Best Youth Poems
Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)
Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.
Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.
Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.
R.J. Lindley
April 23rd, 1975
SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .
Note- added - 8-26-2017
Wiki-
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.
The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.
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Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.
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Note:
This poem was selected and requested for teaching purposes at Cambridge University. Permission was granted for educational use.... RJL
In a moment of juvenile jealousy
he envies his red rival
with its intimate and greedy embrace of her angels’ share
of honey and vanilla spice
as wet stretchy hands of fervent fabric
possessively cup
her brandied beauty
amidst wistful notions
to revive his parched heart
he craves to be ladled with her ardent spirits
to be cradled in the tulip of her essence -
evaporating every chill from the calyx of her sweetened cordial
warming her in the hearth of his hands
as she melts
like buttery sunbeams
intoxicating the bleached beachy sands..
his dreamy grin falters and his tantric trance fades
as tattered edges of reverie unravel -
a haze beclouds his aged green-eyed gaze
graying his white periwinkle pipe dream
as he sees that his best days are long past
Susan Ashley
July 18, 2018
Learn from the eagle how to soar with winds
Spanning your wings to conquer tall peaks
Float hopes high reaching sapphire blue skies
Triumph with your smile as the world goes by
When beset in clutches of troublesome plight
Know that a new dawn always follows night
My child, when it’s your turn, do what’s right
Even a bright sunny day must cede to twilight
If you want things easy, they won't be worth it
Learn to swing ably if you wish to score a hit
When the climb gets hard you must never quit
Things that you regret, you may never repeat
Glint someone’s clouds, be the rainbow on arc
Be the emissary of light for the adrift in dark
Edify your doldrums, be always on your mark
Lift somebody’s dawn, be the sweet song of lark
Walk along humility when tempted by pride
Learn from those saintly, living lives dignified
Hold your balance or you’ll tumble and fall
Let the mountains teach you how to stand tall
When something goes wrong, do not justify
What’s spurious and superficial, do not glorify
How well you do, rests on how hard you try
When you hear the call of duty, never ask why
Let happy thoughts reign your state of mind
When emotions overwhelm, always choose kind
Spread the wealth of love to help mankind
Be the precious gemstone that is hard to find
Glint someone’s clouds, be the rainbow on arc
Be the emissary of light for the adrift in dark
Edify your doldrums, be always on your mark
Lift somebody’s dawn, be the sweet song of lark
December 21, 2020
Placed 1st: Your advice to the youth poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Placed 5th: Your choice (41) contest by Brian Strand
(For My Younger Self)
You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.
She grieves.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.
You have lost touch with your muse,
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer,
more introspective part of yourself?
Please do not say, never.
Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless,
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.
Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace,
write once more.
Write, and write some more.
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.
Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !
31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place - What Would You Say Contest
Sweet youth, beauty
By Luna's light.
Cobalt colors
How sweet it is...
I know of great love,
There will never be enough time.
I am here for you.
What is love...crimson rose,
Love stanzas, champagne,
An arc to heaven...
Moonstruck heartbeats?
Lily of the Nile,
By the waters edge,
Romantic waters.
Mountain magic
Flash dancing with dawn.
Oh Luna...cold Moon rising,
Death's cold hand.
Behold Death.
Emma's epitaph...
Soul travel, a glimpse of heaven,
Bodies of light...tranquility.
My Waning years, reflections, hold me.
Autumn's aria, heart song,
Angel love,
Heaven
7-10-19
Collaboration Of Your Titles Poetry Contest ~First Place~
Sponsored by: charles messina
~Poem of the Day July 13, 2019~
Thank you so much for the honor Poetry Soup Team and Members. I appreciate this very much.
When the Flowers of Youth Fell
Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.
Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.
Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons
rained thunder upon the brave.
How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.
The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home.
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold.
So cold, no hearts were beating,
no breaths were being drawn,
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.
Clutched tightly in his pale fist
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
mama ...."
I tried but could not scream.
And, I felt daylight passing ....
As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers.
©deborah burch
3.08.2013
Sweet youth with its ghostly shadows of regret
encircling the mind of an aging maid...like vultures
waiting to descend
Capturing those passions left unspoken
from a self-conscious shy student in church choir.
His flawless skin drew me in like an invisible magnet.
My eyes followed his every unnoticed move
in anguished longing.
My silent lips uttered no audible words even when
he reached out to touch my long deep golden hair.
I reminisce and suddenly he's right here
His jet black hair and handsome face remain frozen
in youth as my words left, unspoken.
4-23-19
~Second Place~
Honourable Mentions worth mentioning.
Sponsor Richard Lamoureux
Contest Judged: 5/12/2019 9:11:00 AM
WHAT WAS LEFT UNSAID~HM~
Contest Judged: 4/24/2019 8:46:00 PM
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier |
spilling mother’s milk
Nature’s bounty feeds her child -
river’s youth fades fast
Susan Ashley
April 29, 2020
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Hi-Ku (5)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
My front porch welcomes your return each year.
Built like a Sherman tank with wings - the night
is filled with music to the springtime ear,
the buzz and clatter of your noisy flight.
Announcing to the world it now is June,
you fly into our lives and cast your spell,
reminding us that summer beckons soon -
sweet season of youth's freedom from school bell.
Ah yes, first love that bloomed in June's warm sun -
that first kiss, blushing like a timid squirrel
and holding hands in public with the one
who showed me I could be loved by a girl.
Your tenure brief; then by July's first day,
like childhood and young love, you've flown away.
Submitted to Summertime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Sunshine glitters across the water
in a tireless playful motion, and
a dreamy hypnotic music of eternity
ripples on through my nights.
I close my eyes, transported to a dock
of my youth where soothing waves
greet me, enticing me, inviting me, rocking me.
And I abandon myself to the lullaby
that could just as easily be the arms of a lover.
AP: Honorable Mention 2023
POTD May 22, 2023
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.
Fall and
red yellowing
leaves in the trees
an old man sitting
on a bench
watches them
fall
and thinks of his youth
a youth
sitting on a bench
looking into his iPhone
simulates the falling
red yellowing leaves
and googles
the future
of trees
When I got home from camp today,
My parents almost died.
They asked me how I got this way,
And here's what I replied:
"This little cast from heel to hip
Is nothing much at all.
Some broken shingles made me slip
From off the dining hall.
"The poison ivy's not so bad.
It missed my back and chest.
Of course, I guess I oughta add
Mosquitoes got the rest.
"I tried to eat some hick'ry nuts
And cracked a tooth or two.
And all these bruises, scabs, and cuts?
I haven't got a clue.
"I got the lump that's on my head
From diving in the lake.
I should have watched for rocks, instead
Of grabbing for the snake.
"That leaves this bandage on my chin
And these three finger sprains,
Along with lots of sunburned skin
And sniffles from the rains.
"And oh, I got a muscle cramp
And very nearly drowned.
It's some terrific summer camp,
The coolest one around."
Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
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