Best Young Poems
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this ‘green and pleasant’ land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
‘shine forth’ and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through gentle smiles and tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
When we were young we loved our fairy tales
A frog could be a prince with just one kiss
Each cloud, a boat where dreamers could set sail
Imagination was the great abyss
Too soon we grew and lost our innocence
Found out that swords are never pulled from stones
That dreams come true but only with expense
And happy ever after's come and gone
Yet some of us still wish upon a star
Believe that rainbows come with pots of gold
Reality is life for most comes hard
And love like water runs both hot and cold
Like you I wish that fairy tales came true
But grown ups know they very seldom do
by Daniel Turner
She is young and free, and most of her love lies in front of her
As the dawning twilight holds one breathless air under misted whispers
A sight she often looks beyond the vast land that always ends in the ocean
Upon the rocks driven by a seabreeze salted fragrance lingers
Waves and natural forces full of power draws upon sound and rhythm
Mixed echoes crying gulls rise and fall as they crash ringing home
To walk along the beach barefoot, she has time to be young
Reflecting back on each step forward petals of a sunbeam enters
Feeling divine happiness every second heartbeat without a special reason
Time begins to challenge the labours of the trodden path
Live it is to dare, nobody has gone in her step before
Standing upon the apex captivated by thought spiralling
Form a sculpture of wet sand, without being critical
Leaving an imprint under the shell where holds precious pearls
A way to expose oneself to something unfamiliar and unsafe
Petals of a flower dancing to a winds melody rings midnight bells
She dreams of love, with expectations and hope to be a queen
Under the starlight where a moon's cradle swoons her with a smile
A hand to hold, the first kiss ... a puzzling thought
Where memories are born a fire always burns regally sealed
A collaborated poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
08.06. 2017
(unrhymed couplets)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I feel your unrehearsed pauses--
the rustle of a blue shirt in leaving
a tangy ache your firm lips make,
holding back cold, collected words.
This rendezvous ... a slow-fire quiver
an ending which has it's own interment;
and outside, night wrestles with time
brittle dew against my eyes, dry mouth
licking an estranged bite that reminds me
of your frivolity . Until sighs
become hollow and stuttering
like a thirst from a weltering breakwall.
So it is with discovery,
the trails of affection are never mine
as I call you grimly,' 0 heart-breaker'
while banging shells litter on the dunes
as this heart shrinks from tangled lies:
There is still much to learn about
young passion... needles upon my chest
losing you from sight like a migrant breeze...
for a woman , fragile at eighteen.
Captured by a young man with an old soul that's good to the
bone.
Her desires awaits patiently and yet fulfilled as he joins her at her
throne.
A mile away he can hear her voice whispering in his ears oh
soo Sofltly.
Saying, that her desires which are kept in secret need not come out, they ARE
Costly.
Captured by a cougar with true beauty that has a predilection for young
meat.
She quenches the thirst in his eyes by her presence, yet he gets sooo
weak.
The right environment explodes to never ending imaginations and pure
intimacy.
Constantly caressing, hugging, kissing and passion that turns into more
creativity.
Their lips begin to speak a different language that's spoken oh sooo
quietly.
She feels the muscles of his arms wrapped around her body sealed oh sooo
tightly.
Unbreakable emotions results to stimulations that are non fictional, not planted, but up rooted, as she loves it Sooo Rightly.
The story of life from young to old is the same old story told over and over.
We start out and end in diapers.
We start out and end with no teeth.
We start out and end eating soft foods we do not like the taste of.
We start out and end falling down.
We start out and end needing care.
We start out and end crying day and night.
We start out with nothing and end taking nothing with us.
We only have the precious time between young and old to live a life of love to others.
The story of life is the story we leave behind.
Date Written: 6/7/2019
A contest on aging Poetry Contest sponsored by Emile Pinet
Look, anyone can stick two words together and rhyme,
But you gotta have rhythm and you gotta have time,
And you gotta have the guts to put it all on the line,
And stand up to whole world though it might make you blind
You gotta bleed out your heart, you gotta pour out your soul,
You gotta speak with every single syllable that you know,
And there’s moments you’ll think that you’re apart from the rest,
Still trying and dying, giving it all of your best,
Until you’re out-hustled, out-muscled, and you’re up to your neck,
Until you’re thinking you should stop and maybe give it a rest,
But don’t give up yet, no this is only a test
To dig deep inside and until you out-rhyme the best
You gotta write ‘til you’re sick, you gotta write like He wills it,
Gotta take all of your anger to paper and spill it,
You gotta gather your emotion like and ocean and let it go,
There’s no stopping your hustle and there’s no stopping your flow
So get out there and show all of the people that dissed you,
And remind them of the time that they’re all gonna miss you,
When you’re up flying high and looking down to see
All the haters wishing that they were you but can’t be
So you gotta keep on going, holding onto this thing,
And don’t you dare let go no matter how hard it seems,
Just set it up in your mind and you can do anything,
Because it's all in your heart, boy, now just follow your dream.
When we were young
And the world was new
The fields all green
And sky so blue
We were in awe of each new day
Our waking hours were all in play
So much to see, great things to do
Our joy each day, it grew and grew
We would run around the field
Wade in streams and we would yield
To life each morning till the dusk
As we each day in life did trust
New pleasures we would find to do
When we were young, the world brand new.
When She Was Young
When she was young she would sleep
holding her dreams in her hand next
to her heart to protect them from being
forgotten now that she is older she sleeps
dreading to dream as her hands cannot hold
them any longer.
When she was young her dreams had a meaning
they lightened up her mornings opening her
balcony to breath the fresh air to look towards
the mountains and feel the sensation of climbing
to the peak watch the other side & peep to the
beauty she could reach out to,being younger &
having the courage that tomorrow she can do it.
When she was young she was glad of life
because it gave her the chance to fall in love
to work to play to look at the stars.
Now that she is older she opens her balcony
and sees a black fog hiding her view the mountains
don't exist her hopes are mixed up there is a deep
valley, the trees are withered the path is blocked
the birds are screaming their nests are gone
the grass is suffering because of the wind changed
its direction running away taking everything
that might still be alive.
If only she knew how getting older would feel
when she was younger she would have intentionally
grabbed each day by force and lived each moment
instead of having to have lived only to give her
whole existence to everybody, she would have had
time to keep the mountains view look alive she
would have kept seeing a clear path with no end
she would have told the trees not to die she would
have told the blowing wind to keep her birds nests alive
she would have asked her dream not to let her grow olde
her dream answered her.
My friend if I could do that trust me I would have
fulfilled your dream.
Yet, she loved when she was younger,
she loves getting older, and she loves
living today each Moment, Now.
Therese Bacha
5/2/13
I’m afraid of dying young
Of leaving things yet undone
I’m afraid I’ll leave this place
Yet not leave a single trace
I’m afraid I haven’t said
All that lives inside my head
I’m afraid I’ll disappear
And no one will hold me dear.
I’m afraid I’ve yet to touch
The hearts of those I love so much
I’m afraid I’ll never see
Who it is I’m meant to be
I’m afraid, for can’t you see?
Not much time is left for me.
I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid
Soon I’ll lie silent in my grave…
With my stories yet untold
With my dreams yet to unfold
With my songs yet unsung
With my words yet on my tongue
With my passion tucked away
With no more prayers left to pray
I’m afraid……
Entered into Richard Lamoureux's Beginnings Matter Contest
March 3, 2015
I'm not sure why this is the first poem I chose to post on Poetry Soup. Maybe because the theme of dying is ever present in my mind. I lived with the knowledge that my Mother was dying from an incurable disease and that marked me for life. Writing has also marked me for life. I've always wanted to leave something behind to be remembered by. Most of the poetry I wrote up to this point was for family members and loved ones, things I'd share on special occasions. How I love writing. Poetry is more than a hobby. It is an obsession and a dream. It is therapy. Finding a site where I could actually post my work and get feedback was a dream come true for me. This was my first poem and my first taste of euphoria. Others who love words showed loved for my words. "The rest", as they say, "is history."
When I look on my life that's now half-spent,
I sigh the loss of youth that's forever past,
wishing myself better Fortune's consent,
love, friends, and wealth with naught to lose or waste,
but for the mean expense of young love lost;
despising this, I oft' bemoan the loss
of vestal company's first time the most;
for matrons offend like mouldering moss,
which, like Time's sure, inexorable march,
destroys the juvenescence of life's spring
year by year till extinguishing Youth's torch,
a dead flame for which I am most desiring.
If I could live and love anew once more,
I'd not err this time: and lay a rude whore.
where the pipeline meets the lake
spewing sewage in its wake
several snowdrops grow and help to paint God’s earth
and as acid rains from clouds
upon the litter strewn by crowds
lines of daffodils speak more than words are worth.
next to piles of household waste
tipped by those who fly in haste
there are bluebells growing wild on urban floors
and as plumes of factory smoke
suffocate disperse and choke
there are birds migrating to these hallowed shores.
where graffiti daubs the wall
of society’s wrecking ball
there’s a patch where tulips dance beneath our sky
and as shards of broken glass
lie in pieces on the grass
two young lovers holding hands walk slowly by.
She is learning young
Pure genteel pleasures of a garden
Amid the fragrant roses and towering lupines
Sweet feminine echo of her beautiful mother
She holds up her watering can
A tiny version of the other.
Now she mimics to perfection
The sprinkling of flowers
As she giggles with delight
At birds in secret bowers.
She can't wait for tomorrow
Her duties to employ
She is mother's little helper
And Daddy's little joy
At first, I wrote because I felt the need
to bare my soul in letters when away
from loved ones. Later, thoughts I had I freed
with words I used my best way to convey
emotions that I felt. Sometimes I’d write
short stories since I loved to read so much.
With drama many authors could ignite
enchantment in me with their magic touch.
Much later in my life, I took my pen
to paper, but THIS time - compelled to rhyme -
I felt new lyricism take me! Then
what had eluded me all my lifetime
revealed itself! I never did foresee
when young that one day I’d a poet be.
Aug. 30, 2022