Long Adolescence Poems
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He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.
Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears,
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!
I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!
I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father;
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?
He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!
Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep;
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!
Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "
(“The Interworld” 2018, original encaustic)
The beauty of prose is many things can be said
In great detail,
Stories and tales, histories and philosophies.
The beauty of poetry is that when we read it or write it
We put on the poet’s hat
View through the poet’s lens
And search for layers of meaning.
In this way poetry honors and respects
The listener’s participation,
And in the doing, in immersion below surfaces,
We awaken the imaginal.
And when we awaken so
We step out of time
So the continuity of our life,
From childhood to adolescence, in growth
To sickness, old age and death,
Is made whole.
Here in the metaphor is our whole life
Made holy. Again.
(9/19/25)
The Construct of an Essence Forming
Collaborative custodians of remuneration for the poor
Commemorative symposiums on humans need for wanting more
Symbols of ancient mystery drawn upon cave walls
Thimbles of fragrant misery born from what a man recalls
A nieche in the marketplace, an advertisement that lies
A piece of someone’s face falling plastic from their eyes
The grief of the replaced calling out for compromise
Attitudes of servitude that call for investigation
Gratitude for the interludes that fall for the relief of compensation
Exactitude that can only conclude to stall the consternation
Platitudes that are borderline rude based on weak configurations
Instantaneous satisfaction born from greed and lust
Sub-cutaneous mathematical fractions that only scientists trust
Spontaneous interactions that are based on sense and must
Contemporaneous fine contractions that are born from the modes of break and bust
An ethical integrity that cannot be mistaken
Umbilical propensity that will not be mis-shapen
Ventriloquist alarmists miming political ideals
Soliloquies, pharmacists, timing hypocritical appeals
Contrite sensibility coming from a place of inherent goodness
Finite possibilities running the race of concurrent couldness
Hematite magnifications of ions colliding for war
Israelite pontifications of lions at the gates of Daniels door
Cocophonies of entropy expanding out through space
Topographies and symphonies sounding with an air of grace
Corroborrees and ancient trees expressing wisdom from a race
Soliloquies and poetry forming from a lifetime of disgrace
The basic convalescence of a soul pure as white
The corrupt adolescence as the whole begins to fight
The abrupt incandescence of a goal reaching the light
The construct of the essence of a mould in pure delight
Copywrite 2023 Elizabeth Morozl
We drank cheap beer in a rusted-out shed.
Buzzing before our 8:00 AM English class.
Trying to be cool- to fit in with the "Ins."
Instead, we're becoming the wobbling outcasts.
Spinning further out from the golden Ins.
Ah, the golden center.
Filled with jocks, cheerleaders.
A chorus line of silver thighs and golden pom poms.
Smirking at my pimpled insecurities?
But your long bomb popularity didn't stop that tree.
From slamming into your popularity.
It didn't move aside as you passed by.
Like I used to move aside as you passed by me.
You were popular in that narrow hallway of slow death called adolescence.
Now your football helmet is yellow and cracked.
Destined for a garage sale. Bottom shelf existence.
At the very center of long forgotten.
You with the pom poms and patented dimples.
Nowhere near that cocky cute kitten anymore.
Turned plump, pregnant, abandoned, aborted.
What happened to that sweet cotton tail and golden lips?
That used to pip "you'll never be with me".
Finally, after forty-plus years.
You're lying with me...figuratively.
Spread eagle atop pom pom mountain.
An outcast on the periphery of everything.
Love's Symphonic Passion
by Odin Roark
Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.
The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.
The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.
Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.
Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.
The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.
Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.
Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.
Right out the gates they slap you
And here it is, you brand new
Don't worry there's much more to come
As you take in your new view
A cold gray world to greet you
Welcome to the club
Just a kid in all you do
Do everything that they tell you
Act up and you'll be drugged
Learning early to stay in line
Mind your manners and you'll do fine
Welcome to the club
Quickly are your teenage years
Not finding friends, your biggest fear
In wanting to be loved
You clutch and grab at any straw
Try your best to bend its will
Welcome to the club
As you reach for adolescence
There's no more need to be guessing
You'll figure out soon enough
You'll learn in time to accept them
All of these hard knock life lessons
Welcome to the club
Then you reach adult years
All your hopes, dreams, and fears
Get rolled up into one
Your youthful vigor will soon become
Worn out jeans inside the wash
Welcome to the club
You watch in wonder as years fly by
Hear distant thunder from your coming life
Close but not yet done
There's a few more angry bites
To be taken out your hide
Welcome to the club
Now old and gray is all you see
Pack your bags get set to leave
As aches and pains daily beat you up
Inches away from the grave
No more need to count the days
Welcome to the club
FROM THE CITY TO THE FARM I LOVE YOU
We were children remember;
We had innocent intentions;
And the greater good shown;
We were at your grandpa's farm;
Walking through the orchard holding your arms;
This was the start of adolescence love;
Sun shining crisp clean air;
Can't wait for the summer of our life;
Horse galloping around the water trough;
I love you from the city to the farm;
Also outside the chickens walking;
Squeaking, their way of talking
We were at your grandpa's farm;
Walking through the orchard holding your arms;
Outside my mind I picture us older;
In our thirties married together;
Living our life long maybe even retire;
Come back from the city and live on your grandpa's farm;
This is how I consider building our future;
I love you from the city to the farm;
We were at your grandpa's farm;
Walking through the orchard still will be holding you in my arms;
I love you from the city to the farm;
3/09/18
©2018
For Contest: 8 WORD CHALLENGE
SPONSORED BY: Robert Haigh
Lifetimes
More than one lifetime
is lived in
and by a life.
We share our lives with a multitude of people
and each bond or connection is different
in depths or shallows of varying degrees.
The lives our parents give us are short lived
because we too soon grow
and severe the ties that kept us dependent.
We return later having realized
all we missed in that separation
and search for it to return in its simplicity.
Adolescence is the rebellious years
spent in finding ourselves
regretfully, some of us never do.
Forty is the new twenty,
the next senior generation on its downward spiral
that believes itself to be almost ageless
still searching for it.
The lifetimes at that age seem endless
always filled with something to learn
to reach out and take hold of.
Pushing seventy, wondering how I got here,
hoping it is the new fifty
my lifetime is gone too fast.
Give me more time, a decade or two more years
for I see, there is so much I’d like to do
remaining in wait in this lifetime.
Like an Axe Used To Split Kindling for Fire
Like an axe used to split kindling for fire,
Her beauty repeatedly strikes at my heart,
Encouraging sparks of desire that inspire
Me to bravely approach her without swagger.
I, in livery, and she, robed in fine cloth,
Comport in accord with that which is proper;
Express youthful, sentimental, foolish tropes,
Indulged in cautiously during our rapport.
Blustery adaptations amuse our spirits
At her pleasure, confident in my prescience.
We play charades insouciantly within limits,
Aware of time and place and our adolescence.
Music warms the heart’s revival of remembrance;
Our minds exploit these encounters with exuberance.
Camus-Pieces
by Odin Roark
Might it be…
Lives are merely spent
Putting fragments of one’s picture
Into place?
Is it random
We seek as children
Blocks placed to spell a word
In order to garner a smile
From Dada
Mama?
We seek a fit
By adolescence
Specific images dominate
Opposite sex
Same sex
Extreme sports
Identity sports
The journey is complex
Foreboding midlife
Roars onto the puzzle board
The making sense
Of love
Career
Images
Enigmas
The jigsaw no longer entertains
Inordinate curves
Corners
Subtleties
Don’t want to fit
Yet
Innate persistence
Shuffles old with the new
Determinate-sense the mission
Just like we were asked to believe
Our pieces were made exclusively for us
After all
We’re told
The puzzle maker is omniscient
He designed it all
He created this image
In a likeness
So…
How come the last piece
Always remains a ***** to fit