From the womb it seems I birthed into a cocoon
Cant say I had known for sometime I was alive
Much learnt whilst unaware for almost four years
My memories say I'm one calendar says I'm five
Things that seemed important over sixty years ago
The latest shaped shoes or a top ten hit parade song
At fifteen peer pressure shaped how I would behave
Learning to discover where I would eventually belong
No manuals to assist a father raise three young children
Imparting to dependants the way I had been mentored
Dealing with an aggressive workplace, finances and self
At thirty overwhelmed, swearing in this poem is censored
A new century arrived grandfathering is such a blessing
Responsibilities of existence have largely been lightened
Now turned fifty still feeling some traces of distant youth
A positive outlook on life has recently become heightened
Having reached the age of seventy over eight years ago
As an alternative thinker there is a chance I am outcast
I am far removed from alignment with majority opinion
Rejecting thoughts postulating how much time I might last
When I was only five.
My dolls were the big thing,
we would sit and sing.
Then my tricycle I learned to drive.
At fifteen I was dating.
Boys were sure fickle,
some of their words were like a pickle.
We loved to go roller skating.
Now thirty is life half over?
Today is a new day,
no more hair of gray.
Maybe I need a new makeover.
At fifty should I retire?
Many days are way too long,
is life a game of ping-pong?
Some days I feel like I want to expire.
I never thought I would reach seventy.
Here I am,
drinking hot tea and eating strawberry jam.
Seventy is fun and not my enemy.
If l had to hand-pick fifteen poets from Poetry Soup
To meet and a share day
I know exactly who l would pick
Without doubt and straight away
We are all drawn to different personalities
Solely from the words we pen
Connections made , thoughts shared
We now have a poetry friend
The poets l would pick are varied
From different walks of life
Different cultures , different ages
Conversation and humour would be rife
Yet, when the day ended ….l wonder
Would l pick the same fifteen again
Or would l walk away thinking
Really?….what an absolute pain!
Each longs to obtain
fifteen minutes of fame.
Pawns in play,
simpleton on display.
Farcical amusement
from slapstick humans.
Spectacles in a petri dish,
slaves to their lavishments.
Analyzed and watched—
spare no expense… at what cost?
A muse for their “entertainment,”
to be the fodder at their "banquet."
Plans to steal, kill, and destroy—
bartering your soul to deploy.
Creating the pandemonium;
whence comes regurgitated solutions?
Governed by the unseen legion,
sheeple blinded by fabricated freedom.
That fifteen minutes of wantingness
now seeks solitude… and will find none.
When asked, 'If the orchestra conductor
had made an effort more concerted
not to miss the concert
and a sordid scene averted,
would he have been less disconcerted?'
"Don’t ask me, I’m only the drummer,"
replied I in chagrin.
And, altho' the name of my favourite band
is the one I am currently in,
I do like the sound of the moniker, 'Big Ben,'
it's music to my ears and have to admit,
it has a certain ring to it."
As it appeals one feels it would sell well as a bell
(at fifteen point one short tons)
and wake everyone with its loud knell.
She has not bathed for a week or two
Those pajamas have been on her at least six days
She complains of aches and pains
Moaning she has no friends
Listless, lifeless, and lethargic
Her parents are beyond worried
There is a knock on the door
A friend enters
“Let’s go party!”
Their sloth of a daughter turns into a carnival ride
Leaves twenty minutes later bursting with energy
Wearing a sequin dress, high heels, combed hair and lipstick
You cannot outguess a fifteen-year-old daughter
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHAEL
It's been fifteen years since I last saw your face
I guess trying to see you in my dreams has been one big chase
I have cried so many tears
And all I ask from you is a whisper in my ear
Every day I look at your bed and just see a space
Between all my tears I still see your beautiful face
I have so many memories of you every passing day
Today is our birthday, and I guess it will be just another sad day
Sometimes I wish we could just skip this day
On this day sometimes I don't know how to act
Or what to say
When people say happy birthday
Inside I know everything will eventually be okay
So today I will blow out the candles for you and me
Till we meet again
I know there will always be pain
And someday I will meet you again
Next time around I want fifteen fingers and twenty toes
What I would do with them, only is known by me and my nose.
I would have two nostrils and six eyes of royal sky blue.
Some could call me a monster; it would be long overdue.
My body would be corpulent, Rubenesque, Hilda-cartoon like.
My hips too large to fit in a car; they would crush a motor bike.
I would be carried on a royal stretcher, taken place to place.
In spite of this development, I would have a pretty face.
She is the queen! The call would go up, as in a battle cry!
I would be feared and revered, until I chose to fade and die.
Next time around I want hair that curls up, and touches the sky.
Fifteen fingers, twenty toes, you cannot imagine why.
I like a special drink,
All frothy green and pink!
Three or four a day,
If I had my way.
Can someone drive me to the store?
I just need one more.
Momma said, "What is in this drink?
It sure does stink!
Oh, it's very healthy.
Nothing but goodness inside.
Momma said," Can you make me one?
Oh sure.
Let me see if you have everything inside.
Spinach and tomatoes.
Squash and potatoes.
Rye and kale.
Pickles and beets.
Should be in the drink.
Grind in the blender,
Until frothy and tender.
Makes a green and pink froth,
You will remember!
Momma said," Enjoy your drink.
Don't forget to clean out the sink!"
She fooled me again!
When will it end?
Now I have to make my own drink.
That sure does stink!
I’m Not Fifteen,
death won’t be sneaking up
on me, cause of something stupid
I can’t stop myself from, not doing.
Those days of wondering how in God’s name,
I manage to still be alive, with thoughts running
through my head of situations I put myself in,
that now.
Just thinking of them, scare the Bejesus
out of me, as.
I make one of those quickie signs of the cross,
'you know'.
The kind, that are over before they start,
to let God know.
I’m thankful He watched over me.
Let me live to this ripe old age, where.
Death’s gonna come through my front door now,
and.
I’m gonna be standing there, smile on my face
happy to see him.
If l had to hand-pick fifteen poets from Poetry Soup
To meet and a share day
I know exactly who l would pick
Without doubt straight away
We are all drawn to different personalities
Solely from the words we pen
Connections made , thoughts shared
We have a poetry friend
The poets l would pick are varied
From different walks of life
Different cultures , different ages
Conversation and humour would be rife
When the day ended ….l wonder though
Would l pick the same fifteen again
Or would l walk away thinking
Really??…..what an absolute pain!
Impasto brushstrokes, fifteen sunflowers bursting in mustard yellows
Anxiously awaiting conclusions of trials
Dishonesty fading with passage of time
Veracity revealed in knowing smiles
Poetry occluding the truth in a rhyme
Blissfully following my feet in the dark
Shoulder the demons found under my skin
Afraid of the path, I’ve yet to embark
These battles to lose; for life to begin
The day I engaged; a sinister smile
Assuming blue skin; as true as your gospel
Surviving the mask, to stay for a while
Through days of denial, and demons that call
There’s war in my heart; no matter the cost
In peace that I seek, this lies in between
The demons I love; the days to be lost
I’m worried that I have yet to be seen
Imagining new smile lines I never found on you
Lullabies of fading stars to hail the morning sun
Shining light upon these scars to make me feel anew
Haunt me soon, my lovely gun; for what is sure to come
I'm almost fifteen. Can I get a tattoo?
Sorry. Not in our state...
How 'bout gender-transformation surgery?
Sure, no problem. That'd be great!
Fifteen frenzied fowls with frilly frightening feathered frocks
Pirouetting, prancing, preening against granite rocks
Generating elongated, lively lollygagging locks,
Strutting around in their striped chicken-like socks.
Sub Categories
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