Best Puberty Poems
When you are old and young at same time
Thoughts and emotions keeps getting into a war all the time,
People seems to know more about u than your own self
You'll be passing through roads which you can't cross without help,
Most of the time will pass in things that'll never make sense
One can be living with no worries and other will always stay tense,
Maturity can be on time or it may sleep till late having its own regime,
Some will say its just a stage of life
Some consider it a time with lots of lies or delight ,
One will say it was easy to pass and other will say it was just a piece of draft,
Some will be waiting for its arrival and some maybe be wondering how long it gonna stay,
Its different for different species I wonder how its for me or you
You maybe remembering ur old time or wondering like me
You can also be waiting for its arrival as or its already your rival?
Well for me its just a collection of lines delivered by a small piece of mind..
my voice is changing
my body rearranging
i hate puberty
the young girl
turning side to side
toward the mirror
Altered, boisterous, confounded, disruptive, energetic, fine-tune, growing.
Hyper, inquisitive, jokesters kindling love, mystified.
Nervously obsessive, pubescences question radical substance, surprising.
Teasing, uncontrollably visiting wild, xanadu youthful zest.
Copyright October 15, 2014
A father takes, eyes closed, that which he has no right
A child cries, traumatized, a closet hides her pain
The child dies, awakes to find- a woman in her place
her damaged mind- cannot abide- the change her body makes
The woman stands- naked and alone- facing mirrored images
backs away- cuts today- appraising all her damages
rearrange- her bodies change- sculpt it down to size
to take away- the ugly place- I cut it with a knife
As she spread her crest, sweet fumes filled the air.
From a humble bud, she turned to a beautiful red rose,
Ripe enough to make a garden of its own.
With her scent, insects flew,
Tempted to taste its sweet milky bottom.
That's what happens when a flower blooms!
A seriously sad seventh son of a soldier entered prime prejudicial puberty
With love and luxuriously liberal thoughts in his hyper hallucinating heart
He was set on dating a diabolically darling daughter of a serious celebrity
So should he go to Hollywood? Hail a bus? Hire a taxi? Where to start?
Where to start? Where to start?
Public opinions that
Undermine the ground on which we walk
Bedeviled only be enticing jeers
Emotions that are vexing are laid-out with a cuss
Ranting & raving "The world is out to get us!"
Taking in sustenance over parental spiels
You've not forgotten how it feels?
if the boy did not return from the rhineland
he remained social and loquacious
he versed in music and was quite ambidextrous
his toy airplanes glittered in the sand
he lost his footing, he showed his hand
he sought to be carless and frivolous
his senses remained extemporaneous
he listened carefully for the iron gland
his gift was not to be unfounded
his turn was never to be
at long last, he finally did blossom
though lonely and confounded
to the flames of woe in the sea
his mind was wretched, among the flotsam and jetsam.
Oil creeping out from a ship over a vast expanse of ocean
of pubescent faces.
Punctuated with
island chains of volcanoes,
scarred land from harsh maintenance.
Pus volcanoes erupting hormones,
hot magma dominating the land.
Adults prepare fervently for the warnings
of unpredictable and raging climates
to no avail.
Fierce weather
takes hold of the adult earth,
wrecking households and curfews.
Preteens find themselves
amid crashing waves,
vehemently confused,
yet confident they know all.
Miniature adults,
yet still fresh from childhood and
brooding with ignorance and sarcasm.
Babies, a newlyweds dream,
twisting, morphing, and maturing into
teenagers-
a parents’ nightmare.
Puberty
Pull his pants down not his teeth.
He believes he is defeating me.
All I want is for him to be neat.
Pull his pants down not his teeth.
Old ladies are standing in the street.
Cat and Jessie is talking to each.
I wonder why they begin to preach then I heard all say
“Pull his pants down not his teeth.”
_________________________________
PENNED ON AUGUST 10. 2014!
Hair on legs isn't really that weird
One fine morning something had appeared
One leg said to the other
"Look at our little brother...
I think, Shorty...is growing a beard"
Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
2/3/2020
Cycles
by Michael R. Burch
I see his eyes caress my daughter's breasts
through her thin cotton dress,
and how an indiscreet strap of her white bra
holds his bald fingers
in fumbling mammalian awe...
And I remember long cycles into the bruised dusk
of a distant park,
hot blushes,
wild, disembodied rushes of blood,
portentous intrusions of lips, tongues and fingers...
and now in him the memory of me lingers
like something thought rancid,
proved rotten.
I see Another again?hard, staring, and silent?
though long-ago forgotten...
And I remember conjectures of panty lines,
brief flashes of white down bleacher stairs,
coarse patches of hair glimpsed in bathroom mirrors,
all the odd, questioning stares...
Yes, I remember it all now,
and I shoo them away,
willing them not to play too long or too hard
in the back yard?
with a long, ineffectual stare
that years from now, he may suddenly remember.
Photographs
by Michael R. Burch
Here are the effects of a life
and they might tell us a tale
(if only we had time to listen)
of how each imperiled tear would glisten,
remembered as brightness in her eyes,
and how each dawn’s dramatic skies
could never match such pale azure.
Like dreams of her, these ghosts endure
and they tell us a tale of impatient glory . . .
till a line appears—a trace of worry?—
or the wayward track of a wandering smile
which even now can charm, beguile?
We might find good cause to wonder
as we see her pause (to frown?, to ponder?):
what vexed her in her loveliness . . .
what weight, what crushing heaviness
turned her auburn hair a frazzled gray,
and stole her youth before her day?
We might ask ourselves: did Time devour
the passion with the ravaged flower?
But here and there a smile will bloom
to light the leaden, shadowed gloom
that always seems to linger near . . .
And here we find a single tear:
it shimmers like translucent dew
and tells us Anguish touched her too,
and did not spare her for her hair's
burnt copper, or her eyes' soft hue.
Published in Tucumcari Literary Review (the first poem in its issue)
Keywords/Tags: youth, puberty, teen, teenage, teenagers, teen love, sex, sexy, lust, desire, date, father, daughter, chastity, virginity, abstinence, hormones, photograph, photographs, effects, ghosts, phantoms, time
AFRICA’S PUBERTY
When puberty sets in,
The wind feels good on
A little leg and thigh,
Some belly button
And budding bottom.
Tattooed dames,
Sexily renamed
From Elizabeth
And Isabelle,
To Lizzy
And Bella,
Storm into the world;
Boobs growing as fast as hearts
To be squeezed and broken.
Carrying heads of baskets
Filled with liquid counsel,
Speeding off on the fast lane
On the high way to remorse,
Surely to crash home
On the streets of Accra Ghana
Or the ghettos of old town Bamenda
Like those of downtown Soweto
As teenage mothers
Or as daughters of prophets
With gowns and scarfs
Over their scars.
Palms raised in supplication
For husbands of any sort
For whom they know
They will never bear kids.
I was abused before puberty,
But I did my share of abusing.
And I was bruised before puberty,
But have spent some time bruising.
I was used as an adolescent,
Yet threw some out with the using.
I was infused as a adolescent,
But my words are said "too infusing".
I was confused as a new student;
Now I am labeled as "confusing".
I was a diffused college graduate,
But now I am thought to be diffusing.
I was accused as a married man;
Yet, I, admit I was so accusing.
I was refused as a separate man,
But I have not gone on refusing.