Sixty Two Poems | Examples

remote is instinctive for husband

our new remote arrived yesterday
the package weighed nineteen pounds
the instruction book was eleven hundred and sixty-two pages thick
my husband began clicking away with it

managing a tv remote is instinctive for him
there is nothing easy about a remote in my wheelhouse
he goes click, click, click, click, click
without opening the stupid book

I have to ask him to slow down his clicking
to tell me what he has pressed
I try to write it down
but I cannot write that fast

Charise Collects Puppies and Birds

Puppies and birds, they were Clarise’s go-to’s.
She always had her eyes out, she never did snooze.
Fishing them out of crevices, crannies and old boats.
She never brought home llamas, donkeys or goats.

Puppies and birds, she collected faster than most.
I have sixty-two robins, she said in way of a boast.
Her blue glasses were always full of dribbles of white.
These birds let down squirts on every one of their flights.

The puppies seemed happy, none were in cages or a pen.
I cannot open the door, she said, afraid I can’t let you in.
We didn’t want in there, but we liked seeing Clarise.
She has a keen sense of humor, and empathy, my little niece.

ice cream is delivered in the park

ice cream cones will be delivered by the gazebo in the park.
We saw a large lumbering thing coming at us in the dark.
It was an ice cream cone delivery man in form of a red dragon.
Carrying four ices at the same time, his tail never dragg’n.

You need a wagon, we told him, a Red Flyer wagon.
Thank you for the tip, he said. He was a super polite dragon.
We had ice cream cones delivered the next night too.
But this time they were delivered by squirrels, we counted sixty-two.

the victim of amplified suicide

she was the victim of amplified suicide
what does that mean? I asked Detective McBride
She tried to hang herself first, he rapidly replied
But the knot in the rope had become untied

She took fifty-nine pills from a bottle
which explains why her skin has a bit of a mottle
she finally crashed her caddy into a bridge
in the next county over, by Strawberry ridge

How do you know it wasn’t an accident? I dared to ask.
The sixty-two-page suicide note next to her aluminum flask.
amplified suicide was a strange and new term to me.
But now a concept that I finally could see.

Ghosts of Havana: A Letter from the Other Side

I speak now, not with breath,
But through the bones of history,
Through palms that never bore fruit
Because your embargo starved the soil.

You feared not our weapons—
We had none to match your bombs.
You feared our ideas,
Because they burned too brightly in the dark.

Sixty-two winters and summers,
My people have walked in chains—
Not of iron,
But of isolation, hunger, and propaganda.

Is it a crime to dream in red?
Is dignity a sin,
When worn by brown hands
On a small island that refused to kneel?

You said it was freedom—
Yet you crushed us under boots
Stamped democracy,
Laced with hypocrisy.

Your friends—your “allies”—watched.
Some nodded.
Some traded,
And many sold their silence for your gold.

Fidel is gone,
But the embargo remains—
Like a ghost that haunts both jailer and prisoner,
A curse passed down by cold-hearted kings.

America, when the axis shifts,
And the sun of the global south rises—
What will your monuments say then?
What flag will you wave when truth takes the throne?

History is a patient god.
It watches.
It remembers.
And when it judges—
It does not ask permission.

my nightmare

They had rapidly turned from discussion group to angry mob
Screamers and yellers took the helm, storming the podium.
They expressed hatred for all humans over sixty-two.
Thought they should be shoved off on ice flows.
I started to work my way toward the back where the doors were.
But they caught me and dragged me back.

I Have My Grandmas Hands

I have my grandma’s hands
Polka dotted, wrinkled, silly looking
Skin barely covering the blue veins
There is a snake-like scaly look to them
Plethora of wrinkles and bumps
With a jolt I realize she died at sixty-two
I thought she was old
Brings me to a shocking perspective
As I am seventy-two

I tell every Kazakh

Read in Kazakh! If you want to understand me,
Think in Kazakh! If you want to understand me!
If you read and think in Kazakh, my words will reach,
We’ll move toward kinship, like siblings born together.

Let’s speak in our pure mother tongue, united,
Speaking without mixing is truly great and solid!
If we revive forgotten words in our minds,
It’s like bringing back the dead parents we left behind!

If you think in another language, your own is dead,
When your language is gone, your worth is lessened instead!
A young child wakes up, crying from their sleep,
If they’re soiled, the diaper beneath is in a heap.

I thought that independence would bring change,
But after 25 years, our wounds still feel strange!
If there’s a revolution in the minds of the Kazakh,
Then in joy, I will...

I’ll be the oil lamp that lights every home,
I’ll be there when you’re sick, never alone.
On that day, like a volcano awakening from sleep,
In the heart of Kazakh, I will surely leap.

Like a volcano, I will erupt into fire and flame,
Pouring forth my verses, each one with a name.
Melting all sixty-two veins like molten lead,
This is how I will show the power of the word!

FOUR CUBED

FOUR CUBED

Four words a line,
Four lines a stanza.
Four of these comprise
Ms. Hawley’s next extravaganza.

Three words won’t satisfy;
Five are too numerous.
And, one more condition,
She’d like it humorous.

That’s two verses done
And I’ve barely commenced.
It’s not my nature
To write lines condensed.

But, if she insists,
I’ll follow her law.
Sixty one, sixty two,
Sixty three, sixty four.

Don Fell in Love

Don was heartfelt, honest and sincere
When he fell in love with Miss Lynn McVere
She was flamboyant, redheaded, her ego overblown
Not her! Said his family, you are pure and home-grown!
She is as fake and strange as you are real
But Don could not change how his heart could feel
Falling in love was easy; he loved Lynn true.
They stayed married a record number of years, sixty-two.

Dave Crandall - Third Party Perspective

Dave Crandall is a fella who is always in tune.
Don't believe it when they say he's crazy as a loon.
He's a vegetarian, so you might not relate
to the curious items that you find on his plate. 

He loves to solve mind-bending math puzzles just for fun,
and whether you like it or not, he'll surely ask you one.
He's got the sense of a blow-up animal balloon.
His favorite thing to watch is a Betty Boop cartoon.

He likes black and white movies from nineteen thirty-nine,
and folk songs from sixty-two, like "kisses, sweeter than wine."
While these anomalies, you might not think are so great, 
I think you will agree, he should gain a little weight.

luxurious hotel lobby in 1962

New Orleans’ 1962 ostentatious hotel lobby
extravagant crystal fluted chandeliers
highly polished walnut counter tops
opulent Italian marble floors
plush scarlet velvet cushioned couches
swankly brass and glass décor
luxury never seen after nineteen sixty-two

September 17, 1862

(Battle of Antietam, Sharpsburg, Maryland, September 17, 1862; 2,100 Union dead, 1550 Confederate dead)



the day September seventeenth
	in eighteen sixty-two
found stalks of corn in Maryland
	grown high as horses' heads
while rebel soldiers clad in gray,
	invaders to this place,
stood vigil in dawn's wispy mists
	as quiet Sharpsburg slept
when from the creek Antietam
	charged boldly Stars-and-Stripes 
so all-day-through fierce battle raged
	in pasture, corn, and road
till sunset quelled the violence,
	loud cannon-thunder ebbed,
replaced by floods of helpless moans
	from maimed and wounded men
while from the carnage rebels skulked
	across Potomac's flow
to breathe their safe Virginia air
	as blue-clad victors wept
and set about the burials
	of dead, both gray and blue,
three-thousand plus six hundred more
	American souls lost
that day, September seventeenth,
        in eighteen sixty-two.

Is This Ample Enough

none of the McCormicks knew which insect had made the crying sounds
odd since usually every McCormick is an expert about thirty-nine things
I know because my mother and her sixty-two sisters are all McCormicks
Some of the McCormicks do not bother to marry, cannot find ample fodder.

Is this ample enough? Cousin Lewt asked, dragging a McCormick home.
Isn’t he your cousin? Asked sixteen McCormicks. I sat quietly for once.
Wanting to see another beat down or put down at a McCormick reunion.
Daddy, who was a Stone gave me a wink; he was feeling smug too.

The Stone reunion is famous for brawls, fights, and police reports.
PS spoiler alert, the crying sounds were noises from a long-horned beetle.
Played on the accordion located between her front and back legs.
Even I with my magnificent imagination, cannot make this crap up.

here is your squidger

Here is your squidger
The object is to pop a wink
Try to get it inside a cup
Or smash your opponent, go for their pink.

My grandsons looked at me as if I had sprung a head.
Come on! I urged them. Before we have to go to bed.
I think they may be too old, my daughter suggested.
You never know, until they are tested.

I had to demonstrate a time or two.
Luckily, I have been popping winks since nineteen sixty-two.
In September I plan to go Vienna’s Tiddly Winks Championship.
Annual Tiddly Winks competition, yes, because I am that hip!

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