Long Young a Poems
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When I was young, a coughing child
Who followed Mom’s commands
Would quickly cover up his mouth
With both his little hands.
Of course, he likely spread his germs
To all that he would touch
But years would pass and protocol
Would not change very much.
Today, however, that’s taboo.
You’ll get a nasty look
If coughs or sneezes aren’t caught
In your arm’s closest crook.
I have to thus remind myself,
(The older way’s ingrained)
But lately in my armpit
My contagion has remained.
I wonder why it took so long
To add up two and two
And decide a cough in hand contains
Some germs within that goo.
I’ll speak of me past of stories once told.
Of men that rode waves out in the cold.
Tales of the strong, the courageous, the bold.
Most of them died young, a few were quite old.
The things that they done sent chills up my spine.
They’d eat mush and swill and drink rum and wine.
When they were happy, they had a swagger.
When they were drunk, they could hardly stagger.
Over and over to battle they’d go,
They’d fight dragons and monster, toe to toe.
They faced their sure death with almost no fear,
They’d charge into battle with a loud cheer.
They looked for treasure, none was ever found.
Pirates ’til death, by their pledge, they were bound.
In golden rays of dawn's first light, A son is born, a pure delight. With tender eyes and tiny hand, A precious soul, a love unplanned.
From early days to years that pass, A bond so strong, it's meant to last. Through laughter shared and tears embraced, A son's embrace, a warm embrace.
In youthful stride and growing grace, A son explores life's vibrant space. With dreams alight, he takes his flight, A beacon shining, oh so bright.
Through triumph's cheer and failures felt, A son's resilience truly dwelt. With courage strong and heart held high, He spreads his wings and learns to fly.
In every milestone, big or small, A son's achievements stand so tall. His voice, a song, his mind, a flame, A legacy that bears his name.
With passing years, the son will grow, His spirit soaring, wisdom's flow. Yet in our hearts, forever young, A cherished soul, forever sung.
So here's to you, beloved son, A gift from heaven, second to none.
Daddy somebody shot that man
I heard this eleven year old say
I didn't really understand at the time
I just knew a man was dead
But with the years that followed
I came to learn how much he meant
To this world in its great need
And how well that time was spent
He preached of equality he preached of peace
As he spoke of man as one
He marched his way down city streets
Facing adversity with the face of love
He was done with all the hatred
That fills so many lives
To him color was a vision
Of equality in his eyes
A life so young a life cut short
By the wickedness in us all
Will you stand with me and follow him
Will you heed his righteous call
To call every man your brother
The way Martin Luther King Jr. did
To keep the vision of this visionary alive
A reality in which all mankind should live
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
cultural revolution
psychedelic evolution
sporting polyester mini skirts
spouting love, not war
rebellion sprouts
flower children
wonder years
rendered drugs
Beatles blew in, humming about yesterday
evening news, Cronkite summing war today
distant shores
scores dying
small, heroic Rosa sat in front
civil rights, King’s light, confronted klan
bullets break the heart of man
good die young, a president’s child...
salutes goodbye -- nations cry
one step on the moon
for mankind
into hope
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
___________________________________________________________________
For Nette's Contest "Magic Of Decade's Mood"
By Carrie Richards
The lost class
I was watching a program called “Vera” when I recalling
I once I lived in the northwest of England.
What I remember best was the greyness of the place.
A council estate for the poor and working-class
Which often is the same.
Young skulking men with nothing to do their eyes told
me they had given up this was their life.
Young girls dress for dance hoping to get married
For love and a sittee and on the list for housing, but to do this
They had to be pregnant with one of the young men
in the street.
There are no flowers here and, a few gardens are a dumping place
for prams and broken toys.
They were not educated the system responsible does not care
To give the young a proper education, they are cannon fodder anyway.
A generation dumped before they were born.
Education for all should be free, mandatory a duty
Only then will roses grow and beauty not vandalized by those
Who has lost respect, and for those whose meaning of life meant nothing?
I am a baby boomer, father fought in World War Two
As a teen graduated high school
Left home joined the service called branch Navy
Left joined in a conflict called Vietnam War
This day, today still don't know why we were fighting for
Now I'm old an elder man
\and I can tell all you young men, (something)
I'm a pathway of wisdom, history, knowledge have been to where you're going
As I continue to talk to you, you say I'm boring
You are trying to come where I am
you the man, and young woman children boys and girls
elder man bridges the generation
Of the stories that need to be seen and heard
Pathway of honor dawn, from places of my past
I can tell you things history is my are (it last)
Rather old past middle age later life elderly
1865 somewhat aged aging ancient geriatric long lived old older over the hill
Senescent senior un young a certain age this is what I say...
I'm a road way over depression I am a time a means spanning built over life
Young man time when I am
Youth haven't fully become an adult yet, period between childhood and maturity
What am (am) I gonna be now I can finally see the bridge the generations
Rashly existence between adolescence and maturity
Haven't been here on this earth long enough to see anything, not anything I go to the things of elders past
Bridges the generations
I now go to the elders for ally they know my future and my past
Nothing new under the sun
This is what they begun
Now I am an old an alderman and I can tell all the new young men
I'm a path way of winsome history knowledge and light
Pathway of honor drawn for this is right I can tell you his things
History his story is my age, the aged
Rather old past middle age later life elderly
Now I can finally see the bridge the generations
08/18/15
Submitted to
" UNO Poetry book Poetry to Bridge Generations Elder & Youth 2015"
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Everytime he came around he was trying to be my pal my homey but everytime you think you got to know me I'm so spontaneous like the combustion banging inside the chamber of the revolution that we have started have we left our mark here is it the mark of the beast or the mark that came in the leap year as you leap then we can play leap frogs and leave all your friends in the dust and see who you can trust is it GOD or is it
Just a in must Of course I crush any adversary Of course I was more than actually there I was living I was dying I was losing my blood in the middle of the battle I heard a rattle and seen my best friend pull the trigger and kill his goddamn self I was young a was probably about 10 then I was hanging with motherers that were ringing they were bringing me alcohol and I was drinking it I was at every party and thats just the beginning of it Just cause I went back in my past and unburied a gem you couldn't sell any where of course i got some value I'm a playa and I live in a palace crooked look at the jewels of course you could never see them cause you couldn't feel them get past Peter at the doors man I swear to GOD he would hit you with the sword and okay close the gates of hell open a better chapter everything in this Life I've been chasing after it this ain't an excuse I use to train y'all yall used to follow me it was a game yall but they ain't got no woods around here or no trees either how you gonna see me if we gonna see each other Yeah it was my really my mother who saved me yeah it was really satan that tried to take me out this world now they got sentences that they're piling up of course I got a smile now maybe GOD might make me into the man of GOD HE said I was going to be my birth was prophesied about before I was ever born and I have never sworn
The first big family vacation, it was all so new
Mom found a dream ranch, a so-called “dude”
The kids were so young, a daughter not yet two
Our son only four, wanting to ride with the crew
Rafting, riding, and a real Mountain Man too,
This vacation was a hit - who knew?
As the years go by, we’ve made many friends
But over time this special week transcends
As families grow, things change
It can’t be helped, not really strange
Truth be told, our hearts aren’t ready
To agree on a change, on that we’re unsteady
Because memories are priceless, we’ll soon not forget
The ranch rodeos, Fat-Bat baseball games, and the brunch ride silhouette..
Of our annual family picture on a mountain out West,
Every year showing our kid’s growth, we are very blessed
It’s not with sadness that I write about when this might end
For it will surely open up a new door or trend
For as long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts don’t scatter
Where you go on vacation really doesn’t matter
Beach, mountains, wherever, one really shouldn’t mind
As long as you’re together, the time spent can be sublime
Oh, there are gripes, moans, and argument; it’s part of the quest
But I wouldn’t miss it, for who would have guessed
That in time as with all things, it too will naturally end
As children grow up and add their family blend
But If our good fortune continues we’ll be part of what’s next
In the knowledge that our time together is a gift not a test
Mirabella had a big garden of pretty Azaleas
and towards moon she started a tap dance,
showing her ballerina dress made by Chris;
young boys came around and stole a glance!
What was the secret that made
her so glamorous and famous?
What did Mirabella have to deserve
admiration and hundreds of claps?
Follow me and I'll tell you a great story,
her incredible beauty charmed tall
and handsome Harry instantly;
they met on the breezy Amalfi Bay;
he wasn't very young, a friendly guy
with a head full of aging grey...
and he came from Montreal!
No woman was lovelier than Mirabella when she was laughing;
it must been the Neapolitan sunshine on her sun-tanned cheeks,
it must have been the mandolin's hard trap beats
that raised her young blood as she began singing!
And Harry couldn't help smiling and throwing another flower,
she became the undying flame of a true soldier's heart;
and that flame burned until the war was finally over:
would he forget her and let their feelings turn into dust?
He took one step forward and whispered with the firmest voice,
" I've made a promise more truthful than I've made to any girl,
wait for me and don't count days, or nights, not even once:
have faith in me: because tomorrow is a wish I can fulfill! "
And Mirabella remembers her sweetheart who's too far away
and cries by the dull garden of withered flowers looking over
the foaming sea where dreams are created; do they soar faster
than the boldest eagles, or do they end in misery before midday?