Best Sixty Poems
I will turn sixty years old this year.
I can face it bravely for I don't look my age.
Turning forty.... that filled me with fear
but I'm wiser now, practically a sage
and not afraid to turn this new page.
When I was young, sixty seemed so old.
I imagined I'd be decrepit and bent.
That's not me at all, if I may be so bold.
My current health and demeanor, a gift, heaven sent.
Though often I wonder where all the years went.
My face has some lines, my hair's mostly grey.
I am not bothered by it at all.
I still love to laugh and to sing and to play.
Old age is out there but I'll not heed the call
because sixty is just a number after all.
Most days I feel young, much younger than I
have been for so many years.
I'm not yet ready to give up and die,
I've just slowed down a touch, shifted the gears,
so this birthday I'll face with smiles, not tears.
Twenty fifteen will be my best year yet,
I can feel it, I'm sure it is so.
So many people and adventures not met
are waiting for me this I know
and I'm so glad to see twenty fourteen go.
I spread her wanting derriere as making love unto she..
Perfect sweetness; cumming, and all I could do was enjoy while
My heart raced to catch her haloes breath; sucking, her beautiful breast.
From sixteen to sixty you have loved me
I have loved you
Destined to share this life together
A blessed fulfilled life… tried and true!
Together we have grown into adulthood
A loyal team side by side
Conquered all life handed us
Each other’s support and guide
We have agreed and disagreed
Gained life knowledge along the way
Through all of these life’s moments
Side by side we constantly stayed
Humour and laughter a daily occurrence
Playfulness, fun and silly times
Constantly making each other laugh
Our minds and spirits aligned
I could never imagine life with another
Or my life ever without you
Even just the thought of you not in my life
Generates anguish through and through
Thankyou for loving me so well
Always ensuring I am happy and safe
Side by side with you in this lifetime
Will forever be my place…
The river’s a ribbon on which we row.
The moon is a placid blossom of gold,
for we, passion-souled, imagine it so!
Mirrored in water’s each soft rippling fold
is Luna’s lovely pale petal-faced glow
and we are sailing on blue silk’s smooth flow!
Jan. 28, 2017 for the Contest of Laura Loo
North of sixty, you see the cold.
Big skies, and short days told.
Forests shrink, past big river.
Listen closely, hear them shiver.
Bison wild, roam free here.
Timber wolf run, moon light clear.
North of sixty, black raven flies.
Wise old bird, wing spread skies.
Mountains roll, to horizons edge.
Older than, our souls can pledge.
Great silence here, all is still.
Refresh ones spirits, reviving will.
North of sixty, last place on earth.
Pristine halls, of Mother Earth.
Before we sit, and watch her cry.
Mankind must, unite and try.
To find a way, to keep her clean.
Before we see, Mother Earth turn mean.
North of sixty, I know we can.
Teach ourselves, revive our plan.
Stewards’ oath, to keep this land.
Safe for life long, eternal plan.
Great Spirit too, we shall be true. Big skies, forever keep them blue.
SHM
America plagued by terror
Murder and hate wherever you turn
Country gone the way of Watts, ‘65
~ “Burn, baby burn”
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”
Rumi
It was the summer of 1967 and the sun was almost bran new
me and Tony L. skipped to the corner to raid the candy store
sometimes we bought a paper bag full of small penny candies
other times it was a fancy box, full of Cracker Jack popcorn ...
We grew up like sleuths on 2nd Avenue by the rubble of Miron
sludging through dried clay and playing with colorful marbles
As we played with washed up marbles, we grew up in time
laughtering our days until the sober rays of adulthood arrived
No one will ever forget that place on St. Michel dear bro,
it was where the pine tree grew, when life was spanking new
all the prizes that we won, are still laying on the concrete floor
Written by : Mystic Rose
I met me on the podium of time,
saw sixty years old wrinkles on the face,
with eyes scanning charted road to be walked,
lighted by the senile sun of twilight.
Looked back at the path of promise traveled,
felt I’d walk quite content to the dark end,
not count the footsteps to cross the last mile.
SIXTY EIGHT
For years I’ve lived with being a soixante-huiter
Although my wardrobe’s more fastidious and neater
Those heady days are not beyond recall
The nights and days when we first did it all
But sober work and ethics have combined
To make a settled bed my truest mind
And catalogues and dictionaries my woe
To understand what happened long ago
Far flung days have their own allurement
But nothing beats the logic of procurement
And adventitious loves have gone the way
Of all youth, to say it’s had its day
I daren’t even call myself a woman sweeter -
Past perfect indiscretions tend to tweet her.
Sixty seconds, one minute is all it would take
for others to fulfill a small request that I made.
"I would do anything for you Bill, I would even die."
Well that turned out to be a pack of lies.
I needed a simple favor, so I gave everyone a holler,
but the majority I reached didn't even bother,
so today I hit the streets asking strangers for this same favor
and I'll bet the farm the response received will be so much greater.
Thank you everybody,
you've restored my faith in humanity,
and just so we're clear, I'm saying that sarcastically.
*
If this poem seems cryptic and you want some answers, check out my current blog:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_blogs/blog_detail.aspx?BlogID=29615&PoetID=16853
Parody of Sixteen Going on Seventeen Reprise from the sound of music
I am sixty going on seventy
I’ve got a dicky heart
Surgeon’s been kind and relieved my mind
My ticker he can restart
But I wonder, should the worst happen
Will my life be the same
Energy low ,lost my libido
It’s driving me quite insane
Unfit to make love to my wife
Bereft of all my vim
Unless I brave the surgeon’s knife
Our future’s looking grim
Heart disease is now my enemy
I hope I will pull through
I am sixty if I reach seventy
I’ll need a pill of blue
Just give me a pill of blue
The Tune Of - - - Musicals - - - Part One Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
11/20/21
Sixty-Six years ago today a very naïve farm-boy left the Hoosier farm,
To seek adventure beyond the horizon since farming had lost its charm.
He enlisted in the Air Force, a knight in blue to keep the nation free.
My gosh! Come to think about it, that unsophisticated lad was me!
Since I was only seventeen, I had to get my reluctant Ma to sign for me.
She came from a Quaker background and abhorred all strife, you see.
Pa was ambivalent about the matter - just one less mouth to feed, said he.
I marched off to face the future, another warrior for our family tree!
Harassment began once I arrived at the inhospitable induction station.
Docs had me bend over, then stand, turn my head and cough for observation.
They probed and prodded and stuck needles in my arms for inoculation.
Oh! The abject misery and humiliation of it all just to serve my nation!
Next came the swearing-in where I vowed to uphold the Constitution.
A fiendish sarge then assumed command and began his nasty persecution.
"Fergit yer Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae" said he, "Yer butt belongs to me!"
Just hours on duty and I was homesick for the farm, pining to be free!
They put me on a choo-choo to Lackland AFB, Texas, for my basic training.
I was shorn of all hair - by now my enthusiasm and patriotism was waning.
Ah! But when I donned that Air Force suit of blue, I stood proud and tall!
If my pals behind a plow and mule could see me now! I was having a ball!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
That naïve farm boy went on to serve 30 years in the Air Force, retiring
1 August 1978.
Three-hundred and sixty-five days
Twenty-four hours spent
Could the days left be better used
Each designed with intent
This time in life with health going
What could be done each day?
Restore peace, life, and well-being
To the world come what may
Some thoughts inspired by the movie "The Good Lie"
Who is the Queen?
When all is said and done.
A nice old lady who wears nice hats
And in life has had a decent run.
Her servants do the weekly shopping.
She watches Corrie when at home.
And maybe like you she reads the Sun
Whilst seated on the throne.
The Summer of Nineteen Sixty
Lying on a blanket by the loch side on a summer’s day
I close my eyes and listen to the quiet.
I hear the slap, slap of the small wavelets lapping on the pebbles and
The plop of some brave fish as he twists and turns his way through the cool green water.
Above my head I hear the distinct call of the peewit and can imagine him hovering high in the
sky.
Into this calm comes the soft rustle of the rowan tree, then, the more stringent sound of a wicker
basket being opened.
I smile for I know what comes next.
The chink of crystal glasses, followed by the pop of a champagne bottle being uncorked.
I open my eyes to see my lover smiling at me.
Glug, glug, the sparkling liquid pours from the neck of the bottle.
I reach out and take the glass of fizzing bubbles, unable to keep my eyes from straying to the
new diamond sparkling on my finger.
And in my mind I hear again the words of love he whispered a few minutes ago.
These, to me, will ever be the sounds of the summer nineteen hundred and sixty.