Seventy Poems - Poems about Seventy

seventy three

prickly and simply
wrinkly and pimply
old aged and one paged
ungauged and enraged
wildly carefree
honest living at seventy-three

Lovey Dovey in Seventy Four

Lovey dovey in seventy-four
a large wedding, top hats at every door
blushing bridesmaids, each dressed in red
bride has lost weight, has she even been fed?

There are six children by eighty-six
the bride is now heavy, extremely thick
by ninety there are two more children to feed
bride cannot fit on a thousand-pound steed

groom loses interest by ninety-two
runs off with

Seventy Six and Grateful

she regurgitates her parent’s philosophy
Lives their religious beliefs
Spouts their politics
Lives with their furniture

She has never had to buy a couch or a chair
Never had to wonder what her own ideas might be
At seventy-six she is grateful
She never had to develop an opinion of her own

Seventy Plus

Seventy Plus

Have been retired for 7 years
The best parts:
no work hassles
more time to write poetry
more time to play music
more time to work on my project list
(of course, AFTER the honey do list)
more time to volunteer
more time for naps
I can sit around in sweats and tee shirt
(in summer shorts and tee shirt)

But
The worst parts:
insomnia
not as much

Seventy-three seconds

One thought, igniting the dream,
Seven bold souls, steady as they seem.

Ten missions past, Challenger soared,
Twenty-five flights, the program roared.

Tick-tick.
A countdown clear.
The world leans close.
The clock draws near.

Thirty-six degrees—a frozen doubt.
A seal strained tight; the gas leaks out.

Ignition. Roar. Climb. Silence screams.
A nation watches shattered dreams.

Seventy-three seconds, sky turned to flame,
History echoes their hallowed names.

At 5:00

Beauty of being Seventy Two

I do not embellish the truth.
I cough it out
Letting it land on the table
Ooze along on the floor
Touching people’s shoes
Slithering along the sidewalk in front and in back of me
My truth as I see it,
Part of the beauty of being seventy-two.

Dim sum die-at

We bare of human; sic-ning'
Planned these decade long schemes?
Some mad-sters of eugenics 
In bid to cap our dynamics.'
All based on their (spatial distancing)
And murder as ever
Of conscious never
With extremisam
Of which I am no fan forever.!

At Seventy I can no longer fly under the radar

At 70 I can no longer fly under the radar,
And now my family has started making plans for me,
That decides how the 70-year-old me,
Should spend any time left to me,
That they see as uncontestably for me.

Never mind the health of me,
With a heart that came through chemotherapy with me
Lungs that can walk in the fog

Seventy-Seventh Birthday

In July of 2013, you died and you went to Heaven.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned 77.
After taking chemotherapy for months, you died.
You were a good provider and that can't be denied.
When a parent dies, it's always tragic and very sad.
If you were still alive, I'd say "Happy Birthday, Dad".

[Dedicated to Charles F.

I am Nineteen but I look Seventy Two

I am nineteen
but I look seventy-two
weird maybe
to those who are not here yet

in my heart I am singing and dancing
my arthritic ankles are laughing at me
I do not hear them
choosing to be young me as opposed to old me

my heart is full of joy
I am not cynical
only grouchy with one person
my husband, who must not

The Eight in Seventy Two

Ploddingly it took the form
Of some dispassionate melody
Our wailing voices at crescendo
For our undying we mourn

With care they traipsed the deck
A mass of notions in mind
Did ten artlessly disappear
or were held by the Atlantic's inside?

Still we stood and tried to inform
Searchers of our malady
That we living men hitherto
can presently not be seen

Still we stand on

interacting when you are seventy

my twin sister and I speak almost every day
saying the same things over and over
there seems to be comfort in that

we call our brother on his birthday
he never answers
but he will text back

so we text him happy birthday
he texts back right away - one word
ok

this gives us a sense of peace
because we know either he

and now for my next trick I will try to be seventy

and now for my next trick
I will try to be seventy
SEVENTY!
My brain yells “We are twelve!”
My soul yells “nineteen at the most!”
My arthritic ankles yell “we are a hundred.
Being seventy ought to be a cinch.”

What does seventy look like?
How does seventy act?
I know that seventy is invisible.
And seventy’s ideas are discounted
and seventy is easily ignored.

But

A Gift

O,' my Lord, Christ Jesus of Deliverance,
A gift faceted in distinguishing the humanities hoped
Human-kind had but one-rule 
A commandment: for individualism. ('choice') 

A natural-born leader over yourself, 
Your thoughts, your intent of will
Your liberations, your goodness relished.

You there, they're reading it loud, 
Don't get too far ahead of yourself 
You were given a rare gift

Say Bye to Seventy-Three

     Happy Birthday to me
       Say bye to seventy-three

     I’m seventy-four now
       My ox to be gored

• Short Seventy Poems
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• Best Seventy Poems
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• Long Seventy Poems
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