Sixty Eight Poems - Poems about Sixty Eight

Think before you write, write before you speak....

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Sixty-eight and Sixty-nine By Franklin Price 02/03/2022 In January sixty-eight, I was sent to Vietnam, Was no internet back then, no Facebook, only Spam I went to serve my country. Had signed the line in sixty-five Going there to do my duty, prayed I'd be coming back alive I left my spouse of two years, in the care of family. On April first,...

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Sixty-eight! What the heck. I look in the mirror and see another me. I am twelve inside. Can’t anyone else see? My sense of humor is hilarious just like it always was. I am young at heart; I still run from the fuzz. I am a giant cuddly peace-loving hippie, who did not make it to Woodstock. I would...

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Sixty eight sheep dancing on my head Wandering across my face, declaring me quite dead. Sure they are little but mighty you see They are fleecy and funny and tickling me. Just count sheep my shrink said kissing me off. I wanted to go; she had a giant Covid 19 cough. Just count sheep, she said, with a wave of her...

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Nineteen sixty-nine By Franklin Price 5/22/2019 The year was nineteen sixty-nine A year for change and to adjust Had just returned from Viet Nam Was alone, without much trust Married when I went away January sixty-eight Received “Dear John” on April Fool It's a long remembered date Went to war to do my duty My wife could not do without By the time she wrote the letter Was not...

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Conversation with my four-year-old grandson Max. “I cannot throw the ball one more time, Max. I am old.” He glares at me. “No, you’re not.” “I am. I really am.” I throw the ball ten more times. “I mean it Max, I have to stop. I am tired. I have a cough.” “No you don’t.” “Yes, I really do.” He comes closer and...

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terrified that you might lose me petrified with the "you and me" yes, the best things in life are free and from you i want to be free we add, we remove and we keep promises at times we don't keep on you, on us, i'm losing sleep i'm done counting a herd of sheep...

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in a series of stops and starts on bouncing back and broken hearts vicious cycle of love and hate all you want can blame your fate each time i close my eyes, i see someone struggling, fighting, it's me...

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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...

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