wiped out the British, a total annihilation
With such a large force the camp was soon overun
With hand to hand combat, under African sun.
Nearly a thousand British soldiers died that day
A few played dead and managed to get away
Some headed for Rorkes Drift never looking back
Warning the soldiers there of an impending attack.
Not far from the battle stood the mission station
By the Buffalo river a tranquil location
Five thousand warriors marched on Rorkes Drift
A hundred and thirty nine stood ready to resist.
Dispite wave after wave the British repelled their attack
With rifle and bayonet; they pushed the Zulus back
The Zulus regrouped and moved in for the kill
An officer gave the command to fire at will .
The battlefield was covered with the bodies of the slain
With spears, shields and blood all over the terrain
It wasn't until the morning of the following day
That the Zulus retreated and went on their way.
Eleven Victoria crosses were won at Rorkes drift
For courage and bravery; shown in that conflict
Five hundred Zulu warriors paid the ultimate cost
Whilst seventeen British soldiers in battle were lost.
Against overwhelming odds the British held the line
And Rorkes Drift today is a museum and a shrine
Tour guides at the site will tell you the story
Of those brave British soldiers and their hour of glory.
(The Victoria Cross or VC is the highest and most prestigious award given
to members of the British armed forces for valour in the face of the enemy.)
April fourth nineteen seventy-nine,
was the day my mother gave birth.
A newborn baby so small and divine,
she thought I had much worth; I was innocent, her full of mirth.
The end of an era was coming quickly,
the seventies would soon come to a close.
I was three months old and became sickly,
had a rare disease nobody still knows; temperatures were in highs and lows.
After two months of hospital living,
I was healed, and no one knew just why.
It was like a miracle I had been given,
father was relieved, mother began to cry; a healthy and regular baby was I.
Father battled alcoholism, I was just a baby,
I heard stories of his anger and rage.
Mother stood by his side and thought maybe
he would change and turn another page; thank God I was at a young age.
You ask where I was in the seventies,
unfortunately, I have not one memory.
All I know is that my life had not ease,
as I saw things a baby shouldn’t see; somehow…I grew up to be me.
Where Were You in the Seventies? Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
February 21, 2018
I was in matric, class of seventy nine
With so much to do, I was losing my mind
The year before, my baby brother came
Since then, life was never the same
Thrilled and excited to have him around
We watched him for hours crawling on the ground
Babysitting was an extra chore
Cooking , cleaning and so much more
My parents worked hard to make ends meet
When home, at least they could put up their feet
Studying began some time after ten
When everyone settled, I scribbled with my pen
I could not wait for the year to end
To get a job and lots of money to spend
I went to the shop with only one aim
To buy a newspaper to look for my name
Frantically paging, I searched for a while
A sigh of relief, a chuckle, a smile.
The world is filled with good people
But sometimes they just lose their way
As newborns, we all start out the same
With the same joy for life and enthusiastic outlook
THEN we grow up and think to ourselves
“WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!
If I'd realized what the world would be like
I'd have yelled...
“ARE YOU NUTS... PUT ME BACK IN!”
Too late, guess I'll just have to make the best of it
So that's the crux of the matter, this whole thing called life
We can choose to grumble about
What we DON'T have, rather than appreciate what we DO have
It's the down side of human nature it seems
I choose, and everyone else can
To live life to the fullest with a zest for the simple joys
I hear ya yelling, “GET BACK IN YOUR CAGE!”
No problem, I'm convinced an upbeat and happy attitude
Is what's got me through these seventy-nine years
So when things seem like they can't get any worse
Remember, you can't put you back in
So try to be the best person you can be
And trust me, LIFE WILL BE A BLAST!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Seen many splendid things in my seventy-nine years
But the one thing that stands out is the girlie's cute rear
If I lose my seeing
My touchy and feeling
Then I guess I might as well just call it a career
© Jack Ellison 2015
I'm an orange monkey
in China I was made,
stitched with much affection
and garlanded with braid.
Purchased then on eBay
and wrapped to make a gift,
I was posted to a friend
who felt a little miffed.
I felt I wasn't wanted
when stuffed into a drawer,
would I be forgotten,
and nameless evermore?
From that home some months on
I was taken out with care,
taken on a journey,
though how could I know where?
It was in the Village Hall
as part of a display;
in company with others
we made a fine array.
People drank their coffee
accompanied by cake.
No one offered me a slice.
Oh how my tummy ached!
They paid for orange tickets
each with a lucky number;
and orange gave me hope
waiting there in wonder.
Standing close beside me
the caller said, "Be still."
The tickets duly stirred,
I felt an inner thrill.
He drew one folded tight
revealed as seventy-nine.
Forward came a woman
and chose a vintage wine.
Another one was drawn.
I was filled again with hope.
But the winner from the back
picked out a box of soap.
Ticket after ticket drawn
one by one the prizes went,
and I was left alone
all sad and discontent.
It was at the very end
that I was claimed at last.
Trailed behind by my left arm,
I felt all hope was past.
In a nearby village
I was offered up once more.
The prize that no one claimed,
squashed in another drawer.
I languished there with socks
all folded up and clean.
For such a sleepy friendship
I wasn't really keen.
On yet another venture,
out shopping I was taken
and left at AgeUK –
unless I am mistaken,
– displayed upon a shelf.
There customers looked round,
a few were glancing up
to see my sorry frown.
Then one day a child came in,
held close by his left arm.
Looking up he caught my eye.
Like me, had he suffered harm?
“That's my favourite colour,”
he called aloud and pointed.
“Please, oh please! give me! give me!"
At last his Mum relented.
There he held me oh so close,
now at last feeling safe
and wanted as a friend.
It was a long embrace.
And now I have a name
which makes me feel right special.
I thought I was a boy,
but no, he calls me Cheryl.
If you seek a moral
in this happy ending:
Do not bin unwanted gifts,
persist with fresh befriending.
Octogenarian
I would love to be an Octogenarian,
Now that I'm seventy-nine.
What joy to be an Octogenarian,
An Octogenarian will suit me just fine.
(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.
Always thought I was in pretty good shape
For a dude of seventy-nine
Until I met up with the basement stairs
Challenged them 9 or 10 times
They won the battle, oh they surely did win
Lifting stuff was damn well easy
But lifting this bod up and down the stairs
Made me a whole lot wheezy
At seventy-nine, guess I still can be proud
That I'm still quite able to bring it
In my younger years, thought I'd be all alone
Drooling and loosing it bit by bit
It just goes to show you if you've lived a good life
And you're healthy, no need to stop
Wake up with a dirty big grin on your kisser
Riding bucking broncos till you drop
© Jack Ellison 2015
Atomic number seventy nine,
A precious metal that sure does shine.
Sought by many, claimed by few,
Prospecting was the thing to do.
Found and used in all forms of life,
Sealing the bond with my dear wife.
It is noble and so versatile.
Some is visible when I smile
Symbol Au, from its Latin form,
Aurum, meaning shining dawn.
Used in food, E one seven five.
Olympic aim for which to strive.
A brilliant alloy, carat by measure.
Worn by ladies, gives them pleasure.
Lots of jewellery, plenty of bling,
Some find it attractive, that’s the thing.
Given to Jesus by three wise men,
A gift to treasure now as then.
Please remember what you’ve been told,
All that glitters is not Gold.
Seventy-nine years old and counting
Got a whole bunch more years to come
Longevity is rampant in my family
I'm the youngest of ten children
Nine sisters and finally li'l ole me
Two died at birth... but
One sister managed to make it to ninety-four
Four lived into their eighties
And two lived into their late seventies
My mummy was eighty-two when she passed away
But my poor dear old daddy only lived to sixty-seven
Colon cancer got him
Usually when hearing about nine sisters
Most people say, “Wow! You must have been spoiled”
What does that mean... like meat that's gone bad?
I guess you could say I was doted on!
Loved it... I recommend it!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Another rainy Memorial weekend,
there’s no promise of the sun.
I’m sorry for the folks who’d planned
a little camping fun.
But my task will go forward
with umbrella and raincoat.
I’ll get those graves all covered,
if I have to use a boat.
The first one was for my daddy,
back in nineteen fifty three.
I could not know how many more
family graves I’d live to see.
The next one’s for my young husband.
It was dug in sixty two.
In seventy five my darling mother
died and her grave was brand-new.
Tears for a granddaughter in seventy nine
and for a nephew that year too.
In the year of nineteen eighty
my brother followed those two.
Then we had a short hiatus.
It was not ‘til ninety-four
that another brother was laid there.
Then we counted one grave more.
The next year we gathered once again,
when my second husband died.
He missed the sorrow of ninety-seven,
when it was for his son we cried.
Two more years in nineteen ninety nine
my own son was laid to rest..
“If God is trying me”, I thought,
“I fear I’ll fail this test.”
Then He had pity on us
and it was a full decade
before another grave and in it
my great grandson was laid.
Two brothers lie in other grave-yards,
and their stones I do not see.
I’ve been going to this cemetery
each Memorial week since fifty-three.
There are many friends and in-laws
that I must also remember.
I go the rounds with flowers in May
and with wreaths in cold December.
This poem covers five generations
of at least one family member
who has gone on ahead of us
and we bring flowers to remember.
By: Joyce 5/28/ 11
I was in matric, class of seventy nine
With so much to do, I was losing my mind
The year before, my baby brother came
Since then, life was never the same
Thrilled and excited to have him around
We watched him for hours crawling on the ground
Babysitting was an extra chore
Cooking , cleaning and so much more
My parents worked hard to make ends meet
When home, at least they could put up their feet
Studying began some time after ten
When everyone settled, I scribbled with my pen
I could not wait for the year to end
To get a job and lots of money to spend
I went to the shop with only one aim
To buy a newspaper to look for my name
Frantically paging, I searched for a while
A sigh of relief, a chuckle, a smile.
one two three four five and six
severn eight nine ten eleven and indeed twelve
thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen
seventeen eighteen nineteen then twenty
twenty one twenty two twenty three twenty four
twenty five twenty six twenty severn twenty eight
twenty nine and thirty
thirty one thirty two and three
thirty four thirth five thirty six
thirty severn thirty eight thirty nine then forty
forty one forty two forty three forty four
forty five forty six forty severn and eight
forty nine
fifty one two and three
fifty four five and six
fifty severn fifty eight and nine
sixty
sixty one sixty two three four five and six
sixty severn sixty eight sixty nine
seventy
seventy one seventy two
seventy three four and indeed five
seventy six seventy severn seventy eight
seventy nine eighty
eighty one eighty two followed by three
eighty four eighty five eighty six
eighty severn eighty eight eighty nine
and ninety
ninety one two three four five
ninety six ninety severn ninety eight
ninety nine
and home
APETEEN SEVENTY NINE
I don't care if it doesn't matter to you
but it means a whole fuc**ng lot to me
you want to treat old black Jim as if he's a gorilla in a zoo
while I want to set the human being free
his grandfather spent years picking cotton in the field-
for a pittance as payment and a beating if he was late-
his grandfather ended up with scars that never healed-
and they aren't from a whip but rather from hate-
that cotton went to make debutantes look pretty on New Year's eve
with crinoline, ribbons and a tall dark and handsome beau
while Jim's grandpa was freezing in a cabin he was never allowed to leave
and the same went for Jim's black buddies Bill, John and Joe
they worked their fingers to the bone for payment in bread and a bit of rum
while Debbie the debutante looked lovely in her pink and purple gown
Jim, Bill, John and Joe tilled the soil all day long while crawling for a crumb
and if either of the four defied the master they were kicked and knocked deleteriously down
I know this all took place a life time ago
and that's the reason I have such hostility toward you
long gone are Debbie the debutante and her beau
but I will not allow you to keep old black Jim behind bars in a zoo
© 2012.....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~