Having tasted substance abuse,
today in truth,
many of the young
are wasted in their youth.
But 'God damn' only the pusher
you didn't oughta
as, without the doer,
the dealer, he'd be dead in the water.
One and the same, they're both to blame,
as off each other they will feed,
the former for avarice, a.k.a., greed,
the latter for a misconceived need...
if not to allay his fears,
but cede to the pressure of his peers.
If only my life I could live over again
and the years unfold in my daily scuffle,
as at the thought of growing old,
I recoil from this mortal shuffle.
With apologies to; George Bernard Shaw (1856 – 1950) and William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Lets all leave our mothers breasts
And run off to the woods to test
Each other’s heart to see whose best
At killing or at dying.
Whitey you must bring the gun
Blacky you bring the knife for fun
We'll play to see who will run
From killing or from dying.
Last year Yellow played all wrong
He sat and sang a protest song
Till everyone just went home
No killing and no dying.
But now we have a brand new rule
To save us from another fool
If you protest and can’t be cool
We’re killing and you're dying.
Lets all leave our mothers breasts
And run off to the woods to test
Each other’s heart to see whose best
At killing or at dying.
When you are old and young at same time
Thoughts and emotions keeps getting into a war all the time,
People seems to know more about u than your own self
You'll be passing through roads which you can't cross without help,
Most of the time will pass in things that'll never make sense
One can be living with no worries and other will always stay tense,
Maturity can be on time or it may sleep till late having its own regime,
Some will say its just a stage of life
Some consider it a time with lots of lies or delight ,
One will say it was easy to pass and other will say it was just a piece of draft,
Some will be waiting for its arrival and some maybe be wondering how long it gonna stay,
Its different for different species I wonder how its for me or you
You maybe remembering ur old time or wondering like me
You can also be waiting for its arrival as or its already your rival?
Well for me its just a collection of lines delivered by a small piece of mind..
My grandson on the phone full of mirth, life and love
Then it happened. His voice cracked. Just a little.
But it cracked.
He is changing. The change that we all remember.
The child is fading into the man.
I will miss that child as much as I want to meet that man.
All I can do is watch from afar.
My grandson on the phone full of mirth, life and love
A seriously sad seventh son of a soldier entered prime prejudicial puberty
With love and luxuriously liberal thoughts in his hyper hallucinating heart
He was set on dating a diabolically darling daughter of a serious celebrity
So should he go to Hollywood? Hail a bus? Hire a taxi? Where to start?
Where to start? Where to start?
Hair on legs isn't really that weird
One fine morning something had appeared
One leg said to the other
"Look at our little brother...
I think, Shorty...is growing a beard"
Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
2/3/2020
With glasses now I'm "four-eyes?" (Yes, I'm skinny. Yes, I'm plain.)
But it baffles me you noticed since you haven't got a brain.
My skin's so white! No kidding? Well, in the summer I'm bright red!
You too were born my color and you'll be it when you're dead.
I'm frigid and unloving ‘cause I won't go all the way?
Well, you don't even turn me on. I bet you turn girls gay.
I got "lucky" playing ping pong when I beat you? Is that right?
So strong I've grown, I bet today I'd beat you in a fist fight!
Sept. 22, 2019
100 words, checked by wordcounter.com
for Caren Krutsinger's Any Poem You Want To Write Exactly 100 Words Contest
AFRICA’S PUBERTY
When puberty sets in,
The wind feels good on
A little leg and thigh,
Some belly button
And budding bottom.
Tattooed dames,
Sexily renamed
From Elizabeth
And Isabelle,
To Lizzy
And Bella,
Storm into the world;
Boobs growing as fast as hearts
To be squeezed and broken.
Carrying heads of baskets
Filled with liquid counsel,
Speeding off on the fast lane
On the high way to remorse,
Surely to crash home
On the streets of Accra Ghana
Or the ghettos of old town Bamenda
Like those of downtown Soweto
As teenage mothers
Or as daughters of prophets
With gowns and scarfs
Over their scars.
Palms raised in supplication
For husbands of any sort
For whom they know
They will never bear kids.
I have walked roads so wide
I have seen beauty held in pride
To be frank,
You’re beauty’s bank
Your body has a voice
That weakens my choice.
You’re a woman to fill my life
Someday, you will be my wife
Darling, you’re too rich in beauty
For poverty
And too mature for puberty
Beauty and poverty can’t share a hand
I hope you understand
Black Rose
You’re today my pride
Tomorrow my only bride
For you, my love is loud
Like a thunder in a cloud
She was the supreme craze
That had ever happened to me after puberty,
She was all that my wishes had been,
Her kiss was just right,
In that sincere frame of psyche.
She made me joyous,
I really wanted her;
But suddenly I was so afraid
Of the love I felt for her,
The way she loved me;
It was so bona fide,
I was so scared at the end,
I hid my face from her:
I was glad she was not calling,
I knew she was aching in sore silence,
I was searching for my peace,
Those depths of me
That love never gave me;
I had three knife scars on my back.
A father takes, eyes closed, that which he has no right
A child cries, traumatized, a closet hides her pain
The child dies, awakes to find- a woman in her place
her damaged mind- cannot abide- the change her body makes
The woman stands- naked and alone- facing mirrored images
backs away- cuts today- appraising all her damages
rearrange- her bodies change- sculpt it down to size
to take away- the ugly place- I cut it with a knife
if the boy did not return from the rhineland
he remained social and loquacious
he versed in music and was quite ambidextrous
his toy airplanes glittered in the sand
he lost his footing, he showed his hand
he sought to be carless and frivolous
his senses remained extemporaneous
he listened carefully for the iron gland
his gift was not to be unfounded
his turn was never to be
at long last, he finally did blossom
though lonely and confounded
to the flames of woe in the sea
his mind was wretched, among the flotsam and jetsam.
As she spread her crest, sweet fumes filled the air.
From a humble bud, she turned to a beautiful red rose,
Ripe enough to make a garden of its own.
With her scent, insects flew,
Tempted to taste its sweet milky bottom.
That's what happens when a flower blooms!
Altered, boisterous, confounded, disruptive, energetic, fine-tune, growing.
Hyper, inquisitive, jokesters kindling love, mystified.
Nervously obsessive, pubescences question radical substance, surprising.
Teasing, uncontrollably visiting wild, xanadu youthful zest.
Copyright October 15, 2014
Puberty
Pull his pants down not his teeth.
He believes he is defeating me.
All I want is for him to be neat.
Pull his pants down not his teeth.
Old ladies are standing in the street.
Cat and Jessie is talking to each.
I wonder why they begin to preach then I heard all say
“Pull his pants down not his teeth.”
_________________________________
PENNED ON AUGUST 10. 2014!
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