Long Seventy eight Poems
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There's usually a balance tween sad and happy
Somehow my brain's out of whack
Certainly not saying I'm complaining or such
Am I different or weird or cracked?
Cracked or broken, ah maybe that's it
Can only go by what I have learned
Ya gotta be careful, must proceed with caution
If not, you'll surely get burned
The best thing to do is just take it slow
Emotions can cloud your thinking
Tread ever so lightly till you're sure it's right
Then full steam ahead without blinking
Someone out there is just waiting for you
When you find them you'll know right away
The trumpets will blow, the bells will ring
Every day will be a red letter day
I'm no expert but after seventy-eight years
I've come to an astounding revelation
From the moment we're born till the day we die
Every day's an exciting celebration!
© Jack Ellison 2013
When moving to a new location
Love to survey the land
Finding the nearest gas emporiums
A Starbucks close at hand
McDonald's which I frequent often
Food stores with all the best deals
Office supplies, lumber yards
Great restaurants for yummy meals
Soon we'll know where everything is
But exploring is half the fun
Discovering stores once far away
Now are just a very short run
It helps to eliminate those illegal u-turns
Which are really hard on the wallet
Soon we'll know where everything is
Reducing our petrol wallop
Moved quite a number of times in life
Find it exciting and fun
You'd think at the age of seventy-eight
My wander lust would all be done
© Jack Ellison 2013
Seven of this morning
------------------------------
There is no sun in the east
and the day is not bright
With full of pains and tiredness, I rose.
There the clock on the wall showed seven.
Slight drizzle and the overcast sky
make me scared of my father’s health
At seventy eight and with asthma
Will it be the last day of his life?
The thunder in the north sky
Adds to my fear and anxiety
My dear dad, alas
breathes no more, has breathed his last
Grief and sorrow have surrounded us
In the seven of this grimmorning
I make arrangements for his last journey.
As most days go, this seems pretty good
Doesn't take much to affect my mood
Just a simple greeting like “Have a good day”
As I show up at the office in the nude
The reaction of coworkers sure tickles my fancy
With my dangly bits dancing around
They try not to stare but it's kind of impossible
As my studly maleness astounds
When I settle down on my black leather chair
I let out a childlike whimper
My super warm flesh on the this super cold leather
Makes me scream out the name of my vicar
The ladies gather round never ever having seen
Seventy-eight year old dangly bits
I start twisting and turning like a beautiful ballerina
Slapping a giddy-up on my hips
Well as this day goes it's not necessarily the best
Got rid of some of my inhibitions
Till the security dudes burst into the office
Felt like the Spanish Inquisition
© Jack Ellison 2014
My cup runneth over at age seventy-eight
Will it ever slow down to give me a break
Thought ahead when I was a younger man
Love in my seventies was not in the plan
However in my mind I'm as active as ever
Always can be found searching for pleasure
Pleasures we dream from a very young age
Like a male of the species locked in a cage
Wanting so badly to explore the landscape
All too soon our manly prowess escapes
We resign to the fact our bodies can't perform
As when our youthful stamina was norm
Minds are still active as they were back then
But the body's changed, takes longer to ascend
It's all part of life, this unparalleled journey
But we manage to survive all the topsy-turvy
© Jack Ellison 2013
The grandfather clock just struck twelve, that magic hour of night,
And there he sits drumming our fingers musing about something to write!
He's been biting our nails and running our fingers through his hair,
Scratching his head, searching for witty or apt verse to prepare!
Ah! Now he's flexing our digits and I detect in his eyes a gleam.
We think he's collecting his thoughts to concoct a masterful scheme.
Something comparable to works by Whitman or Riley, no doubt.
These fingers should get some credit, no matter how it turns out!
What will it be? A poem about religion, politics or the billowing seas,
Little children, old soldiers, love gone sour or scarlet hued trees?
Perhaps a few stanzas about cowboy lore - only the Lord can tell!
Our fingers just fly over the keyboard - that old coot types pretty well!
We're getting numb and need rest but he provides no reprieve.
He's typing at least seventy-eight words per minute, I do believe!
But never fear, we'll manage to keep ahead of his versatile mind,
And keep pounding away as thoughts from his prolific skull unwind!
Well, he has completed what he considers a masterpiece at last.
We're petered out and ready to curl up - we have typed so fast!
But all of us from our thumbs to our pinkies have had a blast!
We pray he never gets writer's cramp - that would leave us aghast!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
1st Place in Linda-Marie's "Finger Frenzy" Contest - June 2010
Life is a hoot, make the most of each day
One never knows what's ahead
Could be sailing along not a care in the world
When you hear that word we all dread
First time I heard it, my dear dad was diagnosed
Thought, what is this thing called cancer
Is there no way to give him a little more time
Maybe a new treatment is the answer
Unfortunately, my dear dad finally succumbed
Devastated, I was just a young boy
Seems like a horrible way to end your life
A waste of a lifetime of joy
My very first encounter of many to follow
Linda, my first wife succumbed
As other family members and good friends
This cancer has left me stunned
Well, so far I've managed to avoid this killer
Can't help wondering when it's my turn
Seventy-eight and I'm still motoring along
How long before I get burned
© Jack Ellison 2014
Some months ago my cousin offered me a pipe
that my paternal grandfather used, when he desired a smoke
It stirred up a memory that had potential to be serious
but after sixty years I relate to it as a joke
My maternal grandfather , very slow and steady
that's how he chose to drive
But paternal grandpa!! he was seventy eight, I was seventeen,
one solitary trip with him, I wondered if we would survive
We hit the open road, accelerator hit the floor
one hundred and twenty five kilometres per hour, the only speed he knew
Left hand on the steering wheel, right hand on ,and clenched between his teeth,
his beloved smoking pipe, that was how we almost flew
Straight open road, semi trailer ahead
Grandfather decided it was safe!!!! to overtake
There's another semi trailer approaching,!!! It's on the other side!!! We're caught between the two!!! still with hand upon his pipe, other on the steering wheel, side to side we wobbled, I began to shake
Back on the left side of the road (we're Aussie ) we have overtaken the semi trailer!!!!
Grandfather still has pipe clenched between his jaw
He looks at me quite calm[y states "I thought that other semi was going the other way ",
accelerator still flattened to floor
My very nervous thoughts, about this episode, I pray there won't be more
To my cousin I replied, the offer of that old smoking pipe, it is declined,
perhaps it is a bong
I appreciate your offer but I don't need a material possession, in my memory it's deeply etched
nothing personal, please don;t get me wrong
Footnote: Semi are also known as Prime movers . Guess we were nearly prime moved into heaven
For men I have heard it said
now let's get real
You are only as young
as the woman you feel
Chronologically I am almost seventy eight
biologically I am only thirty four
Am aiming to live way past
this so called "old' age of four score
Pretend I am Methuselah who reputedly reached
the age of nine hundred and sixty nine
Disputation, were they solar years or lunar months
a pristine environment no doubt reduced the ageing rate of decline
No matter how long I'm here
it's quality of life I'll always seek
Live in the moment there is no future or no past
quantity we have some choice I'll always strive to reach my peak
This melody of yesteryear sounded great.
We would hear it on a record at seventy-eight.
Anybody could play the song on a Victrola.
One listened to it on a juke box by Rock-Ola.
The subject of this song by Jo Stafford of all things,
was about the romantic dreams of smoke rings.
Miss Stafford’s voice was one anyone adores.
Back then, it was no crime to smoke indoors.
When dealing with broken hearts lovers wanted to forget,
they would often sit down and have a cigarette.
A habit of the past many considered glamorous
is now deemed to be offensive and insalubrious.
The song sounded mellifluous and sublime.
Things have changed significantly over time.