A Real Bodhisattva
A bodhisattva is the Buddhist equivalent
Of a warrior for Christ, who is well on their way
To being Christlike themselves.
Of course there are many degrees of bodhisattva
From those who only have the wish to be
To those who actually are.
Literally millions are examples of the former.
The Dalai Lama is a good example of the latter.
Real bodhisattvas are rare.
Their hallmark is infinite love and compassion
For all beings
Combined with deep insight
Into the true nature of reality.
This week the world lost a real bodhisattva
In the form of a young American patriot,
Who at just 31 years old
Had successfully reached a whole generation
Galvanizing many young people
To critically look within
And embrace traditional American values
Of family, honesty, integrity, openness,
Love, tolerance, inclusivity, and faith.
And for this he was martyred.
The world is a better place
For having known Charlie Kirk.
But it is certainly not a better place without him
Unless we take up his mantle
Take the torch, and shield and sword
And become real warriors of Christ
Bodhisattvas in the army of truth.
(9/12/25)
No cap, that's how I roll
My story, totally whole
No faking a single part,
Just open; an honest heart
My spirit shines bright,
A natural, easy light
Words flow, a friendly stream,
Living out my best dream
Connections bloom,
Chasing away all gloom
A good vibe I share,
With rizz in the air
No ceiling above,
Just freedom, full of love
I live with no cap, you see,
The real, the happy, the me
The Burden of Youth
She was seventeen, and her boyfriend had left her
Life is more intense when you are young, she wanted to commit
Suicide so he could see how much he loved her.
Filled her rucksack with stones and waded into the bay, but
The water was low only to her chest when she reached the other side
Besides, she was glad to be alive.
She met a young man also unlucky in love, who took her rucksack
Filled more stones into it and waded into the sea, but now there was
High tide and the young man disappeared under the sea.
A few seagulls shrieked in the otherwise silent area as the girl waited for the bus.
To take her back to town, block out unpleasant thoughts, she said aloud.
My father is a communist, the bus driver who was a fascist stopped
Pulled out his gun and shot her dead, and the women on an outing clapped.
This was her father letting the red flag fly in the street of Utopia.
a Magic 9 poem
Who's to blame?
I don't know,
but it's a shame
that children suffer
in the name
of what is holy~
Is God the same
for all who show
us how to maim?
the two were a best match
opposites attract, interest meets
the two tried to leave one another but
the two were tubed
lessons learned, trials faced but
they always found a way
through groups and tribes
new faces and towns
nobody every cliqued like the two
Our proximity came with my age
And I only saw your later chapters,
though I saw myself in you.
Not unlike myself with ambition,
Homely peers and shouting,
The weight you did accrue.
Your aims changed a while ago,
And I added them to my own,
I saw your smile tighten,
But I let my feelings stew.
Fancy chains of gold, white veiled capture,
And, yes, I hate your captor,
Sceptical of this new chapter,
and the baby cradle too.
As of now your hands have turned to hitting,
Smiles inclined to swearing,
Your son is only one now,
And our similarities are already true?
As I try to slumber now the stature cracks,
The bringer of tears strikes again,
And I struggle to identify who.
I’ve looked up for the longest time,
And I gaze into you now that I’ve grew.
The truth I’ve come to grips with now,
I don’t want to be you.
Yogi Bear to me is as close as family
Out in the backroads of my youth
Grew with me through the years
I’ll always have that soft spot in my heart
You were gazing at me as I looked in your direction
You, caught in reverie and a daydream reflection
Both of us wondering if we've made a connection
As you stand with your friends by your locker
As both of us are caught up in this moment
Both wondering if the other one knows it
Both wondering if the other will show it
Having our love listed on the docket
You writing our names on your notebook
In a heart our names, in your mind nuptials took
Me stealing your heart like some kind of crook
As you lean back on your book nook
I saunter over, parting your friends
I fumble for words, my heart beats intense
I manage to muster these words in defense
"You've captivated my heart with just a look!"
I tried to be good as a kid
But it never worked out for me
If there was any kind of trouble
Right in the middle is where I'd be
I tried to escape it but I never did
Trouble was like a shadow to me
Like a mosquito on a summer night
Trouble would never let me be
I tried to be like everyone else
And I didn't argue or even fight
But no matter how much I tried
I was always in troubles sight
I tried to talk myself out of it
That made the spankings worse
Even as an adult I cannot hide
I'm caught in troubles curse
We were once rivers,
braiding through each other’s lives,
carving valleys of shared wonder.
Now we float in bubbles,
soft-walled sanctuaries of sameness,
drifting past one another
with eyes turned inward.
The more we seal our edges,
the less we feel the ripple,
of another’s breath.
I sit, legs crossed, typing away
Doing homework, my hair uncombed
Listening to songs I don’t love but don’t hate
And I stare out the window and wonder,
Is there something more than this?
And my fingers type away
In a never-ending game
It’s raining. I feel nothing
Writing bad poems in the dark, and I wonder,
Is there more to me than this?
Procrastination, adrenaline, headphones,
Cell phones, whiteboards, deodorant,
Romance, hardback books, college, drama,
Movies, concerts, lectures, hormones,
And I wonder,
Is there more to youth than this?
My thoughts are scattered, my eyes unfocused
My brain stretched in five directions
And I don’t know who to be
Because we’re pebbles in a muddy stream
And in a world of distractions, 8 billion voices ask,
Is there more to life than this?
Hunger walks barefoot through the streets,
while ministers gorge on stolen meats.
Children suck silence instead of bread,
their futures pawned, their dreams half-dead.
The unemployed queue in endless chains,
their sweat dismissed, their labour drained.
Degrees rot in forgotten drawers,
while power laughs behind locked doors.
Corruption fattens on every deal,
their pockets swelling, ours to steal.
Contracts vanish, truth is sold,
justice buried beneath their gold.
They dine in palaces, sip red wine,
while bodies starve in broken lines.
The country bleeds, yet they parade,
in suits stitched tight from what we paid.
And still they preach of brighter days,
while tearing hope in clever ways.
We see their lies, we hear their song
but hungry voices will rise strong.
We shall rise to fight for our future,
and shadows sharpen into light.
The feast of the few will come undone—
the starving many will be one.
One country for all - equal rights!
Leaders will become servant while followers walk with prestige and honour flying my country flag.
I hid my feelings,
but whenever I saw you
they poured out like a fountain—
a sudden sparkle,
a beauty I couldn’t contain.
Toddlers learn to walk.
Only then, they learn to talk,
Testing me with jolting squawk!
lone parasol stroll
leaves and lady dressed in red—
grayed man misses youth
Specific Types of Youth Poems
Definition | What is Youth in Poetry?
Poems Related to Youth
minor, boyhood, juvenescence, puberty, ignorance, jejuneness, inexperience, greenness, innocence, immaturity, bloom, childhood, adolescence, salad days, teens, girlhood, youngness, springtide, youthfulness, jejunity, awkward age, springtime of life, tender age,