Best Tender Age Poems
After the snowfall but before the lily blossoms,
you were this woman who left by choice. All natural decisions
made from a place of despair. Darkness consumed you as you
fell into an addiction with expressions of deep sorrow and remorse.
step by step by step,
taking steps-
foot by foot by foot...
Slower than a run, yet faster than a turtle, closer and closer
towards your oblivion. Into mysterious unconsciousness I
whispered...
"goodbye, my love"...as you walked away.
After the spring but before the leaves, I found you drained of energy. Completely exhausted into nothingness, and through it all, you still
loved me. Seems like yesterday we walked side by side;
you
me
the gentle breeze-
You need not ask for forgiveness, sweetheart, it has been granted
long ago, and before you were gone I already whispered...
“goodbye, my love"...as you walked away.
After the sun but before the rain, you tore out the pages from your
favorite book. You wrote it at such a tender age. Too young to
understand, yet too old to make believe. Big brown eyes,
wearing a ball cap on your head.
Smiling while hiding and running while crying.
I couldn't handle this defeated
hopelessness you wore
on your sleeves
with patches
sewn on
to cover up the burn holes...
I sit at your grave once again.
No tears, no laughter, no guilt-
I stood up and whispered...
"GOODBYE, MY LOVE"...as I walked away.
I wrote this during a difficult grieving time in my life. It had been almost 6 years since my sister took her life. She was always saying goodbye, and it was finally time for me to say goodbye and let go of the guilt and sorrow.
There's nothing like losing someone you love to suicide. I couldn't decide which poem to enter today. My sister led me to this poem, I can feel it (that is exactly why I picked it). This was written on my 1 year anniversary here at PS.
Written: September 27, 2016
My pearl of great price,
Will not be a sacrifice,
The love of my life,
My sacred wife,
Her named is Pearl,
She will have nothing to do with Earl,
Of the carnal world,
For she is strictly, My Pearl!
She is my wife ,
The wife of my life,
I married her when I divorced my youthful wife,
Of my mind’s strife!
She is the wife of my old age,
She has let my soul out of mind’s cage,
I didn’t meet her in my tender age,
I was not ready to hear her page!
When you personally find,
One of this kind,
A pearl of great price,
Pursue her for your wife,
By giving up your mind’s strife!
For she will not mate,
With an ego's persona of hate,
Neither will you enter into her narrow gate!
She is preserved,
For love, that deserves,
A husband named Freddy,
A soul in love that is ready,
So sweep your floor,
And weep no more,
Your pearl will open her door,
When she is totally shore,
You’re not looking back,
Toward the sack,
Of the mind’s scarlet,
Harlot!
Personally, I’ll do my part,
From my heart,
From the inner world,
Of my pearl,
For she is my Girl!
For the outer girl,
Of the world,
Is no pearl,
For she is a pigeon pouter,
Of the outer,
And thinks she is stouter,
In the outer,
World with Earl!
While the pearl of great price,
Has no vice
And she is meek,
But certainly not weak,
Very able to keep,
The soul of her man,
Within God’s plan!
Pearl’s inner meekness,
Does not mean weakness,
For it is the band,
without which a man,
Would not have substance of love,
From above!
Now when the mind learns to be meek,
Within his soul, he will seek,
Pearl's,
Inner world!
Time will,
Stand still,
Inside Pearl's real,
Deal,
And love will be fulfilled,
Within my Pearl’s inner world!
4-27-09 [email protected]
soaring high and free
guided by the glowing sun
beauty swirls gracefully.
the sky is her stage
birds sing, clouds slow dance
life thrives below her.
she was created by love
ten tiny fingers
ten tiny toes.
her blue eyes sparkled
a wisdom and truth
far beyond her tender age.
innocent and pure
she radiated strength
her touch sheer bliss.
she knew no words
yet in that cute smile
her faith spoke clearly.
her spirit was strong
she fought courageously
as only a wee one knows.
within the sun's illuminating glow
life passed through it's essence
her fragile body floated free.
heaven's lullaby
beckoned softly
her small precious soul.
heaven's lullaby
rocks gently
her sweet song of peace.
reworked 08-16-2016
with gratitude to the Poet who encouraged me.
I didn't always adhere to the warnings of the experts
who declared nothing beyond time-outs should be used
to correct a child’s behavior—that parents must not,
even temporarily, take away a toy or a privilege OR
use “psychologically damaging” responses like
“What you just did was bad”!
When you, as a teenager, fought me at every turn,
when you despised me--or seemed to--
the experts' words came back to haunt me.
Still, I continued on my chosen path and tried
not to reveal how defeated and helpless I felt.
While the renowned psychologists were saying,
"The teenager's privacy must not be violated,"
I was watching you, not always from afar.
When, in spite of me, you began accomplishing a degree
privacy at the tender age of 14, you hid from me, opting
to use that freedom to forge risky relationships
that alienated you from those who really cared.
Over time, something beautiful happened.
You metamorphosed into a fine young lady.
As a parent, you have neither punished severely
nor spoiled your children. You've limited
their privacy and kept hold of the reins.
As they sneer at you and rebel, you wonder,
as I once did, If you've taken the wrong route.
I can't verbally assure you that you haven't.
I can't give you an encouraging embrace.
Perhaps I did enough while I was there.
January 1, 2019, entered in Emile Pinet's Free Verse Style Poetry Only contest,
placed 2nd
February 4, 2019, entered in Chantelle Anne Cooke's Favorite Free Verse Contest
The knowledge…from ‘The College’…
Is any other high school greater…maybe later…?
From a tender age…what is the stage…?
The motto…never yield…but be brave…
For five years…no fears…some stares…many cheers…
The academics…the challenge of schools…
The athletics…the lane makes the pool…
The football…makes it to the hall…
Of fame…to dominate the game…no shame…
The teachings of life…the overcoming of strife…
The offerings…the differing…
The camaraderie…the rivalry…
The victories…what a history…?
From whence we came…we cherish the name…
Boys only…never a lonely…
The journey to school…the learning; our tool…
The subjects we take…the times we awake…
The visits to the library…we never get weary…?
The varied of our surroundings…the range of our moldings…
Branded as downtown….never to frown…
Few without shoes…never to lose…
The focus…like most of us…
To be leaders…role models…
To be life changers…confronting dangers…
Embracing of strangers….being re-arrangers…
As the journey unfolds…some stories told…
Many have stated…the times have been dated…
The meaning of ties…the words to the wise…
The creation of a bond…which blended beyond…
The school-term years…the classroom chairs…
The running up stairs…the books of theirs…
The memories of an institution…the carvings of a tradition…
The initiation of a plan…the creating of a man…
Look back…take stack…
It’s not an assumption…neither an assertion…
‘The College’…is it the greatness of foundation…?
The story of "Little Black Sambo",
with foreign lands all exotic,
was written over a century ago,
when imaginations were chaotic.
The young boy is clearly a hero,
for despite his tender age and race,
terrifying tigers reduce to zero;
and he returns home with bold face.
If Sambo is a brave Indian child,
I would prefer he had an Indian name;
it seems ignorant to have styled,
African and Indian cultures the same.
Our frissons of moral discomfort,
as we note this narrative proclivity,
shows that modern readers now sport,
Increased serves of racial sensitivity.
Today we have African friends,
and also Indian associates,
as travel and immigration blends,
and modern society all equates.
Every child is exceptional,
brimming full of infinite worth,
developing with precious potential,
no matter what their country of birth.
I’ll never forget my first day at primary school
You bounded into the classroom, flashing a gap tooth smile
With your blonde curly hair and blue eyes, I was smitten
My first crush at the tender age of five!
Over the years we became inseparable
Then one day you told me terrible news
Your dad had a promotion and you were leaving the area
We both sobbed buckets of tears and vowed to stay in touch.
Letters flew between us like arrows, then suddenly they stopped
Years passed and I married then subsequently divorced
When moving house I came across your letters
I’d kept them in an old shoebox, they were tied with blue ribbon.
I sat reminiscing wondering how your life had panned out
Months later I joined friends re-united -
To my amazement I found your name
I was overjoyed when you replied to my contact
We had so much to talk about and a lot of catching up to do
I was hesitant when you suggested meeting
Would those childhood feelings still be the same?
The minute I saw you at the station my heart pounded
Still the same steel blue eyes, but a lot less hair!
We talked late into the small hours of the night
and when we kissed … I felt like a teenager again!
We had a whirlwind romance and married three months later
So blissfully happy, making up for lost time …
Until
Until ….the day you’d gone to buy my birthday present
Normally we’d have been together but you wanted to surprise me
You kissed my cheek, drove off on your motorbike into the distance
My memory of what happened next is so hazy
All I remember is a knock on the door
Two policemen were standing there
… I started to scream
N/A in A love lost then found, only to lose again Contest
judged on 08~26~16
FICTIONAL WRITE FOR CONTEST
07~27~16
Before her Auntie died she built her a big sandbox,
I remember her sitting there with long curly brown locks.
The sun in her face with an innocent smile so bright,
she’d stay out there playing morning, noon and night.
She had little tractors and buckets with tiny figurines,
she’d make sand castles then stomp on them to smithereens.
This one time she built a fort for her favorite Little People,
a huge monstrosity with a long bridge and a steeple.
She reached the age of eight and still loved her sandbox,
she used her imagination through the summer equinox.
Silly little girl with big brown eyes so enthralled,
but after Auntie died she just sat in it and bawled.
Now at tender age of ten we still keep it in the back yard,
once and awhile she sifts through the sand, but it’s quite hard.
But yesterday I saw her feet deep in the sand buried,
playing in that special sandbox lovely memories are carried.
Sandbox Contest
October 14, 2016
FACE OF A BEGGAR CHILD
I saw your tear-stained face O’ child
It swam before my eyes at night
I clearly saw your life’s struggle,
Your painful hunger pangs and fright.
In my dreams I could clearly see
Your shredded clothes and unkempt hair.
At such a tender age O’ child,
On your face it was all written there.
No one to care for you my child
No one to call your very own.
No mother nor father to call you son,
No siblings to call you come hither bro’.
I wondered how you came to be
In such a distressed way of life
Each day you have to beg for alms
And face the world’s rage and strife.
Were you the victim of natural disaster,
Like quake or floods epidemic or plague.
Or was it due to human vices
Like war or bloody bath of death.
Were you lost in busy hustle of life,
Was it all due to human greed.
Were you the fruit of sin and tossed,
Amidst dirty dustbin where dogs came to feed.
Your tear-stained face swims before my eyes,
And asks me how it came to be.
That God created all humans alike,
But gave them different destiny.
Oh God, this your humble servant,
Asks you just one small question.
If there are so many tear-stained faces present,
Why Mother Teressa was only one.
S - she played like an accomplished musician
T - throughout the whole of the audition
R - receiving a standing ovation after an
A – awe inspiring performance that
D - delighted all, audience and judges alike with
I – impeccable timing and pitch whilst
V - veritable charm seeped from her fingers that even
A - angels would be jealous of, an awesome
R - rendition of unforced precision which
I - in spite of her tender age, was beyond
U – unexpected and all she gave was a
S - shy smile not realising her potential
Message is a quote by Heinrich Heine
09.01.21
Contest: Message in Acrostic 2
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
A real man with morals and principles would never abuse a lady
how can a man beat a woman and drive her to nothing but fear
gone are the days when a man treats a woman the way he should
not saying that there aren't men like that but honestly they are rare
How can a man kiss a woman and then tell her that she is beautiful
yet when they disagree he is quick to slap her across the face
all my life I was taught that I should always have respect for a woman
so if I should abuse one to my family I would be the biggest disgrace
Any man that would hit a woman to me is nothing more than a coward
have you ever considered that she is somebody's aunt or their mother
I would never condone a man physically abusing his wife or girlfriend
I don't care who that man is it could be my best friend or even my brother
How would you feel if a man turns around and beats your only sister
I can imagine the threatening remarks or even the action you would take
you swear on your life that you would defend any female in your family
yet you hurt another man's family you are not a real man you are a fake
I could never beat or abuse the woman that I say I love and care about
the only time I would put my hands all over her is during our lovemaking
I was thought from a tender age that a woman's strength is her mouth
so I would save my energy for the makeup which is always breathtaking
women don't be fooled if a man hits you doesn't means that he cares
he tells you how soft your skin is yet he beats you all over your body
he then comes and apologizes and tells you how much he loves you
and later the process replays like beating you is his biggest hobby
a woman's skin is so soft and her touch is so delicate and tender
and yet a man sees it fit to hit her this is something I can't understand
I am glad I can stand and say that beating a woman is ethically wrong
I could never hit a woman and this makes me proud to call myself a man
so if you are a man that beats your woman honestly you sick my stomach
how could you say you love her yet you destroy her beautiful features
I think men like you should be condemned to hell on judgment day
I'm asking the real men to join the fight against all women beaters
By: Marlon Malcolm
The vines stretched up the sides of her house
from behind the hedges, neatly trimmed
she'd been on that corner a long, long time
six decades before her eyesight dimmed
The concrete steps through puddingstone walls
that one would climb to reach her door
if they could speak, the tales they'd tell
such lovely things they kept in store
The many times that I would visit
she always had cookies on a plate
Exactly when I can't remember
but I was seven, or maybe eight
In winter time, her stairs and walk
I'd shovel out, sometimes with friends
I never thought at that tender age
that times like those would ever end
Four decades since those days have passed
and I finally found the words to say
this kind old woman mattered to me
this kind old woman who's gone away
I was not ready to lose you.
But you were taken from me, anyway.
Suddenly.
On a sunny day that started so normally.
Without any sign of the emotional pain to come.
Abruptly.
Life’s like that, I guess.
It shouldn’t be that way. It just is.
Unfair.
Losing a loved one is always hard.
Losing a father at a tender age is as hard as it gets.
Wrenching.
I was more than a boy.
But, not yet a man.
Becoming.
You were meant to be my guide through that stage of life.
You were supposed to be my mentor as I grew.
Transitioning.
I had to do a lot of growing up fast in those early years after you passed.
I had to be strong for Mum.
Maturing.
The sad thing is I have more in common with you now than I had then.
I share your love for photography and classical music.
Passions.
Oh, the conversations we could have had.
I don’t even know which classical composers you listened to.
Wondering.
So many things left unsaid.
So much potential.
Gone.
I would have been a different man if you had stayed.
In ways that I will never know.
Unguessable.
I’ve been told I look like you.
That gives me much consolation.
Comforting.
I feel like, in me, there’s a part of you that lives still.
I carry on your name.
Heritage.
The memories may be dimmer as the years roll by too fast.
But I will never forget the values you taught me.
Integrity.
Honesty.
Trust.
Love.
Yours was a selfless love.
I never wanted for anything.
Cared for.
Loved.
One day we WILL have those conversations.
When I get to Heaven.
Future.
But I hope that day doesn’t come too soon.
Until then, keep watching over me.
I hope I make you proud.
Oh Harriet,
a treasured heart lost to time.
Such promise,
heralded for gifted child.
Tender age,
loves pull guided her astray.
No blame,
for who does not crave happiness.
Joyous moment,
glanced upon and short lived.
Her heart,
abandoned and broken.
Hope lost,
as lover moves on.
Solace desired,
but only lustful arms found.
With child,
in hiding she remains.
Sadness burdens,
with heart and mind overwhelmed.
Words dispatched,
her last affection declared.
Lonely morning,
she walks to the serpentine.
Tearful eyes,
she throws herself to the bitter waters.
Her story concluded,
with love and loss,
societies glaring eyes,
a treasured heart lost to time.
It haunts me to think
that you would die for your ideals
at such a tender age
thinking you are
intellectually superior
and in many ways you were,
but Sophie,
it is such a waste to die so young
for what?
Your offspring could have
carried the flame
continued 'the white rose'
in all its purity and
ideological splendor
but you are right, off course,
even in death and thereafter
Mitt Gott kannst Du alles.