Long Boomers Poems
Long Boomers Poems. Below are the most popular long Boomers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boomers poems by poem length and keyword.
CONSISTENCY
Written By: D. Collins 6/28/16
Consistency is waking just to pay your bills.
Once that is over, we're taking multiple pills.
Like late, baby-boomers, I ain't going out like that.
I am keeping in shape, and stacking my stacks.
High Blood Pressure!! It won't be found in me.
I get down on the ground with such consistency.
Feeling the burn, while actually doing it raw.
Building something from nothing at the very start.
I put in the work, and get deep in the grime.
Sweat like a beast, and give a bit of my time.
Old muscle tissue only lasts for so long.
Its up to me to make it vibrant and strong.
It starts with a two-pack, then works it's way down.
Giving solace to getting down on the ground.
There's nothing hard about putting in work.
Making major muscle groups damn, near snap from hurt.
Joplin was to Southern Comfort
what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade
what Dylan never lacked
Woodstock was to boomers lost
what music is to rhyme
Saigon was to those who stayed
what Auschwitz now reminds
Kennedy was to hopes and dreams
what nightmares are to some
Castro was to leftist thugs
what cymbals are to drums
Kissinger was to Nixon
an Appian Way to roam
Dr. King to civil rights
what kings are to their thrones
Walter Cronkite was to news
what context is to fact
Altar boys to feral Priests
what pretzels are to snacks
58,000 were to die
a wall would then proclaim
58,000 were to all
— what conscience is to shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Still going strong, the Boomers are
in golden years. They have come far.
The new Gen X then came along.
The Boomers are still going strong.
Kids with latch keys, safer with sex,
then came along the new Gen X.
How they do thrive, like the Gen Z’s,
Safer with sex, kids with latch keys.
The great Gen Y, they sure have drive.
Like the Gen Z’s, how they do thrive.
It’s a new day. We watch time fly.
They sure have drive, the great Gen Y.
Now Alpha’s here. High tech are they.
We watch time fly. It’s a new day.
What possibly will next appear?
High tech are they now Alpha’s here.
#64 on Best New Poems List as of July 28,2026
Generations
By Franklin Price
8/14/2016
Generations are varietous
I wonder if that is a word
Have names that we remember
Maybe most of them you've heard
Far as I can tell it all began
With the ending of the war
With the “Greatest Generation”
Seems they always knew the score
The “Baby Boomers” came along
When the war came to an end
Began real drastic changes
Not all of them we can defend
Then came more generations
Were lettered “X”, “Y” and “Z”
Had some names attached to them
I've put some here for you to see
'Silent”, “Hippie”, “Baby Busters”,
“Boomerang” and “MTV”
“Echo Boom”, “Rock and Roll”
And of course there is the “Me”
“Latch Key Kids”, “Millenium”
Almost brings us up to date
After the year two thousand one
the “Boomlets” are our fate
No longer are we farmers
Who came back from the war
Now there is technology
As there never was before
It's a shame the separation
Of generations that we use
Each one has new found obstacles
And old traditions to abuse
I'm not saying we're not different
Do not sing a different song
I'm just saying we should find a way
For all of us to get along
We were born into a world
still smelling of ration books and hope,
a landscape rebuilding itself
from the rubble of old certainties.
Our first maps were simple~
neighborhood streets,
chalk-lined sidewalks,
the safe geometry of schools and
front yards where mothers called us home
by the sound of their names,
not by fear.
Later, the terrain shifted.
The sixties cracked open
like a fault line,
and we learned to read
new coordinates:
protest, vinyl, moon-landing wonder,
the long road toward voices
finally demanding to be heard.
We charted our adults lives
in ink that bled~
marriages, divorces,
mortgages, layoffs,
and the quiet triumph
of getting back up again.
Our bodies became maps too,
creased at the edges,
softened by time,
each wrinkle a contour line
marking where joy or sorrow
once pressed its thumb.
Now we move more slowly,
but with the quiet elegance
earned only by those
who’ve crossed so many years
without letting go
of the small, steady thread
that kept them whole.
We were cartographers
of change,
mapping a shifting world
not with ink but
with the gentle geography of our hearts.
Most Baby Boomers started out hoping to leave life
having continued our Great ReGenerativity,
progressively recycling boundless growth
of optimal Win-Wealth is also Win-Health.
We are the last human generation
with confidence we could leave more than we have taken in.
To give back,
to pay forward
investment in Earth's cooperative health and safety insurance,
re-assurance.
In this early post-millennial era,
we have a great transitional dissonance
between those who continue believing it is merely realistic,
rationally nihilistic,
to give up on this hopelessly disconnected
non-renewable
non-inheritable dream,
already not accessible to human nature's consciousness
of internal and external climate disruptions.
And, on the other hand,
there remain those of relentless active faith
that we are here at this time,
invested in this transitional moment,
increasing Win/Win potential
transforming short- and long-term
evolving compassionate lifetimes
To learn from Father Sun's warming voice of Wind
to balance healthy consumption
with wealthy production
of perennial renewables
To listen
for life's relentlessly springing up reinvestment
opportunities,
not lifetime for ignoring Win v Lose waste,
risking positive neuro-energy's potential peacetime resources.
As we turn from seeking regenerative integrity
for the span of one humanely natural generation,
toward the span of one humane-divine
MotherEarth FatherSun prime co-relational life span,
old monotheistic WinWe v LoseThey issues,
flying under banners of nationalistic narcissism,
fade into the waste stream of survival of the bullyist
More synergetically renewed by a new EarthTribal cooperative ownership,
a self-with-other Win/Win democratizing
inter-religious identity
nurturing caregiving Light
and receiving Power
Healthy compassion
with all organisms not pathologically hoarding wealth
of divisive nations,
of dissociated egos,
as this new Left with Right
double-binding
ego/eco-intelligence
for evolving renewable lifetime opportunities
and compassionately deniable risks of addiction
to anthropocentric narcissism.
Shifting Sands
Chagrined but involved,
Demographics today present
The Silent Generation and Baby Boomers,
Gen Xers, Xennials and Millennials,
And Generation Z in the digital era agape,
Staring in bewilderment
And grappling with the reality imposed:
That the crème de la crème
Of the millions of US citizens
In the party of Jefferson, Jackson, and Roosevelt
Tout a socialist clown and a gaffing buffoon
(Who are both very white, very old, and very stupid)
As presidential candidates
To lead the charge to victory come November.
Surely, there is better fruit in the land
Rooted in the shifting sands.
***
Note:
Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders were two of the leading figures in the 2020 Democratic presidential primaries.
The Silent Generation: 1925–1945.
Baby Boomers: 1946–1964.
Gen X: 1965–1979.
Xennials: 1975–1985.
Millennials: 1980–1994.
Gen Z: 1995–2012.
Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826): 3rd president of the U.S.A. (1801 to 1809).
Andrew Jackson (1767–1845): 7th president of the U.S.A. (1829 to 1837).
Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882–1945): 32nd president of the U.S.A. (1933 to 1945).
You loved me and accepted
me, for who I am
Loving unconditional
I was your little lamb
And Auntie, though your
womb was closed
No baby born as you'd
once supposed
With the baby boomers
boom
No baby in your
nursery room
Yet truest love,
my Aunt to me
The sweetest gift
would ever be
Your gift of love for
each you knew
Oh Auntie,
your love
was so true
Though you're
lifted from this sphere
May angels
bout' you
Close and near
Whisper in your precious ear
BJ adores you Auntie dear
A whispered "Thank you!"
From this heart
Undying love cannot depart
May these words lift
up to say
Aunt Betty;
Happy Mother's Day
<3
life is a messy slurry
Tyson fury
an Olga tumble
an Ali shuffle
a low Cal rumble
in nuclear jungles
hammer and sickle
stars and stripes
a polka dot pickle
cocaine in the middle
PURPLE PEOPLE EATERS
a tsunami ripple
a wobbly foal
grizzly claw
napalm fronds
fishponds made by bombs
divorce court
building doomsday bunker
your first kiss
soccer moms
dodging pervs in the park
a cachexic dream
crack house society
butterflies sipping cream
OWLS FURRY DREAMING
grand slamming the babe
sand made into glass
back stabbers
section 8 scammer
just for kicks conceive
watch the tadpoles grow into nervous tics
where the hell is thAT bubble headed babysitter
It's 66 minutes past 6
life is jaws that kill
jaws that lick
kids wilding
the earth is far beyond sick
life is smartphone indifference
boomers and millennials navigating the river Styx
with floaties and a soggy boat made of paper prayers
life is a forgotten god
gaming in his lair
searching for us
in the muck
finding attic junk
a crucifix
a triple six
circles and cycles
tricycles and unicycles
flat wheels
banana peel religion
slipping
into
wiccan ditches
warlocks-angels with PhDs
living on the street
with lepers kissing pristine witches
life is one big blurry lake
sipping opaque
rolling of the dice
felt tables aflame
it's all a game
cardboard homes
the man tossing bones
convicts in nursing homes
brevity versus eternity
caskets and bassinets
golden years sacrificed to red hat enraged
under waged ogres...with no impulse control
what will be etched into my stone
"He was a self-centered prick of a father
couldn't be bothered with the kids
wielded a big cold ugly stick
long on criticism, short on compliments
but slick with the iPhone
knuckle-walking drone
E=MC I got Hammered
...all lives are too soon forgotten
even by the weeds circling pauper crosses
and the granite monuments of Avalon.
Boomers watch flames in burning fires inside,
They dream in vinyl, staring with eyes open wide.
Some call this gaze: 'Lead paint glaze' of despair,
It's the first move in the game of Generational Stare.
Watch them stares; wait on, don’t be afraid,
Each blank look is a frozen charade,
With eye glazed over in blank despair,
The soul is on pause, before getting there.
Gen X's likes to keeping you waiting a bit,
With a tardy delay before they transmit.
With their eyes half-closed, pause on snooze —
They’re living out their sixties blues.
Millennial's are stuck waiting on a chord,
for the pause between press and record.
This delay happens throughout the day,
Even when they should be on their way.
Gen Z's don't enjoy small talk anymore.
They must wait for the buffering chore,
to finish on all their active screens,
including their I'm live-now machines.
Is it apathy? Or does a panic attack loom?
Just give these generational's some room.
For brains to engage and eyes to make contact,
When reality moves - goes beyond the abstract.
Watch them stares; wait and don’t be afraid,
Each blank look is a frozen charade,
With eye glazed over in empty despair,
Souls are on pause, before getting there.