I'm on a two hour flight
Window seat
Middle seat vacant.
A no mans land between a woman,
unknown to me at the isle,
Her head absorbed in a paperback
Later she arises, goes to the toilet.
The book lies, its pages spread open,
On the vacant, warm seat.
Tempted by curiosity
My fingers nimbly
Flip it over to read the title,
Fifty Shades of Grey.
She returns, unaware
I'd discovered her,guilty pleasure.
Takes up where she'd left off,
Devouring Fifty Shades of Grey.
And not a word did we exchange
Neither on,take off
Nor during short spasms of,
Turbulent vibrations.
Nor on the bumpy landing.
However, all the while
I was tempted to ask,
' On a scale of one to ten,
how aroused have you been
For the duration of this pleasant flight?'
From the womb it seems I birthed into a cocoon
Cant say I had known for sometime I was alive
Much learnt whilst unaware for almost four years
My memories say I'm one calendar says I'm five
Things that seemed important over sixty years ago
The latest shaped shoes or a top ten hit parade song
At fifteen peer pressure shaped how I would behave
Learning to discover where I would eventually belong
No manuals to assist a father raise three young children
Imparting to dependants the way I had been mentored
Dealing with an aggressive workplace, finances and self
At thirty overwhelmed, swearing in this poem is censored
A new century arrived grandfathering is such a blessing
Responsibilities of existence have largely been lightened
Now turned fifty still feeling some traces of distant youth
A positive outlook on life has recently become heightened
Having reached the age of seventy over eight years ago
As an alternative thinker there is a chance I am outcast
I am far removed from alignment with majority opinion
Rejecting thoughts postulating how much time I might last
When I was only five.
My dolls were the big thing,
we would sit and sing.
Then my tricycle I learned to drive.
At fifteen I was dating.
Boys were sure fickle,
some of their words were like a pickle.
We loved to go roller skating.
Now thirty is life half over?
Today is a new day,
no more hair of gray.
Maybe I need a new makeover.
At fifty should I retire?
Many days are way too long,
is life a game of ping-pong?
Some days I feel like I want to expire.
I never thought I would reach seventy.
Here I am,
drinking hot tea and eating strawberry jam.
Seventy is fun and not my enemy.
There is a challenge to write a poem
That contains exactly fifty words.
I do not think I am alone
In finding that quite absurd.
Fifty words is far too few
To tell a story in perfect rhyme.
Now, if they gave me fifty-two,
I could do it every time.
America is a free land
Where citizens work smart and hard,
An excellent place for a band.
Everyone kind and full of heart.
So nice to have a flat, green yard.
Americans work with their hands.
A safe country for which they guard,
America the fast, free land!
Be sure to lend a helping hand.
It's not hard to send a greeting car
When Fourth of July feasts command.
Thriving citizens who work so hard!
For two-five-oh years, off the charts!
The territory rolls so grand!
All of our music playing's starred.
An excellent place for a band!
The stars and stripes make a grandstand
With yummy barbecue grills charred.
And beaches from host to coast sand.
Everyone so kind and full of heart!
I would never try to discard
The honest values of the heartland
That we hold in lofty regard
In this grainland with its store-brand.
America is a freakin' free land!
Did the Yankees win?
Without sin
Challenging monarchy rule
Characterizing King as a fool
Escaping angry courts
Exploring adventurous ports
They came to a new world
Searching for patriotic pearls
Combatting rag tag war
Against red coated boars
Who thought they knew best
Putting rebellious subjects under arrest
Charging them for throwing tea
Into the Boston Harbor Sea
Defined as freedom of speech
Protest reached
Many others
American brothers
Wanting representation when taxed
Stating facts
Until the royals surrendered
Historians remember
Fifty years gone now.
Where'd they go? Like grey phantoms
swirling in the mist.
Sun’s at three fifty
that old family recipe,
baking memories.
a friend told me
it was highly recommended
but then maybe everything is?
i met friends for drinks during the day
i read poetry on the bus
and the combination of this
and seeing a fistfight in the middle of the road
pure exuberance
mr. toad at the wheel
i looked up penguin's top one-hundred novels ever
chocolate beer crafted in berkshire
and reading one after another intoxicated
i will rearrange penguin's list
depending on how far i get lost in them
sitting at the kitchen table - tanked.
my husband and I have a ridiculous amount of inside jokes
Because we have been together for fifty-some years
If one of us says “dismount” the argument is over.
If we say “dad says,” the connotation is understood immediately.
“mom does not like your tone,” means be nicer.
we can finish each other’s sentences too, and often do.
“we are redundant” is one of our favorite jokes.
She was definitely dumping him
All she needed was the right opportunity
It was like that song
Fifty ways to leave your lover
Now just to get it through to him
You’re crap in the sack Jack
If only you were more like Stan
What a man
Or even Gus
Though, you do have a lot in common with Gus
You always go by bus
God, you’re so last year
Out on your ear
Okay, maybe that was a bit severe
Need a new plan
I’m just going to tell you straight
Before it’s too late
Don't come on all coy
There's something I have to tell you
It's about me and Roy
I’m having his boy
I know what you’re going to say
What happened to Lee
Let me see
It started on the bus
Him and Gus
I don’t want to discuss
Okay, well Stan caught them
Do I need to spell it out
Stan said they were all like brothers
Now it seems like those two are lovers
Stan was devastated
I mean, was that in the plan
Anyway, Roy told him about us
Which was fatal for you and Gus
When the driver braked
Driving the bus
Stan no more
So I end this letter
Missing you Jack
Such a young age to leave
Just turned fifty, lover.
Wow! 100 days!
Thunderstorms of injustice;
Human rights are drowned:-
In Iran..I hear it told beleif in islam is going cold.?
Fifty thousand mosqes, shut down.?
Seems the ayatolla's voices are being drowned.?
What true power in Christ.? We might never know.?
Yet therein lies true freedom.' Even old Rome gave Him
'A go .)
Trump is maintaining a frenetic pace
leaving the world in a daze
I don’t agree with everything he’s done
but I fully support the need to do it
When I was fifty-five I lost weight and got into shape
Exercised to the point of near ridiculous, and looked great
My daughter said “Mom! You are buff!”
I had never been buff before
It felt terrific.
Some days I wish I was fifty-five again
I was never sick, I was super healthy
I felt great, and I was eating right
No cookies, donuts or other empty calorie foods
Not sure what happened but I have gone to pot
I think it was the cravings for chocolate and peanut butter.
I can hardly look at lettuce or celery now
Not as healthy, but comfy in my sweatpants and recliner
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.