Best Teenaged Poems
"OMLET"
or
"The Taming Of A Screwball"
cast of characters:
Julius Caesar
A Roman Teenaged Kid
A Roman Guard
Brutus
A bunch of Caesars Girlfriends
A bunch of Roman Senators
Julius picked up the violin and looked at the
kid. ""Et playdimus youdimus?"" he asked.
"Nonimus!" replied the kid. "Cousinimus Nero
playsimus."
"Ahhhh," sighed Julius. "Prodigimus bratimus."
Suddenly a guard ran in, waving his sword and
shouting, "Mightymus Ceasermus! Brutumus et comingus!"
Just then Brutus comes in, followed by a bunch
of drunk senators. All of Caesars girl friends
run offstage screaming in terror.
"Ahhhh--Friendimus Brutumus..."" Julius said,
putting his arm around Brutus' shoulder.
Brutus took out a dagger and promptly
thrusted it up Caesars bellybutton.
"Ahhhhhhh--Brutumus!"" Caesar repeated.
"Youdimus screwdimus meedimus."
curtain
(applause)
When we were nine
and yearning, outcasted
I did not understand the bruised
nature of your soul. Perhaps I
do not understand even now.
I remember
how I criticized you for the way
you sang "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"
in your warbling baby voice
also how you were the only one
who ever acknowledged me.
I remember
how you lived with grandparents, aunts
instead of your methhead parents.
Your blonde hair. Your ugly clothes.
Freckles and a cheap brand of romanticism.
A picture of you and me, sixteen:
I remember
you used to say, "Call me Puff"
to all the dangerous boys; we once
crowded on a dirty mattress with four
other people passing bong for weed,
pipe for that toxic crystal Devil of
devils. I remember
you fed me cigarettes, cherry tomatoes
from your grandfather's garden.
A lightless smoky room full
of young and lonesome prisoners
of perpetuated misguided soul-searching--
I remember
how we savored our shared pain
like something holy. Godhead of
black magic and the violation
of innocence.
Today I
am torn of that chrysalis,
and I think sometimes of your soul
left there to stagnate
in the dark. Christina
I don't know how to say
any of this to you,
but when I remember how
you fed me cherry tomatoes
I think of your grandfather
finding you out, you were feeding
meth to your young teenaged sister
so she wouldn't care if your
boyfriend and all his friends
f***ed her.
I remember
feeling so much love for you (sister?)
when now your name compels in me
nothing but disgust--this disgust
which bruises my soul, Christina...
I never wanted to feel this.
What made you so special my freckle faced friend..
the day I heard you singing to a record, from your window next door.
Bell bottom clad teenaged knock out, with a ballerina's step..
In huge Cape Cod two story where dreams took form.
My mom hummed a tune as she ironed my best shirt..
Fumbled with your corsage, wondering why I chose red.
Last dance I remembered was always our first,
humbled by a mirage., in a golden gown dress.
Realized too late the secret your parents kept,
all the plans they'd made for you..
plain enough to see I wasn't part of them.
Not enough coins lined my pockets to set you free,
at least not enough for them to ransom you to me.
Some days found me prayin',
some I cursed right out loud.
Wonderin' does the one you share today in,
know the goldmine he had found.
Did he bring you eyes full of stars,
and promise all his tomorrows.
Realize what heaven sent gift you are,
never lament a heart left to sorrow.
Does he read them bedtime stories,
and tuck them into bed..
Listen to child borne wonders and worries,
every wild dream that fills their head.
And did you share those freckled hands,
every time you stopped to tie their shoes..
protect them with those same plotted plans,
your parents chose for you.
Do you ever hear that record playing..
among the distant stars that shined so bright?
New days come, battles lost and battles won..
lost in heartfelt wish that I'd been born..
that lucky seventh of seventh son.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
children's laughter
on the beach. . .
storm clouds gather
My husband, I, and our two teenaged children are enjoying a picnic when we feel slow heavy droplets that develop quickly into an assault of angry pounding rain. We rush to our boat to return to the dock twenty minutes away. My son and I are alongside the boat on WaveRunners we have rented. As the wind strengthens, mighty moving ridges came rolling before our eyes. Fear grips my heart; my son begins to sob. I call out,"It's ok," trembling in the downpour.
All at once, one single billow heaves itself completely over our boat. My spouse and daughter desperately try to bail out water from the sinking boat as my husband directs my son and I to race to the shore for help. I now truly understand the reason for the name WaveRunners, for I am running for all our lives as my heart beats to the rhythm of the lake’s surging waves.
Help comes, but our rescuers drag our boat out of the lake upside down, wrecking it. Having just had a nervous breakdown months ago, my husband cannot bear the destruction of this prized possession, provider of his sanity.
our children's cries
as my husband blankly stares. . .
my unheard pleas
Revised for the "Emotions that Rock You" Contest of Craig Cornish
Once, I’d stood beside a man
Who, with heart and soul o’erwrought,
Silently searched for answers, but answers found him not.
His sister recently had passed from Earthly life to next,
And left her brother standing, filled with emptiness.
We stood within a classroom, throbbing with life and youthful confidence,
Listening to strangers speak of futures in terms of choice and providence.
When above the din of music and deafening teenaged discourse,
I thought I heard his spirit cry
“What choices do we truly have-when comes the time to die?”
How? and why? His queries all began
Echoing voices of a preceding time, to which my mind sped swiftly in reverse
To that moment when I’d stood besides another man,
Who, with sighing, held his sister in his thoughts, and in
Speechlessness did he with her converse,
Wondering, each, about his dying.
We’d stood within a bustling airport crowd,
Listening with half-ears to strangers chatting,
With boisterous busy-ness about their day’s importance.
While I, in their unawareness, sought a way to say goodbye
To a man whose life linked mine; by merit of our birth and love.
Fore’er, our hearts entwined.
I looked then to my brother’s face and thought
How does one rout this wretched misery?
Where does one turn to quell the pain?
What choices do I really have to make my loved one well and whole again?
From all cancerous affiliations, a remedy we then sought.
So now a brother and a sister stood, reflecting upon what went before.
From science and from God, we asked from both a comfort and a cure.
My friend, the questions asked by you
Were those the same by me,
And though we asked the questions,
The answers to the whys and hows
Unheeded they did go
Though in their stead One Truth was given-
It is not in the dying that choices can be made,
But in the way we do our living.
No nylon nets
on the basketball rims
No evening street lights
as the day grows dim
More bad news
when I hit the front door
More funeral flowers
for the cemetery garden dirt floor
No new neighbors
for the abandoned houses on the block
No famine on drugs
that feed the cross addicted flock
More tear trails
leading to the school courtyard
More children missing,
ghetto pain is raining down hard
Mama says with a gentle sob,
her heart’s so sore, it can’t take no more
Papa sighs, gives her a tender embrace,
life ain’t a pretty picture when you’re colored poor
I don’t wanna see my mama crying
no more
I don’t wanna hear my papa sighing
no more
I don’t wanna taste my parents’ fears
no more
To the Blessed, I have just one request ...
please give this poor teenaged soul
a whole lot less grief and stress
The Highwaymen softly play
Me And Bobby Magee
And for the next four hours
Every single drink is free.
Order what you like friend
And stick it on the slate
Tonight we’re saying goodbye
To my best and oldest mate.
On the bar in isolation stands
The Absent Friend’s Drink,
At the end of the night to be
Quickly poured down the sink.
Like every other human being
He was good and bad in parts
A fact that becomes apparent
When the reminiscing starts.
A man of strong opinions
Which he carried to the end
And we didn’t always agree
Me and this good old friend.
It was a friendship of honesty
We didn’t tell each other lies
We just agreed to differ and
Each learned to compromise.
From teenaged Squaddies
To men of retirement age
We remained mates through
Every changing life stage.
Strong willed, as often
Wrong as he was right
He never ever conceded
Without a spirited fight.
A mam of surprises
A man seemingly apart
But not far below the surface
One of good and kind heart.
The free bar has closed
Heaven knows how big the slate
But we gave a fitting farewell
To my much missed old mate.
I’ve drunk so many pints as
This night draws to its end
But I’m stone cold sober
As I think of my old friend
The Absent Friend’s Drink
Has been quietly poured away
Marking the official end of this
His wake and funeral day.
The music’s switched off.
Now just a big empty room
That, to quote the apt saying
Is almost silent as a tomb.
One last look around to check
Then they switch off the light
And tired staff follow us out
Into the darkness of the night.
XMAS EVE 1961
Five teenaged lads late on Christmas Eve,
quit playing cards and took their leave.
Got into a car and off we drove
to a hamburger joint with a greasy stove.
After a bowl of chili, one got sick.
The owner yelled out and three left quick.
After he messed the bathroom sink and floor,
I carried the fifth out the back alley door.
The police were waiting when we hit the curb,
booked for underage drinking in their little burb.
They put us in a klink called the Homewood jail,
the accommodations had a bible for those who fail.
They turned out the lights and the locks went klank,
tried looking around but the cells were dark and dank.
There wasn’t a mattress on the steel strapped bunks,
we resigned ourselves to our increasing mental funks.
No one tried to be brave; no one tried to be proud,
time for soul searching and we began crying out loud.
Our demeanor changed after that minor crime,
not one of us in 50 yrs has done anymore time.
For the BEHIND BARS BLUES contest
A single golden light
Danced through the frame,
And spangled out of the dark house
As snow spun downward
Into the abyss of the night.
A man trembled inside
Shaking his head in pain.
Tears grew off his face and
Watered the floor.
He sat for sometime,
Then slid off the couch
And heavily trudged up the stairs.
He opened the door and saw his son, sleeping
Soundly in the swollen room.
The hushed raspy breaths of the boy
Echoed in the stillness of the man's heart.
Moonlight spilled through the pane
tricking the blue curtains to shine.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Then moving to the next room,
Where the form still lay,
Of his teenaged daughter.
Headphones jammed loud in her ears,
Playing the beat of her resistance.
The man was glad she could escape
What he could not.
Softly he leaned over and kissed
Her forehead, whiffing the smell
Of her fresh hair die.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Shutting the door behind him,
Staggered down the stairs,
Leaned on the banister.
His gaze met the open room.
Empty with lace curtains,
Plush couches,
And his spirit glass.
Then through his swollen eyes
He lingered over the pictures on the wall,
And silently walked to his desk.
He pulled the drawer open
A brush of cedar hit his nose,
He use to love that smell.
He pulled out a revolver.
And in his heart he knew,
CLICK
It wasn't.
A scientist gamma radiologist
trying to make the world
A little better, yet
When engaging in testing in a Nevada dessert
A teenaged boy loitering got caught in the testing blast
Out of the bunker scientist Dr. Bruce Banner
Shoves the teen out of harms way
But in this task Dr. Banner gets caught in the rays
The waves, those rays of gamma radiation
Stricken in pain, armored inflamed in emerald flames and smoke
This is the origin of.......
THE INCREDIBLE HULK
10/29/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
"OMLET"
or
"The Taming Of A Screwball"
(Or: Rules Are Written By Idiots, Followed by Fools)
by Ron Arbuthnot
cast of characters:
Julius Caesar
A Roman Teenaged Kid
A Roman Guard
Brutus
A bunch of Caesars Girlfriends
A bunch of Roman Senators
Julius picked up the violin and looked at the
kid. ""Et playdimus youdimus?"" he asked.
"Nonimus!" replied the kid. "Cousinimus Nero
playsimus."
"Ahhhh," sighed Julius. "Prodigimus bratimus."
Suddenly a guard ran in, waving his sword and
shouting, "Mightymus Ceasermus! Brutumus et comingus!"
Just then Brutus comes in, followed by a bunch
of drunk senators. All of Caesars girl friends
run offstage screaming in terror.
"Ahhhh--Friendimus Brutumus..."" Julius said,
putting his arm around Brutus' shoulder.
Brutus took out a dagger and promptly
thrusted it up Caesars bellybutton.
"Ahhhhhhh--Brutumus!"" Caesar repeated.
"Youdimus screwdimus meedimus."
curtain
(applause)
© ron arbuthnot aka ron wilson
It happened, I'm back into it.
It's your fault ya soupers, yeah right?
(How to keep four more stanzas tight?)
Though thoughts seem to flutter and flit
Sometimes I wish I could say ... GIT!
Git me out of here fast, please. ****!
Remembering one teenaged zit
nit-picked (and more than that). Blessed
mirror, where I truly confessed
without character. There's no wit.
But I wanted that zit to go
(perhaps shouldn't tell you guys.) So
I don't mind, tho, even one bit....
K, so I do. But wouldn't you
blow that zit right out your kazoo?
It happened, I'm back into it.
Though thoughts seem to flutter and flit
Remembering one teenaged zit
without character. There's no wit.
I don't mind, tho, even one bit....
Tossing and turning after a heavy economic loss
The shock shattered my peace of nights
Hugging my pillow tight with unshed tears
The sorrowful thoughts trudged haltingly
To my grandma's antique sewing machine
Lying impassively in the cluttered store
Guilt shook me out of my sluggish memories
Over the dormant treasure dearly ignore
Up and about I barged into the basement
I carried it upstairs carefully with loaded adulation
Dusted and oiled my reborn ardency
Connoisseured my eyes with twinkling love
The art of neatly stitching hearts was taught
By granny silently as she held onto its handle
While the machine's needle and shuttle
Would treadle my ripped and torn today
Retrospecting over the many inheritances
Of love she left her favoured grandchild
A few stressed lines ironed out my brow
The silver forks to hold on to love
And the knives to cut out the wasted crusts
Her crocheted scarf for my winter warmth
When she saw her child had no such style
Amongst her voguish teenaged peers
A gold viking insignia with my initials embossed
Was loosely chained around my neck emblematising
Her overwhelming love must have oozed profusely
When she rocked me in her tender arms
Gazing fondly at the next in line to her posterity
Her marriage ring she gave on my wedding
Which the thieves much mistook for their right
Emptying stores of my sentimental potpourri
The wealth was stolen with rancour
But not my granny's fondness that was
Reigning still in the depth of my heart
I continue living with my antiques of love
The gold viking pendent had inadvertently
Slipped from the chain to a safer corner
The silvern cutlery smiles at the table
Smirking at the ignorant fools
For undervaluing their worth
The handle of the sewing machine
Moves at my command silently stitching
Nostalgic memories with empyreal pride
October 26, 2016
For Broken Wings
Old Jewellery or Just Old Things
Once, inside o' an Irish family's Derrygoolin farmhouse in the 1940s,
A boy named Anthony heard the woman whose word is death, himself, foreseen.
When the reaper's cloak appears to those who choke,
And his cowl upon ye' prowls,
She who's bound to the royal lassies and blokes,
Will warn her kin within a howl.
For once upon a time there lived a group of regal Celtic kings,
Whose love was made to those who ring in the zephyr as they sing.
Aligned were the crowns of man and fey,
Together tied by what they bore,
Whose birth brought forth the foremost day,
Whence the walls between their worlds tore.
And so the children of those five Irish kings and their fair-haired fairy maids,
Live on today with the mind of man and intuition of those who which they laid.
So that night when the teenaged Anthony was working in the family barn,
He heard the vengeance of the wind and a woman screaming from afar.
He ran back to his house where his family had been,
To see if they were alright,
For he knew what he heard before and when,
The wind blew by the banshee's might.
"We're alright, Tony," his twelve siblings and parents had said confused,
As their brother and son looked at each of them with a smile, yet unamused.
Later that evening Tony could not sleep,
And tossed and turned in fright,
For in his head he could not help but keep,
The thought of the banshee he had heard tonight.
So the same insomnia had invaded upon poor Tony the following end of day,
As a fear inside him grew and growled, which he failed to tame and keep at bay.
The next day, horror struck the family:
Tony's two year-old brother Victor had passed away,
Of what, the doctor could not see,
And the smiles of his family had no more to say.
This story is a true familial anecdote about my now-passed Uncle Tony,
Who died two days after I was in my yard and heard in the wind a cry of the banshee.
The Legacy
Teenaged girl of only eighteen years she was when
Hastily betrothed to a man who was twice her age then
By parents who were overwhelmed with fear and worry
About four daughters who they had to send off to marry
My Mother, she was the eldest of the four sisters
With the responsibilities to care for even her brothers
From early childhood she learnt the wearisome ropes
Which proved opportune training for her in future to cope
With a foreboding dad and a frail mum such as theirs
She had very little option but to take the reins in her cares
Persistence, sacrifice, self-denial were on the top of the list
Cleaning pots and pans in comparison was the very least
The man she was betrothed to had neither status nor treasure
His assets being mainly kindness and love in great measure
With the little money honestly earned, toiling together
Bonding and building each other, in preparation for a future
My mother was a self-taught seamstress and dad a talented tailor
When the days’ earning weren’t enough, they burnt the midnight oil together
Amidst complains and criticisms they humbly took their stride
In delivering their goods to satisfy their customers with pride
Their nest now filled with warmth of their love and happiness
Together they looked forward to God given marital bliss
One by one their off springs then came along
To dwell in this place called home, for years, to belong
The little that they owned in material worth
Became even less but we for sure, added to their mirth
Never a day went by when we were in want
Cause their love was abundant and that’s all we cared about
The Legacy they left was not diamonds nor pearls
But virtues and values which would hold us up in coming years
And the lessons we learnt over the hard times we went through
Helped build our characters, in retrospection I view
They taught us to love and care for each other
And also those less fortunate, who we ought to call ‘sister ‘or ‘brother’
Share whatever you have they would kind-heartedly say
God is watching and will send fresh blessings your way
So mum and dad though you are not here anymore
In spirit your constant presence surrounds us, your Legacy is right here
The three children you have raised are mirroring your ways
Mum, you always said, “It is God’s guiding hand in the first place”.