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Long Teenage Poems | Long Teenage Poetry

Long Teenage Poems. These are the most popular long Teenage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Teenage poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Neldy Jolo | Details |

THE CRAFT CAN CAPTURE IT

Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito 
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches 

Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved

Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities? 
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.

Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen 
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.

How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism 
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners 
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo

Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro 

May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din

As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away' 
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?” 
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino” 
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism

Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas 
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks 

I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin 
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta

Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas 
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika

‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it

Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago 
The name of people is Tausug. 
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam 
Is already a nation and state 
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja

Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law

I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts 
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.

I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it 
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.






This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!


Long poem by Elton Camp | Details |

A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen

A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen
 
By Elton Camp
 
 
	“We keep thet big flock o’ chickens fer eggs and meat,” Milas explained to his niece Elvira visiting from the city.  “We git tired of so much pork an’ we don’t have t’ feed them much.  They partly make their own livin’ from eatin’ bugs an’ whut they kin scratch out o’ th’ ground.”  
 
	“Kin I feed th’ chick’ns now, Paw?” Albert asked.  
 
	The mildly retarded teenager rushed to the corncrib and collected several cobs with dried grains attached. He liked the feel and smell of the corn as he rubbed it from the cob with the palm of his hand. Soon, he had a fistful of the seeds. They felt hard and clean.  
 
	“Here, chicky, chicky,” he coaxed. Albert used a pitch higher than his normal voice.
 
	The chickens crowded in front of him in anticipation of a nutritious meal. “Watch whut happens when I throw th’ corn on th’ ground,” he told his younger brother who stood beside him.  “I like t’ throw hit all amongst ’em ’n’ watch ’em fight over hit.  They’s greedy thangs ’n’ can’t seem t’ git enough.”  
 
	“Them two ez fightin,’” remarked Albert’s little brother.  
 
	“Naw, they jest both wanted th’ same grain.  Thet big ole hen ez th’ boss over th’ pullet.  She pecks hit away ever time.  Hear com’s th’ rooster.  What whut happens when he shows up. There ain’t never but one rooster cause they’d fight ’til one wuz dead.  Besides, Paw won’t allow but one since he don’t lay no eggs.”    
 
	Shaking his large, red comb, and sporting sharp spurs on his legs, the rooster strutted around in the yard, scratched and pecked at the ground as did the hens, but accomplished the task with great dignity, as if he merely condescended to eat.  At his approach, the hens moved aside so he could claim his rightful share of the corn, but they continued to peck hungrily at what they could reach until it was gone.  
 
	Elvira walked over as the feeding was almost completed.  To Albert’s intense discomfort, the rooster suddenly raced toward a white hen.  She squawked and ran away, but he easily overtook her, jumped on her back, seized her smaller comb, lowered his body onto hers, and shook for a few seconds as he fulfilled his conjugal duty.  
 
	“Albert, what in the world are they doing?” Elvira innocently asked.  “I never saw chickens do that before.”
 
	Her cousin vaguely knew it was something like the bull mounting the cow, but didn’t want to explain that to his cousin or any girl for that matter.  Such delicate matters were never discussed.  
 
	“I don’t know.  Maybe he jest wanted a ride,” he replied as his face turned crimson and he walked quickly away.  
 
The now-fertilized hen indignantly shook her ruffled feathers into place, flapped her wings a couple of times and returned to feeding.  The rooster crowed loudly in seeming celebration of his conquest.  
 
	Rarely, a hen would attempt to crow. As Dr. Samuel Johnson remarked about a dog walking on its hind legs and a woman preaching, “It was not done well, but one was surprised to see it done at all.”  
 
	“Y’u shore shouldn’t have did thet,” remonstrated Milas’ wife as she threw a rock at the offender.  “There’ll be no mor’ aigs from y’u.”
 
	A crowing hen alarmed country people as few things could.  It seemed contrary to the natural scheme of things and couldn’t be tolerated.  
 
	When he learned about the crowing hen, Milas frowned, shook his head, and vowed, “I ain’t puttin’ up wif’ nothin’ like thet ’round heer.”
 
	“Git th’ axe ’n’ go out thar an’ kill thet brown an’ white hen,” he instructed one of his sons.  
 
	“Y’u might as well hesh thet squawking,” the teenager said to the hen as she struggled to escape his grasp.  Yore gonna make some mighty fine chicken ’n’ dumplings.”  
 
	Scientists later discovered that a hen has a bit of rudimentary testis. Under certain conditions the tissue begins to grow. The resulting hormone outflow begins to persuade her that “she” is a “he.”  In those days nobody would’ve cared, even if such an explanation had existed. They knew just what to do if a hen dared crow.  
 
	“Ah whistlin’ girl ’n’ ah crowin’ hen always com’ t’ some bad end,” repeated anyone who thought of the well-known rhyme when either occasion arose. It was literally true in the case of the hen. The girl, with nothing to fear, grinned in disbelief at the old country saying, but usually stopped whistling just the same.  It was better to be “safe than sorry.”
 
	Uneducated and superstitious people had little tolerance for anything that failed to meet their expectations, particularly as to appropriate gender behavior.  That included even a hapless hen with an identify crisis.  Some things change very little.  


Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |

QUANDARY

QUANDARY

Opening the window for a breeze… Dogs are barking!  My mind is only on me.  Relaxing…  As my story of the day unfolds, someone knocks.  Startling me, I hurry to the front door.  There stands an image of long-ago.  We hug and I let him in.  I begin to remember how deeply in love I was with this man.  But our destinies had to part and I left with my heart.  We talked for hours.  No intimacy transpired between us because we knew our lives was not fair to us and therefore, we did not desire any closeness.  Just reminiscence of tragedy we had went through for healing purposes on this three-year Anniversary.

***

What happen?  You may ask.  This is the tale as is.

***

His mother desired to be me.  So she set out to steal my identity.  In darkness she laid in our bed waiting on Ted.  A man entered the room and she presumed her man had come home.  Voicing that she was there, my stalker shot her three times in  the head.  The bullets were for me.  In irony, she had really stolen my identity.  He shot himself as well ending my dilemma.

The police came on the screen afraid that it was me.  Ted and I played it off.  He had told me his ordeal with his mother as a teenager.  He was the star athlete at our high school.  His mother was unstable and desired him for her sex tool.  She will explain that this would keep them close but he could not tell anyone.  His grandmother, on his father side. had fill Ted in on his mother family history of incest.  Ted figured he did not want any part of that mess.  So he asked his father could he live with him but he also keep in contact with his mother because of his sister and brother.  His father said yes to Ted and asked his other kids did they want to live with him as well.  It so happen that his sister was close to their mother and his brother was also.  So they said no.

Ted graduated from high school as valedictorian of his class and his body was explosive.  Ted was fine as he could be.  He now could communicate with his mother without her approaching him for sex.  He had not told his father of this instead he kept this to himself.  Nevertheless, his mother, in secret, still desired her son.

Ted and I started dating in high school.  I was familiar with his family through us living in the same metropolitan city: however, not in the same community.  We end up going to the same university in the city we lived in and our relationship flourished.

We moved into our apartment while we were in college and his  mother use to come over.  And now, three years later, we remember the tragedy.  Ted cries out to me and I answered.  We are bonded by our relationship but not by marriage.  He has successfully conquered his demons and mine's disappear on that night of my stalker killing himself.

Ted mother was wealthy and I knew that she only was nice to  me because of Ted.  The police discovered she had paid my stalker to pursue me as his prey.  Ted has been told this as well and he stated that is why his mother is dead in which he says quietly to himself: “This ends this horrid tale.”

[Queasy Queen Beings and they do not know anything of it. Ted is Queasy Queen’s son and he has her powers. He would have acquired his mother’s powers without help, which would have been through incest before forty (40). However, incest did not happen between Ted and his mother, Queasy Queen; therefore, he will acquire her powers at the age of forty (40).  His sister and brother have theirs but did not divulge because there mother had explain theirs to them when she bestowed.  Telling Ted’s sister, Harmony, at ten (10) what she was doing as she assisted her in getting dressed, which was lesser than incest. she kissed her ******. Telling Ted’s brother, Destine, at fifteen (15), when she gave him a kiss as he was leaving why she ****** him, which was lesser than incest. Incest was only for Ted because he was the oldest and her first born. His grandmother on his father side knew nothing of this because she was human and disagreed with incest openly. More so, this was unheard of through an entity of the government.]


Long poem by Cayla Carr | Details |

Watching Me

It was midnight and my dream was shattered
I fell into darkness
A nightmare
I was sinking, drowning, dying…
But then I heard the laugh of a child
Carefree and joyful was the music of her lips
She smiled and suddenly I had the urge to fight
I slowly climbed out of the shadows and emerged in a hall of pale silver
“Where am I?” my heart was racing as I asked the question
“Look around into the pictures,” a gentle voice replied
Nobody was there
I let my eyes adjust to the images scattered about the room
I strode to a photograph in a golden frame
I saw the child with a babe upon her knee
They sat in an empty room with chords scattered about, the walls stark, the light blinding
The picture gradually came to life
I watched for a bit as the child slowly rocked the babe
Tears laced the eyes of the young girl and the baby fell asleep
All was silent as the picture faded
I paced in confusion as I arrived at the next illustration 
I gazed speechless as I saw the child sobbing
She knelt and I watched as she screamed at the sky, shaking her fist in raging fury
Beyond her I saw grass and trees in desolate shades
She pulled a small necklace from her pocket and placed it on the broken ground 
The only extravagant color I saw was that of a red rose which she placed on a polished stone
The colors swirled and I knew it was time to move on
The pictures I had seen thus far left a nauseating feeling within me
I didn’t want to journey on, but I heard the comforting voice once more
“Three more pictures… You’ll soon be finished”
I knew then that it was my place to take another step
I stumbled slightly and fell before the next portrait
I saw the sky cluttered with a river of mist and the amber rays of the sun
“What is this?” I inquired curiously
“Take a look,” the voice answered
I peered once more and took a sharp breath
I saw a gate and a man with dark hair standing at the entrance
The baby from the first image was carried by two figures
 Clothed in pastel garments with radiant beams of light circling their heads
I knew where I was, but it was not where I wanted to be
Not yet
 I stared at the beautiful spectrum
My head was pounding and I abruptly drew away, breathless
I closed my eyes then opened them to behold a teenage girl 
Quietly I realized it was the child from the previous pictures, now grown
She faltered helplessly until she fell, crashing to the ground, chains holding her down
“No!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the stillness
The frame that held the picture fell to the marble floor of the hall
“One more picture…” the voice retorted sternly, “You must see this!”
A woman appeared before me 
Gathering me up in her arms, she placed me before a long golden frame
I steadied myself as she stepped back
I looked at the frame and found myself staring at my reflection
“What do you mean by showing me this hall?” I asked, a tremor in my voice
“By showing you these pictures, I am depicting lessons of life” The woman answered softly
I looked at her incredulously
She continued on in explanation, “Follow me back to the first image”
She grabbed me by the hand and led me to the picture with the empty room
“In your lifetime you will be blinded by tears… keep your innocence”
I felt myself trying to comprehend what she meant but she rushed me to the next frame
“You will experience sorrow, and despair… but you will cope”
She gestured to the rose and the necklace, then gave a soft smile before leading me on
“While you do well in life, others will die… yet prosper eternally”
She smiled in awe as the baby in the picture was placed into the arms of the man
The woman 
“You will struggle and you will fail many times… but you must keep trying”
She chided me and I felt tears running down my face
Slowly she turned me towards the glass mirror
“Do you understand now?”
I nodded my head slowly, and quickly realized what I had seen
“That child in the pictures… who was she?”
I whirled around and found that the woman was gone
“I understand…” 
I slowly awoke and found the sun peeking through the shadows of the dawn
“It was me”



Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

Punished

                            ~ Punished~
                        
One evening with her dad she met this man at a bar very
handsome well mannered visiting from England.
After a few visits she started feeling him approaching her 
with nice compliments.

His attention made her fall In love with him
For months he took her out running to the beach 
shouting out loud I love your body i love your eyes
you’ll never belong to nobody but me.
 
On a moonlight night he was holding her so tight 
kissing her lips caressing her tits expressing his 
desire to light up the fire that was burning in their
entire body and soul.

As he was her first this is what she thought at the 
beginning she was very reserved yet she liked the 
fire she was feeling they were new to her his kissing 
was sensuous he smelled lovely he was caressing her
hair while sitting on the sand she was so taken by her
thoughts suddenly she heard.

Oh my darling let me love you my way let me make you 
my woman without any delay I beg you to give up and 
stop the fight I am promising at the same time to marry 
you very soon I will ask your dad that you will become my 
wife next Sunday at soon.

She wanted to believe him her head was spinning her heart
was beating to the sounds of his powerful movements
she was reaching the sky so quickly sensations of ecstasy 
she was feeling with his compliments whispering his love 
to her out loud while she was dreaming of the marriage 
as being lifted up on a carriage listening to the horses 
tapping on the course to the hotel room where they will 
spend their honeymoon as she will become that bride 
at noon.

Before even her dreams were over she felt him suddenly 
role over and ran away with no delay she could not understand
why ? Why? Did he leave with no good-bye.

Not realizing she was undressed hurried to get dressed ran to look 
from side to side asking herself why did he hide he promised me 
to be his bride? even if she was yet a child.

She sat where they loved each other looking at the ocean maybe
he will come back he must he told her he is in love.

Already it was dark in a low voice having no choice she ran 
home straight to her room wiping her running tears and fears
covering her feet to feel some heat and fell asleep not to see
her dad as maybe tomorrow he will come back with an 
explanation to his act. 

Hoping not to be deceived and very soon to be relieved
when he ‘ll knock on their door and swipe her off her feet 
tell her dad to fix their marriage.

She waited for days and days but that day never came 
she knew then it was only a game and she`ll never see 
him again and will never be the same.
                          
That early morning she woke up before her dad to cheer up 
herself for him not to doubt she had maybe made a huge 
mistake.
Having her coffee she pulled the newspaper and screamed
Oh Oh the man she loved was an addicted rapist being 
searched from the Interpol in England, he had convinced 
everybody doctors and nurses that he was cured.

Continuing to read she read his history that he was battling 
addiction of raping teenagers for the past twenty years. Lived
most of the time in jail.
She cried and cried she was raped by an addicted rapist who
was never cured.
                             
She could not eat or drink not knowing what to think 
while running to the sink that’s when she found out 
but couldn’t shout that she was carrying a rapist child. 

Where are you? She thought you were honest
But you were only an ordinary man still battling
your addiction.

Forgive me Oh My God! Her dad
forgave her out of love to his innocent daughter.

She had to keep her child and trusted herself
to bring him up not like his father.
And she did her son became an international lawyer.

   Therese Bacha
      27/5/2013
Contest for PD....Any Poem Goes.


Long poem by PENINNAH NGANGA | Details |

CRIME OF PASSION

One Sunday afternoon in spring,
i was tending my garden,
trimming and watering the roses,
when he first passed by.
I remember standing up to break the ache,
and as i ran my hand across the face,
to wipe off the sweat,
there he was this breathtaking scenery!
He had the most fair face i had ever seen,
better than the men haunting my dreams from the Men Magazine!
His bone structure was well highlighted by the brown tinted aviators covering his eyes,
and the red Porsche reflected his perfect skin!

I don't remember much what happened next,
but with pure clarity i remember dropping my shears,
as he leveled the sun glasses fifty degree,
and cast a shameless stare to my long naked legs,
with passion so wild;
his eyes were like flames of fire!
Then with an evil smile that clearly said;
'i will be back for more sugar honey',
he fired his auto box and disappeared.

The second encounter found me sipping sweet tea,
reading 'red leaves' by Paulina Simons at the Porch.
He was in a tight green sweat t shirt that emphasized his muscles,
and long baggy shorts that revealed his manly hairy legs.
He dropped the paper pack which contained seedlings of,
every flower i could think think of from his hands,
gave another evil wink,
made a bow,
and left without a word wearing a mysterious smile.  

And when he rang my door that Friday evening,
there was no need for more formalities,
our eyes told all the undeniable emotions we felt,
within seconds,
his hands were roughing up my clothes,
his long nose teasing mine as our mouths locked in deep search.
And when he started to nibble my ears,
and taste my skin,
i knew this adventure would forever change my life.
But when the cold metal on the ring finger touched my flesh,
as he tenderly caressed every spot his tongue baptized on my body,
i realized i had not only witnessed a crime of passion;
but had blood on my hands too.
But that did not stop the want,
it did not make him less desirable,
nor quench the fire!
And when his long John finally splashed my inner with his malt,
and both simultaneously hit the paradise and bounced back,
on my bed sweating and panting like teenagers,
i knew this lust will not end without me getting hurt.

And so the call came in this Sunday afternoon!
Her worked up voice playing on my machine,
rudely interrupted our third round of explosion.
She said she knew!
"The wife always knows" she exclaimed!
She told me i need to stop ****ing her husband,
and the father of her three kids,
or else the last thing i would remember,
"will be the Sheriff asking if you okey as you draw the last breath on this earth!"

And so i plead with you,your Honor,
the Jury and this Respectable Court,
to take me under the wings of the Witness Protection Program,
where i will be well protected and preserved from the risk of our encounters.
Kindly take me far north;
to a jurisdiction where his love cannot preside over.
Where my eyes will never again sparkle at the sight of his perfect body,
Where his fingers will never bruise my soft skin with a gentle caress.
Take me to a safe house where my heart can never be made by his love,
nor can my body die in his arms ever again.

Issue me a new identity that has no clue;
how good he is at this art.
Far from this soul that adores his being.

And in turn,
i will take the stand against him,
my palm on the Holy Book i will make the Oath;
to tell the the truth and nothing but the truth,
on the case of this organized crime,
committed by my man who should have never been mine,
against the one to whom he made vows of fidelity and stability.
Whom he promised to cherish,protect and forever adore,
through the fires of hell and pleasures of life,
till death do them apart.
Amen.

  






Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Memories and Melaine My youngest Daughter In the meantime

Memories And Melanie .
My youngest  Daughter

Taking a stroll, this day, through the pages of time.
Time that has passed into history, a history that is yours and mine.
That history, my Dear, are the memories, and the thoughts of a time
when a little of you, your life, your excitement was mine
to live in, to delight in, to give to, to participate in, 
in that great adventure of a developing little Girl.
A little Girl, who needed so much more in her world,
much more than this poor excuse for a dad, gave.
Sadness to the grave, will I be, for all that I let slip by,
slip out of sight, never touched by the hands of this old man.
So much that never became a gleam in my eye.

Now, what never was, will never be !,
lost forever !, never to feel, never to see !
As I sit here, empty and alone, with me
and my memories, speaking in fleeting whispers,
in words, in word pictures that project
the history of my family, as I tried to protect,
with my life, as I see it before me, in ten thousand 
three hundred photo stories that lay upon two thousand,
seven hundred pages of words and pictures that explain,
project, enlighten and give life to the thoughts and pain,
of those memories, those experiences, these photos,
to anyone who will, one day, get to see, in painful sight,
that compares not, to the pain felt, as you took flight, 
a flight that is never to soar from this little soul, this beautiful Being,
this Girl Child of mine who’s name sings out in Melanie,
to tunes that I my never hear the sweet sounds of her melody.
Melanie, bound up, unable to be set free of the chains
that weigh her down, keep her from turning around, claims
her fragile soul, keeps it in a place, on a plane where her wings
are unable to spread, to soar, carry her spirit above experience and sings.

The songs I would love to hear before I go,
These sights I would love to see, a world to know
is that my Daughter’s wings spread to show
that my analysis, my understandings will flow
out of my thoughts and to believe that one day, it will be so !

In the meantime 
   
You slip in and out of my sight
like a wisp of wind, caught by the light,
like smoke waves, particles of dust floating by,
like ghosts in the sky brushing past the corner of my eye,
lightly touching my lips with a Daughterly, kiss 
– oh, how this, I will surly will miss –
then off again like a whirlwind, to escape,
- my heart, my soul, my spirit, this doth rape –
to the life of a teenage Girl, blown by the wind
 – for this Mr. Mom, it seems a sin –
to the four corners of this world, life’s experience, 
and I wonder what will be your dance ?, 
and if you will ever know the essence of true romance ? 
My expectations !, expeditions and adventures into
your thoughts, desires, dreams and in a direction you 
may guide yourself into a future I am unable to see, 
nor one in which you will confide in me.

I am truly sorry Melanie, that any of what might be 
good in me, I did not give, to make live within you 
all that is within you, that sometimes I do 
not see in my state of blindness. 
This, to you I must confess !!! 
These things, my Dear, I look for, hope will be,
- but cannot seem to see – may never set you free.

These, the thoughts of  You, even if the sight
is brief, the numbers few and far between 
– in your hasty retreat, flight
from any close encounter – 
brings a warm glow of light 
to the long, empty days I’ve seen 
and helps makes my life a little sounder, 
bringing to an otherwise gloomy life, rife 
with so much unnecessary, pointless strife, 
thoughts and feelings that carry me through my days 
and long, long nights of wonder, what will be your ways ?

Shine on my Beauty !!! 

Love Dad

B. J. “A ” 2 
November 6th 2001`


Long poem by Andrew Crisci | Details |

THE PLAGUES OF OUR DAY

The blind man waited, 
at the intersection, for someone
to help him cross the busy boulevard...
and he was accustomed to live in twilight,
fumbling for a hand on his right;
and he finally found mine!


Judge humanly...not pettily,
you could be in that situation 
and feel abandoned and helpless,
unless somebody extends compassion
and lends that hand in time of need;
only human love can render a good deed!


The orphan girl recognizes a greed so mundane,
her body has grown, so has her world's view;
that person who abandoned her at the orphanage
when icy rain pelted against the foggy windows,
was her own mother that refused to knock on the front door!
She still feels unwanted, unloved and rejected by who,
for some shameful reason, dropped her off and was gone
into the dreary autumn's night to forget her despair!


Judge the pain...not the circumstance
that impels a misguided heart to err;
beneath an appearance of denial,
there's a certain humanity we can't conceive,
and what prompts us to act in unreasonable and strange ways,
is still not quite understood by all;
all we can perceive is the guilt we can't bear,
and the resentful restlessness which shortens this very existence!


The elderly woman, sitting in an old wheel-chair,
waits at the traffic light as the whisking wind
brushes her frizzy and gray hair;
the sunken-cheeked lady is the regular beggar,
whose life has never been mellow,
but full of tragedy and sorrow!
Her frail voice is not insincere, but thankful and kind... 
when I hand her a dollar out of my car's window!


Judge fairly... that could be you standing there,
or someone you love;  fate can be changed if we dare...
we assert truths without clarity and condemn unjustly!
Let's take the mendicant's place, at the same corner, and beg all day;
wouldn't we be humiliated, be scorned or even be ignored
by the glances of passerby that regard us not as their friend?


The run-away teenager with lots of make-up,
looks like a madam out of a brothel,
who tries to hide her identical age by smiling at strangers...
and her trade is that of an inexperienced gal,
unprotected and exposed to many dangers;
and it might cost her life...that's already a living hell!     


Judge not too harshly...when facts aren't known,
and the only assumption rests with our pity;
along the side of the street there are many eyes that weep,
eager to return home, to a home that was so warm and cozy!
And the lucky ones will make until dawn,
others will not open their eyes, but eternally sleep!



THE PLAGUES OF OUR DAY 


The blind man with a steel cane  stooped and waited
for someone to help him across the busy boulevard;
he felt warm sunlight, and wished his sight back without living in darkness,    
then he saw a glimpse of that light when he was touched by my kindness.   
The orphan girl wants to escape, but she is afraid to venture in the outside world
still feeling unwanted, unloved and shivering unable to shield herself from the cold.   
On many rainy nights, she sits by her barred window recalling her frail mom fleeing 
into the Autumn dreary night, and inside she longs for caresses to begin the  healing.
Another teenager, hustles in the dangerous streets of night...she barely 
can walk on high heels, but she endures pain for gain;
her home was blessed with good parents, but she rebelled and ran away... 
she has no choice but sell her body...what will she attain?  
Lend a hand to anyone in time of need,
only human love renders a good deed;
How can we help abandoned babies and run-away
and get rid of all the plagues of our day that infest society?


Long poem by Juanita Thorn | Details |

Life in a flash

Born into this World, clean in both heart and soul
Untarnished except for God’s pure hands
Sitting up by myself, consuming more and more
A language starting to form in my head
My cries in the day and night are for wanting
Crawling…next walking, familiar faces of those who love me
Words forming in my mouth, the amazing effort of my first word
My parents are always smiling, full of love and support
I am only young but I sense that they will always
be there
The World growing more exciting everyday
Friendships are forming with others like me
Fun and games everyday…all day long
One day the meaning of another word….Pain
Pain from falling, broken bones, excruciating
Still whether the morning brings sunshine or clouds
I can still always feel the love all encompassing
School days are fun, I learn and play
Secrets about boys and other things
Friendships becoming more solid and grounded
I love school…I love learning
My mind is ever broadening, taking in everything
My mind is like a sponge, soaking up life
The teenage years come and go
My attitudes and beliefs strengthening
By the time school is finished, some boys have
come and gone
Though nothing serious called Love
The feeling was infatuation
My parents still proud of me and of the young
woman I’ve become
I still feel their love, still growing stronger every day
Now it’s my turn to fall in love
Letting my guard down and being myself
He brings out the best in me, the experience so fulfilling
A commitment comes next, one we both believe in
Words we say to each other, full of meaning
A love with no boundaries
A love where the two of us become one
In every sense, our love making passionate
On a level all its own
Nothing can compare
Truth, honesty, respect, love, patience….envy, resentment, anger
Words that describe us
Torrents of tears wasted on my broken heart
Broken hearts can mend and they usually do
One positive to come from the tumultuous relationship
He has left me alive with another life inside of me
One of Gods Angels sent down to me
I have been blessed with this good fortune
I will carry this little soul inside me carefully
And I will be like my parents were….all smiles
The bond between mother and child is automatic and immediate
When I think I can love no more…I keep going
The birth, one of the most demanding, memorable
days of our lives
The pain, but I would do it all again
The special, intense first look into my babies eyes
The first smile, that makes me smile
I want to be the best Mum for this little girl
Give her everything I possible can
There’s one thing my daughter will never go without
And that is love, the most important ingredient
Love again with no boundaries
A love that is so deep rooted I would kill to protect her
Keep the innocence as long as I can
The day will come when there are more wrinkles and greying hair
My beautiful swan will leave her home
I worry I will go through the rest of my life alone
My wish is always to have my family around
The day will come when they too depart
By then I hope I have been in love…true love
I hope to experience all the joys in life
As I sit back in a comfortable rocker
I look around me at my life taken in photos
Memories that will never be lost
I sit and hold out my hand for my partner, my soul mate
Soul mates do eventually find each other
Even if it takes a lifetime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Long poem by john scott | Details |

Desolation Row

Kids of today, we here them say, no respect, what do you expect
Always hanging around on the streets, doing nothing and nothing to do
Is it their fault in this decaying society or should the blame lie with you
Dirty, unkempt, drug using, smoking, car thieving, layabouts, so say you 

Mature you say, Old and wise but always telling the kids, pushing your own advise
Was it not you that petitioned to have the youth club demolished and razed
Was the noise from a hand full of teenagers so unbearable that you became enraged
Is it their fault that there is no employment and if there is, its on the minimum wage

Yes you live in your own world of self righteousness and predictability, what a pity
Wash the car on Sunday routinely, mow the lawn Saturday on a regular robotic rota, see
Call the kids animals, brain dead, layabouts, ashamed now, ashamed of yourself, you outa be
You have led a privileged life, all bridge clubs and playing golf, you lost reality

OK, so Tom may be a nuisance, he smokes, throws beer cans in your garden, leans on your car
I agree with you, Toms like that and if we are truthful, he probably will not go very far
Then I did hear that he landed a job, begins next week, not the best job washing glasses in a bar
But just to get a chance of work experience is something in these parts, well done Tom, hoorah

The point is, he is trying to make a difference in what he sees as a useless existence, its true
Where as you, Mr Success, from a different time and era well it was easier then, Manager was you
Indexed linked pension now but in your time it was all company car, fringe benefits and salaried too
You probably had a staff of ten, including a personal secretary to do most of your work for you

Not all the kids are the same, Jodie is sixteen, trained  hard to be an athlete since she was aged eight 
Damned hard work she has put in over the years, non smoker, non drinker, I think it is great
Jodie grew up on the same dirty, over populated, crime ridden, drug problematic, council estate
As Tom did but she chose to change her life by getting up early and doing something about it, mate 

You were one of the lucky one's born at the right post war time, no recession, how neat
An economy on the up, war damage to mend, plenty of opportunities and money to spend, oh great
Now you while away the day with your guaranteed pay, standing at the gate scolding at the street
You never had the misfortune to be a hungry kid in a broken home, with very little to eat 

Think yourself lucky you got a nice paid for home, with a big garden and central heating not cold
Like the tenement blocks, the people you resent have to live, so high in the sky, its scary, I’m told
For believe me they are bigger, better, higher people and one day, they may drop a bomb on the old
These streets still scare me and I grew up here, They are painted with blood not rolled gold

So get of your high horse and bless the lord for all the things he gave to you and yours
The unfortunate keep themselves to themselves unless you wanna change that course
If you cannot see how privileged life has been for you, go now, go inside and lock your doors
For one day, the kids may get really angry at their lot in life and unleash a destructive force


Long Poems