Best 11Th Grade Poems | Poetry

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The Best 11Th Grade Poems

Details | 11Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Latino-Americanos: The Children of an Oscuro Pasado

Baile con migo, hips made from the rhythm of merengés and cumbias, samba, swagger and a pinch of azucar mixed into my backbone. 
My first language was Spanish. 
Learned from sweet stories told by my papi at bedtime. 
My tongue a formation of the stardust of my heritage,
An intertwined galaxy of rolled r’s and the pledge of allegiance.
It was something I would soon forget after I was told it was wrong
Taught a new way to introduce myself “mi nombre es” turned to “my name is” after the girl in my class told me she couldn’t understand me.
So I was taught to reject the language of my family and to be proud to call myself American over Mexican.
Now my Spanish 2 native class seems so god damn foriegn and I can't seem to remember what comes after domingo on my pop quiz.
I would learn to hate my name, much preferring something like Tiffany,
Leaving behind my silent TL and X that sounds like an S because they said it was strange.
When I visit my grandmother all I could do is nod or shake my head,
Because her native language sounds like a tongue twister I can't seem to master.
So she reminds me that the colors in my soul and the rhythm in my bones are blessings and that I come from the Incas, the Mayans, the Aztecs, los Mexicas, who built an empire nunca imaginado.
That we are a children of an oscuro pasado,
A mixture of pain, sadness and oppression, 
But we inherited the strength.
We have inherited the passion.
She reminds me that my name holds the power of the most legendary Aztec princesses who ruled with the grace of the most beautiful flower.
So this is for the women that still name their children in nahuatl and the men who wake up on Sunday mornings to listen to Vicente Fernandez with their fathers,
And families that still pass on recipes of arroz con pollo.  
Because we are the sons and the daughters,
And we hold the stories, 
The journeys of the remembered,
Those who walked through deserts, waded through rivers.
We wear their legacies on our shoulders with pride,
And we do not lose ourselves to broken perceptions,
But rise above with the help of our powerful stories.
Our melodies, our galaxies,
Por que somos Latino-Americanos
And we will not be forgotten


Copyright © Xochitl Morales | Year Posted 2018


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You are more than what eyes can see

You are not what they think of you,
Your heart doesn't change when your hair gets hue.

You are not the fashion trend you follow,
You are above perceptions which are hollow.

Your bright lipstick is just an accessory,
It shouldn't change due to sarcasm or decree.

Your tone shouldn't overrule your statement,
Your no is denial and your yes is the agreement.

Your smile is mere happiness, not a proposal,
Your stands in an argument are views, they don't make you unfilial.

Your body is a sheath for your soul,
You must never accept judgements for a part or the whole.

For, you are precious and a blessing on the earth,
Nobody can do your job and can ever fill your dearth.


Copyright © Deepika Srivastava | Year Posted 2018


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Princess Love

The girls, 
are growing up,
We forgot about that princess love, 
The waiting for men to cover our broken bodies in their poetry love,
We let go of swallowed silent prayers of wanting to feel “pretty” 
We ate their expectations and we vomited up the number of date rape cases. 
So now here I am. 
I’m 16. 

I do not want princess love, 
For I have learnt that more and more girls,
Are handcuffed to their fairy tales,
They lose themselves in Snow Whites Instagram mirror of beauty,
Until everyone is comparing themselves to the next “pretty”,
Until no one can even describe what it feels like to have joy or to experience happiness. 

I am afraid of love,
Because of the only boyfriend I ever had,
Because he liked to take everything he couldn’t have,
All I have left now is broken syllables of a poem that once sang of my happiness,
So now I’m cold?
I’m afraid of cat calls,
And boys who laugh at intelligence,
And rape jokes.

I’ve been taught that love isn’t something I want to have,
Let me rephrase that,
The love that society shows me isn't something I want to have,
No more hiding my interests in fear of boldness,
In fear of the “oh” after initial interest, 

I mean I’m tired of blaming myself for not being enough to satisfy Prince Charming,
Because I don’t have a pretty dress,

I have chosen no love,
Because honestly I am afraid that once people find that I’m hard to love,
That they will leave me,
Stranded on the steps of a palace,
Or broken down on a concrete pathway, 
Or in the school bathroom after a sexual assault,
Or at the police station repeating myself over and over and over again,
because no seems to believe me. 
But I will have to pick myself up 
You know?

A teacher once told me 
That guys don’t like short hair. 
It was the day after I chopped off all my hair. 
Now I know love means pretty. 
But my hair is still short. 
I don’t want princess love,
Cause I don’t need a prince to love me. 
Cause Disney also taught me. 
That a frog works just fine too. 


Copyright © Merel van den Brink | Year Posted 2018


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Lonely Girl

It twas a dark and disconsolate night
I walked lonesome alleys, as I clenched myself tight
It was very cold that night, there was no single light
The ground shivered my feet, I’m in a need of heat.
I’ve ran away from my master
He can no longer hurt me, my life is in a disaster
I have nowhere to run, I have nowhere to hide
My life is filled with lies
Thoughts run through my head, I began to dread
My mother - She lied to me
She said I was safe and that she would come back
What she said to me was not a fact
I’ve been stuck with a stranger, that I do not know
A stranger that I do not wish to call a friend nor a foe.
Oh my, where can I go?
I’ve been stuck in hole and so has my soul.
How can someone be so low?
I have reached age twenty-three,
But yet I do not wish to breathe,
I wish to die alone.
I have nothing, but bruises to show.
My mother and this Man, hath ruined me
All I wanted was a family.
I am age twenty-three, there is a bump beneath these rags I wear,
Soon to turn into something I will not care for.
It belongs to the stranger, the man who put me in danger
I have a plan, that will end it all
Something that will allow me to hang tall,
I will end mine and also my embryo’s life.


Copyright © Rinesha Blackwell | Year Posted 2018


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I'm your crazy wand

Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.
Never mind,I am the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.

Speak or say no,but I will still speak.
I have live for you only how I left you.
In the whole world, i am only wishing you.
Do not ever tell me,you forget me,
I'm not going to listen.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.

Never speak that moon will ever be
separated from the moonlight.
Is anyone ever happy to lose his life?
This is what I want for you,your loved once.
Never mind, I'm the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.



Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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My hearts love

My wish is that you are my heart's love.
My happiness is only from your happiness.
More than you and no longer I love someone.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.

I love you,I will go from this world.
As long as i will live sweetheart,I will love you.
My life is all over now,it is only for you.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.

My heart is my pain,you know it.
The thread of my breath's necklace is tangent to you.
Relationship is like this,whose rupture is not approved by 
I will settle for you in my breath.
Without you,I will live a moment now.
I have strong sense of you.
You are my comfort to the eyes.
I have won by seeing you and this is my job now.
No more than you and no one is my wish now.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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Love is a bond

Love is the confluence of two peoples,
this bond is of two relationships,
one is way and one is the destination.
One of the hearts of both heart beats.
This is the bond of all their births.
Love is the confluence of two peoples,


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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Phantom

In the deepest corner of the room
a shadowy figure lurks in the blackness
still as a soldier,
curiously I creep toward it, 
close enough to feel its breath I gently reach out, 
jerking back instantly it doesn't move its feet
Phantoms aren't real I try to convince myself,
transparent and silent as ghosts are
sluggish and light moving,
suddenly its vanished
as all ghostly figures eventually do


Copyright © Mikayla Blotter | Year Posted 2018


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Winter Guard En Garde

 melting snowball 
Fall-out started with the spring-break competition; Errors were made as team effort slid downhill. Then when name-calling sparked a partition, esprit-de-corps broke to a stand-still. “Butterfingers!” the dig of choice, sabers, rifles drop in flight. “Cretin!” answers a voice, winter guard backbite. “Bozo, Clod, Clown” teenage jeers, meltdown - tears.
written March 20, 2018 Line Gauthier's A Melting Snowball contest


Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2018


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Dani a Charming CVS Pharmacist

within Zieglerville, pennsylvania

genuine snow white hair 
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private) 
after i croon (to said lass), 

the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission 
perchance twill be doomed from the start, 
and hence finding me forlorn 
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure, 

would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold 
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness), 

aye also resort to buttress 
any aural "stormy Dani yelling) 
via walled in interlap, 
which accouterment functions 
as a double agent i.e. (or, 

to be rather crude), 
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news 
inducing madcap

mass media circus 
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap 
essentially providing wig gull room 
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap 

pill low ma rendered free and clear 
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi 
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms 

most likely something internuclear 
simply to discover visa vis authenticity 
if cute employee 
(sporting hair 

white as the virgin snow), 
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses 
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited 

all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because 
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.



Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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I Would Never Abandon Myself

As a child I would never have abandoned 
my family, my friends, or my dolls.
As a pre-teen the dolls were put away with reluctance,
because I never wanted them to feel abandoned.

As a teenager I realized I had to abandon 
some friends, in order to save myself.
It was not easy, but it was either them or me, 
and people become sad when they abandon themselves.

As a woman in love, and a young mother,
I decided to abandon all things that did not aid in my goals.
I abandoned people, places, and things right and left,
in order to be the happiest me I could be.

I am an expert at abandoning things now.  I abandon everything 
and everyone who takes away from me.
Because I never want to abandon myself.

Written July 15, 2018
Entered: Contest Abandon 2
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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The Dreaded Doctor's Visit

Other people are chatting.
I am not.
Some are pretending to read.
Ha!  As if you could
In a doctor’s office.

I am sixty-six, and still do not want to be here.
Because of my fear of a prick, a shot, an I.V.
It takes a long time to get over these things.
I am not over them yet.

They call my name.  Crap!
I just sat down, take someone else
I silently think.
But partly glad that I will not have to dread it any longer.

Everyone else looks up, relieved it is me being led and not them.
A few smile along my route.
I want to stick out my tongue, but I catch myself.
I head in to meet my doom, and face the lying weight machine.


I see the doctor. She mentions pills.
Then she remembers my stomach problems, so she cheerfully says
“It’s a shot for you!”

Ouch!
Oh, you’re a bleeder, the nurse says. “A big bleeder.”
Come here, and let me show you, I think.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Bong Bitty Bong Bitty Bong Bitty Bay

Bong bitty bong bitty bong bitty bay
You are the bottom thought for me every day.

Hong hitty hong hitty hong hitty hay
I am the top dog, and I simply don’t play.

Zong zitty zong zitty zong zitty zay
You’re a spectacular example of dirt within hay

Mong mitty mong mitty mong mitty may
If I know you’re going to be there, I’ll just stay away

Dong ditty dong ditty dong ditty day
Our friends no longer like you. They’ll hold you at bay.

Fong fitty fong fitty fong fitty fay
I won all of them in the divorce, so please go away, Ray.

Submitted to Nick Trim’s 8 Mile High Contest
June 19, 2018


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Sometimes

Sometimes it feels like I'm floating on air
Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my chest 
Sometimes my mind is a blank canvas 
Sometimes It's full of thoughts 
Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by darkness
Sometimes I feel showered by light
Sometimes my future seems bright 
Sometimes it feels like I have no future at all
Sometimes I hurt myself
Sometimes I hurt others 
Sometimes I feel like I'm in love 
Sometimes I feel like I'm not loved at all 
Sometimes I feel important 
Sometimes I feel like I wont be remembered 
Sometimes I value my life 
Sometimes I think my life doesnt matter 
Sometimes I feel like I'm happy 
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a ball of depression 


Copyright © Dakota Cooper | Year Posted 2018


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A Burst Of Orange

A Burst Of Orange
By Lauren Hardman 

For me,
Orange
Bright and new 
Symbolizes warmth 
Acceptance 
And strength.

Orange blends well 
With fuchsia pink.
The two colors 
Match up nicely
To construct 
Alluring sunsets
Along with sunrises.

Orange has 
An intermediate tone 
That isn’t black or white. 
It allows for great contrasts 
With numerous colors. 
That’s a facet of orange
That I appreciate. 
It’s kind of like life. 
People need to be different 
To be united. 

The brilliant color 
Makes me feel elated!
It uplifts my mood, 
Molds my personality,
Puts my mind at ease.
It unfolds a creative 
Sweet side of me. 
That lets me be 
Who I am. 

I realized who I am 
By doing things I love.  
Singing,
Playing piano, 
Drawing designs, 
Examining various colors,
Crafting poems like this one. 

I believe that 
All colors tap into 
The depths of your imagination
And provide 
Great insight 
Into who you are. 


Copyright © Lauren Hardman | Year Posted 2018


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The Dreaded Language


Pi
What statistics?
What trigonometry?
Geometry bamboozles me
The math language completely shuts me down.
Pre-algebra breaks my brain waves.
Please let’s not speak of these
Crazy math terms.
Pi


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Life:Real or taught


He wakes up,
He brushes his teeth,
Just because it is like that for years,
Not for a mouth neat .

Heads embedded in books,
He mugs up the scraps,
Just rot learning,
No practical mind.

He walks towards success,
Through the thorny struggle paths,
Avoiding the smart smooth route,
Cause thats what he is taught.

A dash of failure,
Makes him cry,
Taunts of folks around,
Refuse him to try.

Already in love,
His heart is retained,
But he cant go ahead,
It spoils the society's name.

He runs behind money,
Working as an ***,
Serving as an slave,
Treated as trash.

He lives the life,
The society wants him to,
His dreams dont matter,
But the madcaps do.

Continues the cycle,
Peddled by the guild,
Not his future,
But the society's he'll build.
                  - Kedar K


Copyright © Kedar kate | Year Posted 2018


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death of a christian science English teacher

i remember well the name of my 11th grade English
teacher---
Ms. Tominson,
who had been rumored to have given
some of her students
********, during the time when she wasn’t lecturing on
Shakespeare---
perhaps it was the passion in her that
let her go wild after hours,
drinking with her teen pupils &
then sucking them dry---
but what led to her decent into
christian science,
one may never know---
it was a part of her life kept secret,
an insanity that only she knew &
when she fell down her stairs
(or so we were told),
she refused medical treatment,
lying in bed, unable to move,
hoping, no doubt,
for “the good lord’s guidance”---
but it never came,
um, pssst…..
(whispering) because “he” never does
&
she died TWO MONTHS LATER.

when her death was made known to us
over the loudspeaker,
in early morning home room,
those who had been rumored to have been 
pleasured by her,
had conflicted feelings, 
because though they still wanted blowjobs,
they were sad to see her go,
for she was, after all, a good teacher &
a fun person,
despite having been brainwashed by the 
absurdity of Eddy.


Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2013


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I Failed that's okay

If you don’t get an A then you’re lazy, 
you could have studied harder,
 you could stayed up another hour just to cram the papers into your hair. 

I see boys with earthquake hands from the four cups of coffee they chugged just to stay awake that morning. 
I see the teachers who value good marks above their student’s mental health picture. 
I see Failure tattooed on my forehead and everyone seems to have one too. 

You father sits you down again
 and he laughs when you tell him that your anxiety is flaring up, again. 
He laughs and it’s sounds like your shaking fists holding a pen. 

He says Lazy but I hear the frustrated sighs in the exam room,
I hear the girls crying afterwards not for themselves but because they are afraid of how angry their parents will get. 
 
And eventually they understand 
that learning just means passing the next exam 
and we are programming their minds only for the next test 
so we end up with a class of people who know the answer
but don’t even know themselves yet.

I mean when was the last time somebody told me it was okay to not pass that test? 
It was okay to learn what it is like to live before 
my head is once again drowning in everything I need to know but I can’t. 

I failed a test last week 
and when I got my results back I laughed. 
Not because it was inherently funny but because I remembered that I could fail too. 
I laughed with the sound of the trees whispering
 and the children playing in the park. 
I heard my five year old self with painted hands sing happy songs.
I heard all that made me human and it reminded me that no test could me any less of what I am. 


Copyright © Merel van den Brink | Year Posted 2018


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Think Spring

Now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, i regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature. 
--------------------------------------------------------
A Place Revisited Within The Mind
(an illusory escape during dead of winter).
 
The shafts of a golden veil, spring sun at noon
break through the heavily coated
overgrowth of leafy foliage
and cause shadows spar upon forest floor.

In a field of wild
a mosaic of crystalline color
from prismatic play of sunshine
upon the silently talking heads
of the swaying stalks.

the scintillating and sparkling rays
in unison with the weft
(and warp across an invisible loom)
weaves a delicious tasting warm breeze,

(which sways the boughs of treetops to and fro,
akin to an unseen baby being cradled)
brings a ladled spate of cool freshness
from the map-cap world (webbed wide)
of a manmade existence.

The grandeur of the fallow spring meadow
a pageant of exquisite dignity
by the graceful movements
from the un-choreographed fall and rise
of the unplowed acres

eyes orbit, ear re: Canal,
and twitching nostrils of sensate beings
to the mellifluous sounds
and sweet smelling aromas
that gently teasingly assault the senses
beguiling the sight,

and lulling ears into a transcendent state.
A buoyant airy tonal plume
rises into the surrounding heights
touches the breadth of cerulean sky
and scythe lent lee gently tumbles back down
like a merry widow waltzing flowery water fall.

In quiet circumspection 
the antics sans plethora of buzzfeed ding
busily buzzing foraging insects,
which contentedly hum and alight nearby

flitting to and fro
oblivious to plaudits encore
harmoniously thriving 
within the living laboratory

of Mother Nature,
sans, Insects or Insecta are by far
count as the largest group of
hexapod invertebrates
within the arthropod phylum,

where simultaneously
underneath the earthen surface
the ground tis abustle with
glorious heart throb

of one micro universe
comprising architects, builders and weavers
engage in all manner
of natural devices for a livelihood.

This brilliant splendor tantamount
to top notch operatic performance,
a sensational visual and audiological feast
hypnotizing one humble human (me)
into an inebriated state of bliss.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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Why love me with a betrayal

Why love me with a betrayal?
Immature was just me,who believed to be?
But his promises were false and
all his lies were his love.
Why love me with a betrayal?

I lost heart too,at the time of doing it.
But the thousand pieces of my heart made it.
Because his promises were false and
all his lies were his love.
Why love me with a betrayal?

What will she do to heart?
What will she recognize in love?
No one who loves her heart.
She is unfaithful.
She does not love.

Why love me with a betrayal?
Immature was just me, who believed to be?
But his promises were false
and all his lies were his love.
Why love me with a betrayal?


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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Pride or love

A girl whose beauty springs from her heart-,
her image in the album of my mind-
is like a golden waxing moon
exhaling torrent of light into a river,
but she in her real self is my love,
this is us in the planet of joy.
.
.
We shared poems to share joy,
but hers clinged to my heart.
with a promise of an eternal love,
which her words inscribed in my mind,
like the golden tears pouring into the river,
from the meek eyes of the moon.
.
We once sat under the moon,
with the golden light wetting us with joy.
You talked and poured an endless river-
of bliss and tranquility into my heart,
you have cleared the field of my mind-
and planted roses of love.
.
But now that I am for you, oh love-
why have you erased my pride? like the moon
that vanish at the birth of the sun. My mind
used to caress pride with joy-
but now that love is in my heart
I have lost my pride's river.
.
You spat into me like a dirty river-
because I am now enslaved by love
which govern the realm of my heart,
like over the night does the moon,
but I will enjoy the slavery with joy
and erase every pride from my mind.
.
It took me a while to cast away my mind
from pride's river,
although it seem like I was loosing my joy-
but much joy I now will receive from love,
So let me write a poem to you under the moon,
to tell you that love is better than pride in my heart.
.
My heart wont hold pride and love-
so let me accept love for it is a moon in the river
of my mind. oh my dear, be my joy.


Copyright © Ibrahim Clouds | Year Posted 2018


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Instagram

As I am lying down in bed alone
my spiritless body rolls in bed and 
once again I reach out to my smartphone 
I click an app and see someone blond. 

On busy schedule, I always 
check Instagram on a daily basis. 
And I always see your face every day 
Your posts fantasizes like an oasis.

I wonder if you look at my pictures 
and hesitate on liking my photos
I wonder if you see me in features 
My heart broke down when I changed my bio 

I'm always drowning in a square ocean.
In your Instagram with emotion.


Copyright © Golden Closet | Year Posted 2018


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Hi I say Brightly

It is a gorgeous spring day, there are greens on both sides of the road.
The smells are fantastic, and my hair is blowing like I’m on a cycle.
I’m  actually driving my new purple trans am, windows down, music blaring.
The white racing stripes might have been a bit much, but 
Not for me.  The sun is beaming on us with magic happy.

BRRRR  BRRRR GRRRR  
Should I try to outrun him?
He’s gaining on me fast.  I glance at speedometer.  Swear.
82 m.p.h. This is what happens when I listen to the Oldies.

I pull off, waiting, heart beating fast.
Lanky patrolman pulls himself out of car, gets younger as he gets closer.
“Hi,” I say, brightly.
He says, “License and registration, Ma’am.”

He is carrying his ticket pad, and a pen.
My hands are shaking as I start stammering nonsense.
He studies my license a second, says, “Just a minute, Ma’am,”
Walks back to his car, slides in, sits down, spends an hour or two in there.
I get worried I might have accidentally handed him my big-limit Visa card.

My heart is thudding, as I watch him laboriously walk back to my Trans Am
Who is not feeling so fine and foxy now. “It’s your fault!” I tell her. “You did this!”
“You were going 81,” he tells me. Eighty-two, I wisely don’t say.
“I am giving you an opportunity to slow down, and today, I’m giving you a warning,” he says.
No smile. No expression. He could give a mannequin a lesson in subtle.

I cannot help it. “Why?” 
A glimmer of an ant’s smile starts in the left corner of his mouth, for a second, but he quickly snaps it off.
“Here’s the deal, Ma’am,” he tells me.  “I stopped this car yesterday, on this same curve.  I wouldn’t feel right  about  giving you a ticket on the same corner, at the same speed after letting your 17-year-old daughter off with a warning.”
In my head I picture my adorable blonde daughter who was wearing white hot-pants yesterday.
As a last hurrah he says, “I’m going to be out here for another two hours, Ma’am.”
We both smile.
This is the best warning I’ve ever had!



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 11Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Letter From Me To Teen Me

I heard a tale once
Of vapid medium matrix
And taut smiley convolutes

A tale which embarked me
At that time
Yet gave me no notion of its truer
Nature

You see
The ocean has no currents when you’re under

You see
You don’t see into your own eyes very often

You see

But the many yous that make a lifespan up
Can see you and make you see through

There is a tremblesome youngster in all of us
The one which makes crusaderies bearable
And laughter cramps quotidian gamblers

The breathtaken gasping-at-everything
Taken aback little idiot with the
Thunder in his belly
And the crawls below her skin
And the overhead waves 
Evermore crashed within
Yes my meek teen rally
Once a half-contrived sin
Once my part bright moon
Of a solitary kin
Comes in all of us it seems

And we make up threads of social
For the fabric of our culture
That we start to weave adawn

Yet at dawn we are not there
With a full grown self aware

And at the solar peak of glare
We are still too young to care

Then at scarlet tap of dusk
Still a bit too tough to bare

Last at midnight we are gripped
With the fullest conscient gaze

So we can all marvel upon
How much oxygen we waste

In this marvellous endeavour

I think though it’s for the better
And I’ve slowly learned to praise
All the veiling in this system
Of Born
Dead
Then Raised
Then Very Dead

What I mean is there’s some Wise
In the grinds of our Ways
How Ethereum with potential
Gets palpable and cased

Because then we can all be
With the hardship of adult
And the vestige of a kid

And then we get to die
To get it over with…

But wait I still have something
A little more positive to say

Like the first person on Mars
Is likely still a kid
So when we get to Mars
We’ll still float in that kid

If you feel trapped in the smiley
And depressed and yesterdated
Version of yourself

It means you still have all
The other phases ahead

Yet it might not still be quite
As freely as you’re expecting
That your form will excavate
Through life’s cruel winding

Not all of us will get
To float our kid to Mars

Yes, you’ll get it All
Oh yes, you’ll get to try

But in the end, my friend
You’ll be glad you get to die.

11 March 2018


Copyright © Tom Alan Quest | Year Posted 2018