Long Teenagers Poems
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She walked to the clinic
Her legs trembling
Her heart pounding
She had no choice but to agree with him
Its a decision my made together to do this
He was quite
yet a lot of noise was in his head
pictures of how many times he had done it
were playing in his mind in HD print
He remembered all the kisses
All the different romances
with different lovers
And felt like running away
From this sweet sixteen
They had no choice
he had promised her many times
never to 'release' into her
this time it had happened
Two weeks back
At the Casino
where she smoked her first cigarette
as he enjoyed the pipe
She was scared that her dad would kill her
He was afraid his faithful wife would find out
They were afraid of the disease
They walked together but like strangers
She remembered the first kiss
with him and felt strong
He looked at her sweet eyes
and courage flowed in his veins
like the Nile into dry Egypt
This was only temporary
as they reached the clinic
and met the physician
who looked at them and asked the man
Is she your daughter?
He didn't say anything
She looked down shying away
The doctor got all answers
As he stated the test
She prayed: Dear Lord if you get me out of this
It wont do it again
He prayed: Dear Lord if you only pardon me here
It will never ever happen AGAIN
A prayer God had answered
More than seven times
On different teenagers
She wished If all comes to the worst
at least she walks HIV positive without the pregnancy
He wished at least they find her pregnant than HIV positive
The doctor did well what he was being paid for
As he tested the blood did the urine pregnancy testing
Then came with the results
The way he stood before them it was hard
To predict the result
The man's heart beat faster
The girl breathed harder
The doctor stammered something
None of them heard it
The doctor decided to do the right thing
Give them counsel before the results
They sat like the saint peter's monk and nun
As the man he held paper that had the fate of there future
Spoke for one full hour
They all promised to take the right path
Then he gave them the results
ALL Negative
That night they chose to celebrate
The results together
And
They
Did
IT
AGAIN
Are we all going looney,
Or is it only me,
When shopping at the market,
Some peculiar sights I see.
Colourful people,
Mingling in the crowd
Costermongers shouting,
Way too loud.
Toddlers crying,
While sitting in a trolley,
Parents pacify them,
With a dummy or a lolly.
Someone singing,
Or playing the guitar,
And bells ringing,
Somewhere from afar.
Tramp's begging,
To buy a loaf of bread.
A dog lies in the gutter,
Bedraggled and dead.
Tattooed teenagers,
And adults too,
Why do they need to do this?
I don't know, do you?
Dreadlocks on many,
Fellows and girls,
Whatever happened,
To quiffs and curls.
Women wearing pants,
And men in dresses,
Individuality and equality,
That is what they hope this expresses.
There is life in a busy market,
A pulsation all can feel and see,
If it sounds like madness.
Madness is good enough for me.
The library is a well.
Everyone drinks here without coins,
without proving they deserve water.
Come inside.
The old man reads his newspaper by the window,
teenagers cluster around computers like moths to light,
a mother spreads picture books on the floor
while her children build towers from blocks.
This is the hearth where strangers warm themselves,
the table where rich and poor sit down together,
passing knowledge like bread,
hand to hand.
Outside,
the world charges for everything,
a chair costs money,
warmth costs money,
even standing still in the wrong place costs something.
But here the door opens.
Here the librarian says How can I help you? to everyone,
no matter what's in their wallet or their past.
This is what democracy looks like up close:
bodies in chairs,
hands on books,
people teaching themselves to grow
toward light like seeds in a shared garden.
When the library closes,
we scatter back into the cold world.
But tomorrow the doors open again,
the lights come on,
and we return to this last free place,
this harbour,
this home we're learning to protect.
I was six years old, the year was 1966. Mom left me alone in a plaza
with my one year old sister in a perambulator.
She went inside to do the grocery and asked me to take care
of her while she picked a few items;
Along came two teenagers. Inching closer to the carriage they peeked inside,
"OOOOH she's cute, is this your baby sister ?"
The next comment froze me where I stood,
"We are going to take her, " one of them said,
while the other grabbed the handles of the carriage
They shoved me aside and took off.
I was in shock but I managed to run inside. Sobbing I told my mom
they had stolen my baby sister ;
Mom ran out of the store and chased after them.
They ran fast but mom ran faster with me lagging behind.
Suddenly they got scared when they heard her yell and pushed the carriage in the middle of the road. Mom grabbed it before a car came by,
but slashed her leg on the steel frame while saving my sister from a car.
All my life I have had an intense fear of losing someone dear
Mom and dad both are both gone now, but the memory of that day
will live inside of me forever.
This is a true story and it happened to me.
June 5, 2021
Contest Name: A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponsor Name: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Life is an amazing adventure
Not for the faint of heart
The ups and downs, the challenges
Can weaken resolve from the start
When you're a very young child
Things seem so simple each day
Biggest decision you're faced with
What kind of game to play
Girls don't enter the picture
They're annoying and spoil the fun
Whoever invited them to play?
They can't even shoot a gun
All they want to do each day
Is play with their dolls and stuff
They never want to go climbing trees
Or wrestle to see who's tough
Sooner or later we become teenagers
The girls seem quite different now
Our attitude towards them changes
Suddenly we're moonstruck, kerpow!
Next thing you know it's junior prom
And we're trying to show we can dance
Not much rhythm here I'm afraid
Like a turkey walking round in a trance
Meet your soul mate and then you marry
Buy a house with a view of the lake
Soon you're blessed with a couple of kids
Then you're Grandpa for goodness sake
Well that was a whirlwind journey
Through a lifetime of happy and sad
Now be honest, you loved every minute
'Twas the best time you've ever had!
A Statistic
Sometimes I feel tired of being in my own skin....feeling overwhelmed with sin that’s not my own...sorrow overbearing with thoughts of black teenagers that will never be grown...men, and woman dying as children...because they were shot by cops that are the same color of my skin....so now I am another statistic...reason being...is from what I’m seeing...my skin is seen with privilege...because I’m not black I lack the same disrespect from cops that Tyrone might get...and yet I feel tired of being in my own skin...feeling responsible for the many wrongful deaths....in all depths...from wanted to be a cop...wearing a badge of a cop...to holding the gun of a cop...when will it stop...the motto is “him or me”....them or we...shoot to kill...not disable...because you leave him or her able to come back the next day to bring more to the table....apprehending is now becoming a fable...or turned into one...it’s easier to do damage with a taser or take a life solving problems permanently with a gun...than it is to disable make unable to run...no lesson to learn from...I might be white as so that’s the color they call my skin...but I’m from the same east New York Brooklyn city line shopping neighborhood black kids grew up in...as I grow older I grow colder to what police officers are trained to do...”Shoot to kill...not disable to make unable...to come back the next day to bring more to the table”.....as much as I would refuse to be a bullet ballistic...I am just like everyone else who is the color of my skin A statistic...
Dancing in the widow peak, doing the watusi as only hair knows how to do
The flamingo pinked up in face and beak, annoying man and dog.
Prancing along comfortably, her light blue eyes laughed and whistled.
Beyond caring how the masses would perceive her pleasured craziness.
Craziness inspired by unicorn breath that danced among flowers and song.
Sight unseen, but heard and often, in the bowels of the juice box breathers.
Nose tried to go along, but had a mind of her own which was reluctant.
Resilient certainly, as her face was proud in its persistent preservation.
Masses did not care, did not know, did not imagine or care about her in the least.
Also thirteen, the year of the superficial dragon, creature and all-knowing beast.
Fired up, dancing carelessly as teenagers do whose brains are on fire,
The flamingo laughed, issuing orders, dainty whispers echoing in her nose hairs.
One group of activists decided to fight.
To see family lose their sense of might.
Three people involved in each battle.
For the patients each feeling like cattle.
Five days of care each week is not enough.
Sixty year olds help their moms with the stuff.
Seven days a week is the demand on staff.
Eighty year olds represent patients by half.
Nineteen is the century the fighting were born.
On the fence hoping for repairs of minds worn.
Eleven is the hour at the end of a tough day.
Twelve is a base caregiver hourly rate of pay.
Thirteen is their grandkid’s bar mitzvah year.
For the teenagers, ending up like that is a fear.
Fifteen is the age they get behind the wheel.
Six teens riding grandpa’s car, so easy to steal.
Seventeen is the number we aim to complete.
Of our daily ground pushing of hands and feet.
If you wonder why I wrote this special rhyme.
It’s the memory of lost family, taken by time.
Pushups are the weapon that this army fires.
These bodies strengthen when the mind tires.
Challenging muscles with full body tension.
Using Facebook to get supportive attention.
We grind out numbers daily, big and small.
Uplifting strugglers when they trip and fall.
Getting our hands dirty just like caregivers.
Seeing the decompensation brings on shivers.
I’m mustering the strength from palms to toes.
To push back and hit the disease in the nose.
It may take over many of us when we get old.
But for now I push back and will never fold.
cat and mouse life keeps me busy all day,
work late, earn some money so I can pay!
At work have a difficult boss to please,
when back home with wife, problem doesn’t cease!
weekends home should be for love rest and peace,
But have to do home chores can’t rest with ease!
two teenagers home are such a menace,
their day lost texting or fancy romance!
Friends invite me to a round of beer, golf,
but wife has ears on like a pack of wolf!
I dread weekends her mother comes to stay,
would saved problems, if her husband was gay!
look forward sometimes to game of football,
dog keeps company, my only true pal!!
why give up freedom to end up in mess?
hope against hope but problems won’t regress!
Written 21/03/2021
10 syllables each Iambic pentameter
Janice Canerdy sponsored
Rhyming Couplets contest!
rhymes checked at rhyme zone.com
It was the Main Street hangout for the teenagers of its day.
For a nickel they could dream as they heard the jukebox play!
Wispy white metal chairs surrounded tables topped with glass.
(There were secluded booths where lads could woo their lass!)
From the tin covered ceiling hung a fan with its whirring blade,
And arrayed along the soda fountain were the tools of the trade.
Symmetric white and black tiles covered the spotless floor.
A gleaming steel and marble counter completed its bright decor!
Presiding over all was a guy oddly named the "soda jerk."
Clad in impeccable white, he took great pride in his work.
He was a wizard at his craft and when his sorcery was done,
He'd whipped up a heavenly treat that couldn't be outdone!
A Hamilton mixer, scoops and ladles were the tools of his trade.
In a trice he'd make a root beer float or some tasty lemonade,
Hot fudge sundae, banana split, soda or strawberry shake,
Cherry coke or any such concoction you'd ask him to make!
The "soda jerk" did his duties with consummate skill and grace,
Always with a ready quip and a contented smile upon his face.
Fast food joints or drive-ins today do not have that elegant flair,
That yesteryear's soda fountains and ice cream parlors had to share!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)