Generation Z.(1997-2012) Blossom Monyei.
Our parents think we're fast asleep ??
But we're rocking
They think we're busy studying
We've got distractions.
We've got unlocked windows,
We're party sneakers.
Our parents instructions we despise
To our friends our ears listen and we obey.
The road less traveled is the one we aren't taking,
It's filled with hardwork, rules, studies, and lots of boringness.
But the path of vibing, fame, ENJOYMENT!! we all take
We mostly dream big without working,
We even lose our minds,
Despite all of these our heads are up straight,
Even though we're held by distractions, we watch our steps
We're not just rebels, we're revolutionaries
We're not just dreamers, but the ones that'll make it happen.
“Listen to our generation's voice,
We're not just roaming around for nothing, we're trying to survive.
In this world that's complex and often unkind”
This is Just a summary, original will be published soon.
Blossom Monyei
They came
To stay
With us
Awhile
So pleased
To hug
All five!
So blessed
We are
To share
Our love
That we
Are well
Alive!
We watched
Them grow
Months to
Six years
Three girls
Two boys
Adore!
You see
They are
Our Great
Grand-kids
Born to
Our Grands
Gen Four!
Alas! Alas!
Season near past…
Age all but gone,
youth comes waddling
on our heels along: new lingo, with
movements, though awkward
youthfully strong – Alas! Alas!
Fogies must step aside~
gracefully-move-on….
Silent generation stay stoic, speechless, pout, watching time run out
Boomers shout while Gen X'ers rant
Millenials meanwhile, run fast, breathless, noisily pant
Gen Zs the end now, run can't
I am from the old generation
I don't listen to rap
Because rap is not
My kind of music
The new generation loves rap
When the new generation
Is in public
They put the rap music on
That is in their cellular
Phone
And they don't put their
Head phones on
So they are the only ones
Listening to it
The people have to tell them
To wear their had phone
I don't need to hear that rap
Music
I can't stand rap
I was born during the 60's
And there was no rap
It was the birth of
Rock in roll
They came with dust on their boots and a morning star,
Shadows of boyhood still clinging to their shoulders—
They were sons of the land, faces bright with the dew,
Carrying small, cherished photographs in their breast pockets.
They rose with the sun’s trumpet call at dawn,
A summons to arms, to fear, to death—
Yet they did not tremble,
They carried the burden like a hymn on their lips.
Mothers with hands trembling at kitchen sinks
Counted each day as an offering—
Each letter a balm, each silence a wound.
Their prayers rose with the smoke of factory chimneys.
The beaches were gardens of iron and flame,
Where the sea’s voice met the cry of youth—
The soil drank of their blood,
And the wind carried the story homeward.
O Freedom—your price is the soft hush of sacrifice,
The echo of a last goodbye in the night—
They sleep in quiet fields now,
Their names folded in the flag’s bright embrace.
Pride blooms in the hearts of those they left behind—
A tender ache, a candle that will not be quenched.
We walk in their footsteps, grateful and small,
Ever humbled by the price they paid for us all.
Discovery
Race
Thief
History
Christian
Wealth
Justice
Right
Equality
God
Bible
Truth: People of Satan
Abraham born before Jesus
They were born holding selfie.
They booked flight from the womb
Are the children of this generation.
They speak louder without sense
Yet wiser than Solomon himself
They sees beyond their parents
With food remnants on their mouth.
Right in the womb they ate wheat
Before they were born they saw you
What is it you know I don't know
Says a child from this generation.
Grannies yet sucking breast
A tree challenging forest
Difficult in accepting corrections
Are the children of this generation.
Eat your dough and bake the pan
Drink your eggs and fry the shells
Says a child who learnt nothing
Yet she knows better than granny of old generation.
Brick Wall
Have you ever talked to a brick wall?
Someone’s always headed for the fall.
They never listen to advice.
They argue with the old all the time.
They're always in denial standing in quicksand.
Never open minded but sad.
Always going in circles.
Arrogant and not humble.
The young vs the old.
There is so much they don’t even know.
I’m exhausted today and tomorrow.
Just get your head out of your ass because I said so.
Life is too short to face a hard road.
You can’t go back after the deed is done.
Sink into disbelief.
Kids can call the cops on their own parents you see.
They never pay attention.
Countless times they don’t even listen.
All the words I've said were a waste of time.
Honesty is brutal, so don’t cry.
Focus on what is right.
Don’t be misled by a stranger in the night.
Stand up and trust no one.
Being a grown up is not all that fun.
You don’t have to apologize.
One day you’ll come back and say the old man was right.
alien world
for technophobes
~ next generation
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I have found that meditation
Helps with the quiet you hope to find
It affords one the solitude
In the sanctuary of your mind
Some may travel the astral plane
Some may scoff at such ability
For the enlightened, come rest your head
On a pillow of tranquility
Standing strong, my extraordinary nation,
I still bask in the warmth of admiration.
As long as my mother tongue survives,
With future generations, I will thrive.
I paid no mind to careless words,
Though I'd pause pain if I could with chords.
All I have to give is poetry's light—
What else can I offer my homeland's might?
Instead of praising, let's seek to grow,
Blessings from elders we ought to know.
If we can't stand firm for the truth's refrain,
Surely, we'll face the bullets again!
January’s soil has barely dried,
Yet festive tunes in Almaty abide.
Amid the nation's woes unfolding,
Our blind society remains unknowing!
Clean off the deck. This is your shift.
Be careful not to mislay our gift.
Hold fast. To lose it, we can't afford.
Some things we can't chuck overboard.
Hey, where did you just throw that thing?
That was freedom's ring.
All I need is inspiration,
To write poetry every morning
As the sun is dawning.
All is I need is dedication,
To write poetry every evening,
And even when I’m sleeping.
All I need is my heart beating,
To write poetry with a passion,
In any style or fashion,
I write a poem on just a whim,
And go out on a limb,
I the beholder see beauty in everything.
I can write alliteration,
And careful of misinformation,
I write love poems with flirtation,
With careful deliberation,
Striving towards fair direction,
Love our poetic generation.
My muse eager to co-operate,
As we generate and contemplate,
And meaningfully corroborate.
Should I not be happy with my poem,
With its title, content, or a name,
I move to a process of elimination,
Poetry my passion and intoxication.
How, could I compare this generation,
whom have been given access to reap,
what they have not sown for.
To think in church in this time ,
one could play audio Bible to learn,
from the Ones who died to give this to you.
But, how the division would be in the voice picked,
and a preacher running to stop it from revealing the truth,
to talk over what the Spirit of God has given.
Church world so eager to judge outwardly,
While, we should look inwardly to come in Unity.
Through, the promised inheritance of the Holy Spirit.
Then, those outwardly would seek this Living God,
That, is dwelling within each tablenacule,
A dwelling not made by human hands,
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