Fourteen in ’65

Fourteen, the perfect age
Awkward bliss
Time stood still, and
everything in life led to something
Life lesson at fourteen:
Adventures have no deadends

Girls, a mystery deeper than Saturn’s rings
but, worth losing sleep over
Cars, faster, noisier the better
Even in ’65
’57 Chevies, still tops

Vietnam, flaring up
beyond what anyone ever expected
LBJ, President, though he didn’t want to be
Most still wished, Kennedy back from the dead

Churchill, dead, five days after my 14th birthday
Just a famous name to me
until hearing the TV replay
of his We Shall Fight Them on the Beaches speech
Then I understood
why you must fight back, and
even sometimes, pick a fight

I Can’t Get No Satisfaction
I Can’t Help Myself
Wooly Bully
My Girl
You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’

Top songs, 1965
Songs still playin’ in my head

We’re 42 years past 1965, but
it’s not too late
to stop in the name of love

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This entry was posted in 1960s Poetry, Free Verse Poetry, Poems about High School by Don Iannone. Bookmark the permalink.

About Don Iannone

Don Iannone is a poet, writer, teacher and photographer who lives in the Greater Cleveland area. He has worked in the economic development field for over 35 years. Don is the author of three poetry books and five photography books. He is working on a short book of photographs and poems about human trafficking. This work was exhibited at six venues in Ohio. Don holds an M.A. degree in Art and Consciousness Studies from the University of Philosophical Research in Los Angeles, where he teaches writing. His educational background also includes studies in Anthropology, Photography, Organizational Behavior, and Economic Development. Don’s website: http://www.donaldiannone.com Wisdom Work Press: https://wisdomworkpress.wordpress.com

6 thoughts on “Fourteen in ’65

  1. Floots: Thanks. Yes, I think we are close in age. This poem popped into my head. I suppose that this better than popping out of my head. Right? LOL.

  2. Dan: Thanks. Yes indeed…42 years. I left Martins Ferry in 1965, as you know, and moved to St. Clairsville. It’s funny because it was a 10-mile move, but it seemed like moving to another planet. Isn’t that strange?

  3. What an ending! You’re not going to make us start calling you “Diana Ross” now, are you? πŸ˜›

    And by the way – good poem. πŸ™‚

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