Best Young Girl Poems
Head down
The old woman sews
A dress
Nimble fingers
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Threading memories
Of another time
Reminding her
Of a night
Long ago
When she was afraid
To speak to a boy
Sitting next to her.
As her busy fingers work
She remembers more
Of that summer night
A blue cotton dress
With tiny ribbons
Lace curtains gently
Pulled by a breeze
Drifted out through opaque windows
While musicians played a rhythm
Of their own
And shadows pranced
On empty walls.
Waiting that night
She wondered
Why no one
Asked
Her to dance.
Old memories
Glide by
On silver sails
And today?...
She knows that today is now.
And yesterday was yesterday
Finished with her work
She catches her breathe,
Straightens her hair,
And turns off the lights.
Pausing to look back
Into the darkened room
Shadows return her glance
With a gaping stare
Adjusting to the darkness
She begins to recognize
Familiar shapes taking form
Satisfied that all will be the same
When she returns
She closes the door.
Going outside
She holds onto her purse
Waiting
For a traffic light
That has already
Changed
A smile crosses her face
As she remembers
When the boy
Became her husband
Children were born.
And the years went by
In a brown bag
Neatly folded in two
Is a blue chiffon dress
Almost like the one
She wore years ago
Only this one
Is for her granddaughter
Impatient for no reason
To go nowhere
The crowd pushes forward
But the old woman lingers
On the corner
Savoring the moment
Glad of memories
As a busy world saunters by.
Hello, Farrah....
It's 7Am here, and cold
Just awoke, with,
Oh, Here We Go Again!
Fever, Pain, Confusion,
And Lots of Other Groovy Things
To Keep My Mind Busy...
Many more people know of you
than a few days ago....
Did you ever hear of Rod Mckuen?
Professional poet/ musician/songwritter-
One of the reasons I love poetry...
Not only will you understand him, you should
enjoy him.....Sorry about your work load....
My French is rusty.....I'm pretty good in geometry though;
received 100% on NYS Regents Exam when young-
an unheard of thing, scores in college of 97-99% for the term's work,
and it seemed easy as pi (joke- pie, etc....oh, why am I explaining it,
sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.......) Hope you have a happy day.....write an
indepth poetic bio?? I'd love it, so would many others....
you are known in literary circles here now, I'd venture to guess....
surprising, the power of words, n'est pas? Je ne sas pa, rien du tout....pardon
my spelling and french......it's unused since early 1960's (ancient history) What
city are you in? Ever travel??? A favorite destination??? Any questions about
the enigmatic nature of "Americans?" We're really well meaning, just sometimes
seems we might misinterpret, or misunderstand things obvious to others (and
vica versa....) Do you get to see movies??? Need books to read?? I got a library
of 10,000 books, at least, being handicapped gives me too much time on my
hands, and my health leaves me precious little of a future to expect. I have lots
of funny stories. I hope you are okay....I never met anyone so brilliant in 57 years
of living. Youf friend in poetry, tom."
I saw you welcome the sun's kiss in the tropical country.
I saw how you wished you had swings and the feeling of soaring through clear skies.
You dreamt of being your brother's kites.
I saw you cut the string and set them free.
You were so deeply young.
You wondered about rain and its touch.
You smelled of serenity and warm poetry.
I saw how you so proudly wore that red dress with white Daisies your mother bought you.
The chickens pecked at its flowers and you laughed.
I saw you running full speed into your father's arms.
He'd never let you fall.
You felt loved.
Like a child you had small doubts.
You are the girl that never chased after butterflies
You are frightened of cart wheels and shower drains.
As you grew older
You were afraid of deeper things.
Afraid to see your father's closet empty.
Your mother never hugged you.
I know you lived in a concrete home built on sand.
At times the walls came crashing and it left bruises.
You learned to resist,
Against all down falls and tumbling downs.
I saw you survive and it was beautiful.
Your father struck down on you with bone crushing words.
He no longer talks to you.
Your mother doesn't understands you
She doesn't know you.
Womanhood left you stranded.
I saw you drift into deep thought,
Disconnect from the earth.
Love felt like a different language.
You found refuge in a smile.
You put your hurt on paper.
You wanted the world to stop and admire your strengths.
You always run away.
Your voice tucked itself away in it's safe place.
Demons strangling your bravery.
You felt ashamed of becoming a woman
It took your father's love away
And like your mother he made you feel like you don't deserve respect.
You discovered womanhood in the dark. It is a cave of secrets. It is full of difficult strives and expectations. It is full of hardships and twisted inequity.
But somehow in the midst you found it breath taking.
You could never trade it.
It is the birthplace of strength and admiration.
It is the salt of the ocean and the colors of the sky.
Young girl
Learn to live unapologetically.
At times you will still find it difficult to accept your chipped edges
But you are a woman.
You'll find beauty in the scars and in everything that is broken.
Only you can tell the story.
Only you can change it.
There was a Mantis, a sweet young girl,
Who wanted to give mating a whirl!
She found a poor boy
With whom she could toy,
Who didn’t know his life would unfurl!
Footnote:
Some female Praying Mantises are notorious for eating their mates after or even
during the reproductive act. Strangely, this doesn’t deter the males, typical!
Pave way for your younger brothers, this is the price i have to pay
as 13 year old, first born girl I have no say in my education welfare
my dad by now has already received my bride price
I wonder why we are poor, with a price tag over my womanhood
It a shame mama pima, the local brewer enjoyed my fortune to the last penny
menarche is finally here, I must hide it,
for the 45 year old man would come to collect his due, remember am already paid for
there is no chance that two women can live in the same hut, often my dad will remark
I can hide, but they know where to find me
at the local rescue center, it's already over stretched
At my tenth birthday i wasn't lucky to escape i had to face the knife
Mutilation at least, its not worse than clipping my wings of success
with no education am stuck in the last century
Am taught to be submissive,my sole role to my husband, "the man of the house."
as a woman i see no freedom the shackle are still on my wrist and ankle
is this the free society?
The world is a cycle, efficient in recycling old vices
domestic violence and gender inequality are here to stay
am now a grow woman, and still i conform with the community
the community that downcast the liberal, women of class
my kids are about to be introduced to the "culture"
Divorced am now a single mother, 3 kids and on my early 20s
trying to change a static society landed me to my new status
"I want to lead the world", my 8 year old daughter says.
I want to believe that some day she will be given an opportunity
but i will be no more, coz the culture would have killed me
There was a young girl named Alice
Who lived in a wonderland
She ate to get big, drank to get small
She’d shrink and then expand
© Copyright KC.Leake
24th May 2015
All Rights Reserved
(Limerick)
A young girl from Old River Front
Got so hungry she went on a hunt
But got more than she care
When encountered a bear
So she ran, cuz that was too much to confr'nt!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladydp2000
Copyright@2014
An almost full length body mirror propped up against the chair
She sat quietly on her pedestal of hope
Hoping that one day she too could look like the movie star
That graces the glossy pictures of the magazines
She sits to ponder what does it take to exude the beauty of a woman
What does it take to exude grace and intelligence
A still quiet voice spoke so tenderly in her heart...
"My child I made you in the image of Me. I made you in the image of your Heavenly Father and you are beautiful just the way your are. Take your makeup, your Hollywood dreams, and put them away. Continue on the path of being my beautiful young child. Strive to love unconditionally. Strive to give food to the least of these. And above all the things that brings beauty to the world, a heart of your Fathers to please."
By Gwendolen Rix
10-19-14
Personal interpretation of Norman Rockwell's famous painting, "Girl at the Mirror" for The Saturday Evening Post
the young girl
turning side to side
toward the mirror
The young girl had come to live with them
that summer.
The young girl told the older step-sister that
Her initials were the same as hers.
She asks: Who's initials are you talking about?
The young girl says you know.
The girl that walks in the graveyard.
I told your mom the first day I was here.
Your dad looked at me and said,
There is no ghost out there.
As I wrote in my journal this night.
It made me shiver to think there was
A ghost floating around somewhere.
I ask my dad the next day
As he was out back sitting
on the bench with his typewriter.
He was a writer, you see.
So I ask, why dad, why?
Did you know there was an old
graveyard out there in the woods?
My dad looks up from his typewriter
And says: look we bought this house
And surrounding property to get away.
From the noisy city and traffic jams.
As I looked toward the edge of our property
I shivered to think there was a ghost looming.
3/2/2018 wrote last night
There is a young girl at my school,
But when she tries to act cool,
She gets into trouble,
And there on the double,
Suddenly, she became the fool.
Black Pearls
and Broken ocean shells
Cannot stop my love for you
We are shipwrecked
on a jagged reef
A pirate's treasure of booty
with nothing to spend it on
The curse is on now
it is the dark time
and the thunder clouds
grumble and groan
The rainbow above us
is not artificial
As Dylan holds that note
like a little kid holding
onto a helium balloon
He yanks it out of the sky
like a promise
not yet fulfilled
an idea incomplete
Our folly is funny
fumbling footloose
through the pillars of time
The color and sounds
continue to fall,
run, sparkle and fade
"And what did you see my darling young one?"
Her lips are dry
her throat parched
The words wobbling in her mouth
"Were you wounded in hatred or love?" she asks.
But she already knows the not-so-simple answer
when she looks in my eyes
By: Joseph DeMarco
PORTRAIT
YOUNG GIRL, SEATED, WITH VIOLIN
Scanning…
Her dress commands the scene,
Stifling the beige background drapes,
Flowing, engulfing a plush, roseate sofa
Can this have been a concert,
Either before or later?
Well? …What?
Does she actually play the violin she holds on her knee?
Or is it afterthought?
Such a pretty young miss,
Hair across her breast in one thick, long tail,
Face picture-painted, simple, no passion
Scanning…
Hey!
This is no artist!
Her music lay rumpled, scattered on the floor
If the Kruetzer Sonata, it has been badly played
…………………………………………………..
*Beethoven’s brilliant, stormy Sonata for Piano and Violin
She was a young girl and he was a gentleman and she was pregnant with his child
it was a hit and run all over the news .young girl killed while pregnant husband left alone and devasted.up from heaven above she could see him transparent and bright as she was .you got one more chance to say goodbye tonight the angel said.the girl agreed but she lied.
She went to the house that night the house of her murder and to were his pregnant wife lay she ever so softly cursed her with sadness then the murders wife hung herself.
It's a blessing and a curse
To have both food and drink
Filling the cup and stuffing our faces
But mindlessly scraping food in the sink
I picture this frail, young girl
Nothing but weak bones and skin
She can't close her eyes right now
Saliva dripping from her chin
She watches a family from the outside
She peers through the restaurant glass
Anticipating what scraps she may find
When later she digs through the trash
I picture this frail, young girl
Stunted growth and brittle hair
She is knee deep in leftover crumbs
Wishing she wasn't right there
This young, hungry girl sifers through
The sauce, bones, boxes and shame
Not sure if others can see her comb this
Leaving as hungry as when she first came
I picture this frail, young girl
She is a grown up now, still hungry