Long Puberty Poems
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Behold the cold village watchtower fog
and holiday summer fields bundlin' hay,
the Officers Club back door buyin' grog
till all our money slowly pissed away!
Up the back roads hoonin' in the hot seat
and down Sparkin Hill runnin' on fumes,
or ride that city bus into Queen Street
after school up in the snooker rooms.
And lock and load shoot to kill in dead fall
the winged corpse of blackbird and pheasant,
when fools, tricksters and gamblers staked all
in the gamin’ rooms of Hitchcock Crescent.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the sins of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
In the bright burnin’ lights of the prison
runnin' like a fugitive in the night,
and as the last beer and hormones kicked in
so did crimes of passion in the moonlight.
In rush of young blood in curves and curls
between the sweaty bales of Percy’s barn,
where tales of turgid boys and bare-arsed girls
spread like the clap village rumour and yarn.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the sins of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
And in my rum soaked body and soul
hungover in my DTs and detox I lay.
Smokin' doobies of Acapulco Gold
sorely truly fu*ked on my bed of hay.
Through all my changes I was a dreamer
and lived a trepidation and a ruse,
but when she lay bare and I between her
I lived the dream in my puberty blues.
Oh youthful crimes and misdemeanours
in Hillmans, Zephyrs and Cortinas.
And when the lusts of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
Written: April 2000
The Path To Least Resistance -
By: Sue S. Side
Amp pull ease just sparked insight,
I suddenly became aware,
(actually self actualization
came ohm to roost - dare
ring with mighty stir since this
Earthling orbited thru the atmosphere
back in time many a passing,
quickening, and rip snorting year),
how my current psychological,
neurological, and emotional despair,
sans crafted - plane vanilla
existential plight grounded, nixed,
and shorted former spunky,
quirky, and goofy boyish air
snuffed out, hopscotched
(along buttery, bow jangly rocky
unlevel road i.e. skeletal derriere)
extinguished courtesy nihilistic fanfare
with counterproductive antiwelfare
of self, when just a tendershoot, nothing
boot bag of unlovely bones when bare
grim reaper das scythe
did to hunker down
specifically anorexia attired
with trademark black hoodie wear
firmly entrenched, would
not budge, clear
out, nor disappear
matter of fact arrogant behavior
cannibalistic ornery rode
roughshod, and cavalier
dauntless demeanor debonaire
leaving body electric
in utmost disrepair,
lo parents trumpeted
state of emergency
and sought out consigliere
one Doctor Ted Goldberg care
fully applied his deft, heft,
whence nervosa finally left
after quite long stretch of time
not without a fight,
and permanently sear
my esprit de corp
undermining foursquare - buzzfeeding
every epidermal micro hectare
pot tent lee loosed pendulum
within pit of mine being, a nightmare
minimally livingsocial, linkedin
to tomb ma birth family prepare
ring to die just on verge of puberty
analogous to bot sized
wrecking ball lob
bing within me tummy scare
ring the Bejesus
from those who begat me
nonetheless felt immense care
and concern helpless, and lacked app
nowadays accessible within sphere,
viz zitting world wide web,
now holed up in mancave sitting here
reflecting how I sabotaged
vitality, virility and vim stunting
maturation across vast swath of yesteryear!
Two genders
when we were toddlers, we played in the sandbox
and hide and seek, we didn't think about whose
gender we were
a few years later, the girls refused to play with
us boys, we were too active climbing walls
and they went back, playing with dolls, I presume
doing needleworks
A few years later, we realized they were girls
they strutted down the street arm-in-arm
haughty as one gets
Near them were silent, blushed like the girls
knew what we were thinking
When one of the boys confessed he had kissed
a girl we were impressed by his daring
But "small kettles have ears." I had overheard
the adults, talking about two seamstresses
living together, giggling about who was the man
I didn't know, at the time, what they were
talking about
People, nature had made different were called
funny people, no one cared that if they were
not men were called perverts, condemned
they had to move somewhere no one knew them
a difficult life
I'm glad to say we are more at ease with men
liking men
The thing is, there are only two genders, regardless
of tendencies, nature had made them
It is about biology; there are no third genders
when I hear children are given puberty bloggers also
surgery in some instances is performed, my blood boils with anger
you see, if an unfortunate boy has surgery, he is
biologically masculine, people who do this to
other people should be prosecuted and jailed
PS
I have deliberately avoided words like
and , as they didn't exist in my working class
childhood
...They told us it was ‘tolerant’
to not care if people were gay,
just letting those folk live their lives,
how could it hurt us anyway?
They said that we were spinning lies
when we spoke of a slippery slope,
but once they got that first wall down
they declared that anything goes.
That anything people believe
must be seen as morally right,
sure, it may be depravity,
but go on, and do what you like!
Now we’re seeing ugly drag queens
thrusting their hips in a kid’s face,
kids who have not hit puberty,
and teachers cheerlead this disgrace!
We’ve got people taking hormones,
openly destroying their health,
to pretend they can change their sex
(And give corrupt doctors great wealth).
Some people even want this for
children who are too young to think,
sterilize them for all their life,
and to greater depths do some sink!
We got crazies who think it’s fine
to see children as sexual,
we have slid so far down that slope
they’re trying to ‘tolerate’ pedos!
How many souls are hurt by this,
what evil will they not make light?
We thought we could remake mankind,
but no, the Christians were right.
They told us that we’d need no God,
some even declared He was dead,
we must build up our own purpose,
the whole world was just in our heads,
and people, wanting no constraint,
no reminder when they’d done bad,
embraced this with greatest gusto,
they wanted this, it made them glad.
But with no greater moral stake
by which you can measure against,
behaviors becomes relative,
and we’ve all seen what happened then.
Socialists killed tens of millions,
for the devil known as the state,
the Fascists killed off millions more,
mankind made an idol of hate.
Even here in our modern times
we see this sickness in our youth,
there isn’t really ‘right or wrong,’
just your personal point-of-view!
No dishonor in stealing things,
no treachery in telling lies,
in nihilism nothing’s wrong
so long as the cops don’t drive by.
Why do people cheat so much more,
be it with their partner, or job?
Because they feel they won’t get caught,
no greater meaning, if there’s no God.
Dishonest, depressed, with no purpose,
no wonder they don’t value life,
man cannot make his own meaning,
so yeah, the Christians were right.
Both Mom and Dad felt so very ill at ease.
Impotent when it came to discussing the birds and bees.
Reading up on how to handle a subject so delicate,
Determined to provide Johnny with knowledge accurate!
Sit down, there's something we need to discuss with you,
And it ain't your acne - it's a topic about which you have no clue.
Nothing will be held back - we're laying everything on the table.
Don't be shy about asking questions and join in if you're able.
Because this matter is so important we want you to be well versed.
Endure with us because we want you to hear it from us first.
Excuse me Mom and Dad, save your breath, 'cause you see,
Sex education was thoroughly discussed in school during my puberty!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 10 in Carol Brown's "The Birds and Bees" Contest - September 2010
Fascination rodeoed on Jacob's face
When Grandad related battle tales
from his years fighting Vietnam War
Distant fathoming is fantasy implored
Rough ideas imagine a glorious place
With regal intention, Grandad faithfully gifted
his jungle enduring life saving switch knife
Italian stiletto, retained in top condition
Jacob thanks Grandad with astonishment
The fine strong blade with honour he polishes
Keeps it safely stowed at back of drawer
Its service integrity seemingly assured
Responsibility entrusted, Jacob acknowledges
Two years pass, horrid puberty hovers
Revealing sections with strange offers
Teenager by curious cruelty besotted
Living overseas after parents divorce
His Father, Jacob's blame directs towards
Though Mother and sister sympathise
Depth of his heart's injury not realised
Concept of vengeance dangles reward
Rejected by fast forging peers, villified
He arrives at midnight to party uninvited
Logic abondons him, seething survives
Beer drinking back yard teens, Jacob's target
Blade illuminates license available in pocket
Adrenalin aids the yank of sitting enemy by the shirt
Veins driven to violence feed voice strewn with hurt
Frenzied Jacob in chaos grabs weapon, then drops it
"What the Hell, man!" shirt fronted spits, appalled
Reality oozes in Jacob's ears, vengeance withdrawn
Quick onlooker obscures blade, blind inside handle
17th June 2020
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap wings
in a heaving wind. Dead birds
emerge from wet print. Once full condoms
spilled now to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house.
Rubble and verge limn a floor-plan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul concrete.
Black bags regurgitate
bacon rinds.
A boy finds treasures; a nickel can-opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a chewed Superman doll.
That night his closed eyes
fly over the city with a naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opens up his young mind
into puberty.
My name, it is Reginald,
and I’ve got a story to tell,
some folks, they will not like it,
they’ll cry out,”Go to hell!”
You see my wife beside me?
it wasn’t always this way,
’cause for the past ten years now,
I’ve been living an ex-gay.
If this makes no sense, relax,
some days it barely does to me,
all I can say is that it started
All the way back in puberty.
In the locker rooms in high school,
I gazed with hungry eyes,
never tried to deny it,
I was attracted to guys.
My first time was senor year,
with a friend-of-a-friend,
in the backseat of his car,
where we did not have to pretend.
And when I went off to college
it was just like a vast buffet,
with professors so accepting,
good lord, how did I play…
But later in my junior year
something strange happened to me,
I found myself staring hard
at a woman of great beauty.
She was a junior professor,
and oh, the shape she had…
but I shook it off as crazy,
maybe I’d taken something bad?
And although I brushed it off,
a week later in came again,
this time an Asian cheerleader
when over she did bend.
All senior years I’d catch myself
sneaking girls a lusty glance,
but I kept seeing the fellows,
convinced I was a gay man.
After college it grew slowly,
found myself going on the net
to admire the female form,
but I couldn’t admit it yet.
Predictably, my relationships
never traveled a sunny path,
and at twenty-six I met a man
but knew it would never last.
Three weeks in he was out of town,
I went down to a local club,
got real drunk, picked up a girl,
took her home and we made love.
And still I couldn’t say it,
I kept on putting up a front,
but when backs turned I went out
to get myself some…fun.
Finally that boyfriend left me,
and I spent the next two years
going to shrinks, talking to priests,
confused and full of fear.
It was only sitting in a park,
on a bright and crisp morn,
that I bumped into a woman
who’s eyes promised so much more.
At first I feared she’d run from me
if she heard the messy truth,
but then years later we stand here
still bound by a love true...
Never Too Late To Say "I Love You" Until...
Futile lamentations reverberate along
corridors of times long gone, this papa
tearfully apologetic revisiting his base,
fitfully lachrymose torturing unrelenting
voluminous wrongs against thee dearest
precious daughter aware poetic/ prosaic
ministrations cannot substitute bonafide
nor ameliorate cumulative forsaken joys
requisite to bolster compromised delicate
innocence exhibited upon begetting deux
darling (wool worth more than fine spun
gold) healthily nurturing priceless progeny
two quickly grown to young womanhood
priceless offspring, whose treasured quasi
nubile kindled joie de vivre far surpassed
petrified plaguing yours truly (particularly
during pre/ post pubescent phase), outlook
grim to take life by the horns, nee apathetic
pestiferous psychological, frankly zapped
wracked, plagued aversion to live steering
any natural borne autonomy, (within meek
minecrafted muffled mortgaged self) bereft
existence, (albeit manifesting during latter
sainted days of boyhood), a death grip vis a
vis anorexia nervosa (robbing, stunting, and
halting critical puberty) against attaining my
maximum potential, nee then and every sub
seek went till present day truncating, stifling
raining aftermath of torturous, noxious, jinxed
insufferably hellacious, (hence reiteration to
cease livingsocial, rather antisocial) under_
scored, ordained, narrated by whirled series
of unfortunate events, (without courtesy of
Lemony Snicket), which passivity degraded,
exacerbated, fouled... gradual punctuation to
adulthood overridden when me as man-child
never tested survival, but found this scrivener
beating hasty retreat defeated by emotional
illness demarcating the Waterloo which I
fitfully fought when mandatory ultimatums,
measures, dictates...forced eviction within
cocooned hideaway (such as bedroom at 324
Level Road), which parallel repeated when
decamped at 1148 Greentree Lane, the latter
poisoned your welfare, with dire declaration
of toxic dependence (Zison's harshness) fed
deprivation, and desperation, while ye bore
brunt of emotional, financial, mental...fallout
indelibly etched within impressionable
Tabula Rasa, now the anguished suffering
ye unfairly experienced.
AU REVOIR!
IV.
Lia called himself a woman,
though his chromosomes disagreed,
inside he felt he was female,
he made that his identity.
In the second year of high school,
the woke faculty played along,
but Lia would not face the knife,
even if his body felt wrong.
Now Lia was fond of running,
and he went out for track and field,
some of the girls didn’t like this,
but the coaches made them all yield.
At the first race he outpaced them,
breaking the records as he ran,
the teachers all declared him ‘brave,’
but beyond that he won few fans.
Parents showed up at school meetings,
decrying how this was not fair,
a man who’d gone through puberty
simply had no real business there.
Their daughters who had trained so hard
were now cheated, no chance to win,
since a man racing meant it all
was over, why even begin?
What was the point of women’s sports
if it now was open to men?
soon enough guys would rule it all,
like the 1950s again.
Lia was shocked by all this talk,
how dare they rant and misgender?
She went online to call them out,
but most just called him ‘pretender.’
Declared he was an ******* who
couldn’t compete against the guys,
that his ego needed stroking
so he flipped to the other side.
The female runners hated him,
and refused to associate,
rhe male runners thought him a joke,
their mockery stung more than hate.
Lia found out, when all was done,
that nobody really was ‘trans,’
a man cannot be a woman,
a women cannot be a man.