Long poem by
Princess Poetry | Details |
To all who have never known, it's time that you've been told.
Tell the population to change its ways before these lost lives and souls are all in vain.
Tell the girls to think long and hard before they let a man twice their age break their heart. Tell
them to think about who they are and what they want to be before they choose to conceive.
Tell the boys who think they're men to think and think again when fatherhood is calling their name and
they're hanging their heads in debt and shame.
Tell them what it's really like to go to school, then work three jobs or more to pay child support, then
beg a stranger for a ten dollar gas tip to fill up their tank just get home at night and make the trip.
Tell them that their parents were right when they go to sleep, crying themselves to sleep at night.
Tell them their friends are traitors in disguise, watching and waiting for opportunities to tell them lies
and sabotage their lives.
Tell the preteen girls in every walk of education and life to take control of their lives and souls. Tell
them it's okay to tell the teenage boys that no means no.
Tell them that being different is something to be proud of. Tell them that being different will save them
for their true love. Becoming a Mother at thirty is a whole world better than being one at sixteen.
Remind them of the wishes they made when they were little girls when they still dwelt in their hopes
Tell them to value who they are and listen to their hearts. Their unspoken, sweetest dreams are what
and who they're meant to be.
Tell the young men and women who don't know what to do that with their lives not to rush into being
husbands and wives. Tell them to become who they were born to be. Tell them not to lose their passion
five or six days a week because they were given innate goals, hopes and dreams to fulfill their
Tell the girls who just discovered they're going to be a mother that they will make it one way or
Tell them that when the guy they thought loved them was only telling them a lie, that he's not what's
important anymore. Their little girl or their little boy is going to be their pride and joy.
One day, they'll have a reason to forget the hopelessness and sorrow they once met.
Tell the men who came home from war to find an empty house and home that there is so much more.
Tell them they are our honored heroes. That is something that goes far deeper than anyone truly knows.
Tell the children who were moved from countless foster homes that they are not alone. Tell them there
is someone who cares. Tell them that there is an end to their nightmares.
Tell the parents who lived their lives through their children that they can no longer run and hide.
They have seen, heard and ignored when their children have begged and cried. Tell them it is their loss
for living with their regrets and the lost expectations they never met.
Tell the criminals that live inside a demented state of mind that hell is reserved for the lessons they re-
fused to learn. Tell them insanity is never an excuse for abuse.
Tell every man who ever hurt a woman and forced her child to watch has their time ticking away on the
clock. Tell them they can't use violence to get what they want anymore. Karma is kicking down every
window and every door.
Tell the women who chose their boyfriends and their drugs over their babies that an apology will never
be enough. Tell them that nothing is ever worth the price they'll have to pay for who they hurt.
Tell the orphans that Heaven remembers them and hears their prayers. Tell them that Someone
truly cares. Tell them that there will be someone to tuck them in at night and greet them each
morning when they wake up to the sunlight.
Tell the women in abusive relationships that it won't get better. It will only get worse. Tell them to get
now before they're not the only one who gets hurt. Tell them to get out before he steals more than their
keys and their purse.
Tell the countless girls who struggle with their weight to go beyond the hate. Tell them they are
beautiful and perfect in every way and it doesn't matter what anyone else has to say.
Tell the widows who feel the most alone that the Universe empathizes and it knows. Tell them they are
loved and they are on their way Home.
Tell those who have lost it all, but still stand for what they believe in, that they are the reason we still
have a chance to win. Tell them their bravery is what we stand for. Their courage is our open door.
Tell them. Tell them all we are here with open arms and loving hearts. Tell them this is the perfect place
to start. Tell them they can be all they are. Tell them that. Tell them then. Tell them now. Tell
them time and time again. Tell them loud and clear. Tell them right here. Tell them. Oh yes, please tell
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.
He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.
You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.
Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands.
Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent. We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.
His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.
He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.
He looks each man straight in the eye -
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.
His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.
He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.
He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.
Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.
“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves. Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.
Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son. Keep pushin’. Remember, no pain, no gain”.
He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.
As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.
He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!? “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”?
He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.
Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.
Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.
Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.
So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands.
Long poem by
Cayla Carr | Details |
It was midnight and my dream was shattered
I fell into darkness
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
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
“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 slowly awoke and found the sun peeking through the shadows of the dawn
“It was me”
Long poem by
Therese Bacha | Details |
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
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
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
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.
Contest for PD....Any Poem Goes.
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
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 !!!
B. J. “A ” 2
November 6th 2001`
Long poem by
Juanita Thorn | Details |
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
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
Sam Raj | Details |
Birth is the breath of life.
The first kiss of air that
Simulates the virgin lungs.
As the lungs expand and collapses,
a new life has begun, with a shrill cry.
Unlike like a shooting star.
that gloriously streaks the sky,
and vanishes in a moment in time.
Its like a drama that unfolds,
mysteries of life.
Its not static, ever dynamic.
Constantly changing the rhythm.
You transform, from your infancy.
When you were just a bundle of joy.
To the stage of little kid.
Who now represents the imp.
You, further get surcharged,
to the teenage state of mind.
Compelling facts and deceit,
progress the teenage ways.
Most confusing days of your life.
You loose the dreams of the teenager.
And never look back.
Graduate to your stage of adulthood.
This is the most fascinating days of your life.
You dream the dreams of dreamers.
Simulated by the love of life.
You want life to be never ending.
Riding the carousel of life.
Filled with happiness supreme.
Spiced with aroma of love.
Tantalizing thoughts of erotica flash by,
giving you sleepless nights.
Some where in the corner of your mind,
love has not deserted you.
In the latter days of your adult life.
Having established firmly your name to fame.
Its time you seek the companionship of a spouse.
You search for the one , you heart desires.
Elements of joy, peace and love sublime.
Your childhood sweetheart is within your reach.
But there is hesitation in your heart.
Then one day, like the shooting star.
You propose to your hearts desire.
She was thrilled to hear the words.
She dreamed one day you would say.
In early spring you wed.
You were in the twenty fifth Year.
Life joys, aches and pain.
Were rewarded by marital bliss.
You procreated two bundles of joy.
And gave them best you could.
Meantime the love of your life stood steadfast,
By your side.
Sharing the joys of life.
Your kids are now all grown up and well equipped.
Ready to face the challenges of life.
And the cycle of life continues.
Meantime age is catching up.
You enjoy your retired life.
Touring the countryside.
Enjoying nature and all her beautiful sights.
Life has been so good to you.
You give back a little of what she gave to you.
Your kids are now married and well settled.
Attained the glory of becoming grandparents.
Life has been so good to you.
Age is slowly catching up.
You can tell from your gait.
Grand kids are your greatest pride.
You take them for joy rides, and to the parks.
Watch them grow to be naughty kids.
You pamper them with love.
And one warm Summer night.
As you lay next besides your love.
You rolled over to her side.
And planted final kiss on her rosy cheeks and her sweet lips.
And thanked for all the love she gave to you.
And all the moments of joy and pleasure you shared.
She held your face in palm of her supple hand.
looked you in the eyes and said. "I'll always love you".
You said "I feel exhausted, I am going to rest".
She held you in her arms close to her chest,
You lived a glorious life
And vanished into the haze.
Peacefully, into the arms of death.
Long poem by
Desheya Swaby | Details |
My head aches sorely and my heart breaks more,
I look to the old china cabinet to see what lies there and the first thing I see is the Angel and while in the mental state of becoming something I never would have expected as a child or a Teenager much less but as an Adult or grown Woman? I'll never know. But comparing life 10 years ago to now is something I've done constantly in the past, that things change over time, as if things are beginning to grow dull, like the Angels that sit upon that shelf, are beautiful women when they are truly genderless, the small statue of Jesus Christ, a man long ago who was just a Sinner as any human being upon this Earth, Nature; Created by possible multiple gods rather than just one. But one reason why I vent is because, I've been so frustrated to what might happen in my future, scared but risky. I don't know what's to come but I can only hope that it may bring happiness one day and because of my skeptical, confusing downfalls which are my thoughts, it's become hard to even think about what would happen. I've suddenly felt depressed also because.. What am I doing here? Becoming Anti-Social as I seem to think.. Becoming something.. I wasn't those 10 years ago.. I'm quite sure I've upset my Mother from this point on, as her own weakness may grow, the older she becomes and the more I break down in every set of mind state that I tend to put myself through. That smiling face, I want to see it in reality one last time and I can only hope that life will be much more suitable for myself soon.. That I can hope to see everyone truly happy in a mist of possibilities that never seem to fail or that never seem to let anyone down but myself.. Looking through the Rose colored glasses is all I've ever really been about and I will continue to do so, I will.. I'll find the day that I see that smile.. That real smile, the confident one. and if I could go back in time and pull my inner child in front of me, I would hold her close, hug her tightly and tell her not to ever turn her back on the true meaning of happiness because it's all you have to make yourself whole again. And although it may seem hard, just don't ever let that confidence go, don't ever let anyone pull you down like your future self has, don't come into this place lacking compassion and embracing selfishness, don't ever steal, don't ever lie, don't ever kick the hopeless down..... Be you and only you.. Let my Mother tell you what is right and what is wrong.. Find love in all the right places.. No matter how wrong they may seem. Just let your heart decide and not your mind.. You were born into this bright but cold world for a reason, and only life can give you those reasons as you age but start off right, my darling. I won't have you carry the burden of your Father leaving for possibly the most pathetic but crucial reasons.. You must be strong, you HAVE to be strong. Learn all that you can so that we may meet again and when that time comes where you age to 16 years old.. We will reunite and tell each other just how happy we are to live as one. You and Me forever..
Long poem by
Chris G. Vaillancourt | Details |
What have we become?
We who used to sit in my bedroom
listening to Beatles records on headphones.
We spoke of the future.
We planned our advance.
How many cups of coffee have we consumed
in the over 30 years we've known one another?
A private village buzzing with secret flies.
An isolated two merged in one thought.
Teenage boys. Teenage men.
Men. Yes, we became men.
Grown up. Living in our own apartment.
Peanut butter and coffee in the cupboard.
Bread and margarine in the fridge.
Macaroni and Cheese for supper.
Living the good life!
University. Late night studies.
Crammed in between the parties.
Laundry day. Bags and bags of
rumpled semen stained clothes,
dumped like angry *****es
into industrial machines.
Video games and cigarettes.
Philosophy and politics.
We and our gang of other anxious young men
gathering in groups for comfort.
Planning on how we'd get laid.
Mostly going home alone and jacking off.
We grew older. Old.
Yes, I suppose we are now old men.
Just a wee bit past middle-aged.
Infrequently connecting. Suggesting times
we could meet.
Dinner and a Movie perhaps? Have we become that old?
Life goes on and has gone on.
Marriages begun. Marriages ended.
Husband. Father. Having Kids. Children. Teenagers. Young adults.
You've lost your hair. I didn't take it, but still it is lost.
Mine remains, but rude strands of grey pop
up like alabaster whores
Keep it between ourselves, but I colour mine now.
Oh yes. Like a vain woman rushing to her
makeover session, I plop
The gunk on my head and
wait for it to pretend for me.
I'm crabby in the mornings. Irritated in the afternoons. Pissed off
by the coming of the night. Adulthood.
Isn't it grand?!
Do you still listen to the same music we used to love?
Pop on a Beatles song and sing along, planning on how
to change the planet?
Me. I don't give a **** about the planet anymore. Let it rot
into stinking piles of dung.
I'm involved in my own existing now.
We're in the final stages of living. Neither sad nor morbid.
Simply a fact.
Good twenty, thirty years left.
Let's promise each other to meet again
a few more times before our funerals.
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
Chapter 3: College Preparation
My freshman year started quite smooth
Touch football broke my leg
My luck we had a tennis coach,
That brought things down a peg!
My algebra was like a dream,
Played tennis, found it fun,
And Science Fairs exciting too,
My robots prizes won.
But science then moved up a notch
Geometry a match
The Theorems needed for a test
I could derive from scratch.
In sophomore year the Sputnik scare,
And NASA offered grants,
For gifted Juniors special schools,
Success by seat of pants.
Two Sophomores allowed to go,
Both had ability,
With new kids older and quite bright,
Learned best humility.
This signed my fate for now I knew
There was no farm in me.
A life spent drifting toward the stars
My new reality.
New friends from here would span my life,
In college meet again,
Shared interests bound us to a path,
A subtle way to win!
A men’s septet sprang from the choir
We traveled near and far.
And formed a music brotherhood,
Another door ajar!
In Junior year an accident
Saved me from typing class,
A heavy door slammed shut one day
My hand went through the glass.
So there were operations then,
To fix my injured hand,
Piano lessons ended here,
But I still played in Band.
But no more typing, no more gym
Which made me cry a lot.
When cute girls came to sign my cast,
Sparked dreams with wild subplot.
In senior year my Physics class,
Was taught by football coach,
He could not teach, so we just read,
His plan beyond reproach.
Except for trig twelfth year a waste,
Though English could surprise,
For rhymes from out of nowhere flew,
Delighting ears and eyes.
But then Oh God disaster struck
‘All students write a verse,’
A cry rose up like howl of Lear,
What fate be more perverse?
When I got home that evening,
I took my pen in hand,
And onto the page jumped four or five,
For me no reprimand.
But once in class I realized
That half the kids had none,
Discretely handed extras out,
So friends at least had one.
Oh, double, bubble, boil and toil,
A witches’ brew released,
Our teacher mailed to Poem Match
‘My’ patriotic piece!
How queer the quests of teenage kids
The plans of ‘mice and men,’
The saving grace in all this mess?
Thank God it didn’t win!
With poem writing now affirmed,
This poem came to be,
And who knows, maybe, someday hence,
I’ll write something you’ll see
August 22, 2014
* 'success by seat of pants' means to barely pass or get by.
All three Chapters really are a work in progress. I will look forward to your
visits and comments on each chapter. Thanks for stopping by!
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! More coming! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Chapter 4: Higher Education
Chapter 5: Peace Corps
Chapter 6: Career & Marriage But No Children
Chapter 7: Farming
Chapter 8: Retirement
Chapter 9: Philanthropy
Chapter 10: End of Life Preparations