Pubescent Poems | Examples

The Celebration of Pubescent Branches

Validate Spring with its plenipotentiary pollen.
Green sawdust all about the ground, car and porch -
Shaken free from the jocund trees with budding leaves.
Before the season’s even warm, they’re all in.

The celebration of pubescent branches causes us
Below to agitated fits - eyes water, nasal drips.
Still we admire the fashion of pinks, whites, and greens.
The youths, so lovely in their resurrection dress.

3/21/2023

Where Did It Go

No longer on maps
    the Fertile Crescent ~
       must have been pre-pubescent

Corsage

The toy box made of plywood painted white
my grandfather built for me when I was three
has become a time machine
a tool of torture
Why haven’t I burned its contents to ash
as I did all his letters full of lies?
Within I find notebooks in which I penned 
my pubescent musings that seem so silly now
First attempts at poetry 
that sound trite today when read 
with a much more mature tongue
that has tasted the bitter brew of experience
Scribbled quotations from history’s finest minds
Sketches of dresses I designed 
A crumbling corsage of carnations 
still sealed inside its plastic shell 
for the last twenty five years
that he pinned to my pink Victorian taffeta gown
I can close my eyes and recall 
its fresh flowery scent
feel the silky petals under my fingertips
the gentle cool early autumn breeze 
blowing over the river on my young supple skin
that single night of my life 
when every star in the sky
seemed to be shining solely for me 
I had hope then

Give Me

Not the pen and papers with the idol of words
Give me the erudite poems

Not the kisses with rosy lips and beautiful scented night bed
Give me the natural colors of all flowers

Not the stunning grace of decorated face
Give me full of starry night light

Not the lustful pubescent body
Give the heart of unselfish shapeless mind 
I’ll build there a temple of canvas
Where you are most adorable goddess of love


27.06.2020 Chattogram

The Time of Lilacs

At winter end
 comes the time of lilac
pubescent shoots tipped light green
 budding up and down each branch,
young growth stretching, flexing new muscles
 ready and anxious to answer the call;
a gentle but large white sun
 hangs low in the gray blued sky,
spring comes as it often does
 every year around this time
softly waking earth
 shaking loose the ice-cold winter drab
until all is new again 
 reborn to grow and blossom;
only time, weathered and season worn
 anguishes to leave some mark;
this aging earth draws from creation itself
 imagining its restart from memory
as humanity appears to remain
 self-absorbed, hard-hearted and indulgent
until living in oblivion
 returns to see taking in the time of lilacs,
natures bounty and beauty recharged.

I Never Wanted To Be a Mother

pews of velcro Sunday flats
little girls in plaits and jean dresses
arms folded
heads bowed
fluttering eyes from under lashes
peeking towards blackgrayblue Brothers
in their suits upon the stand

Father, Son, and Spirit
prose in archaic english dictating 
lives
	loves
		loss 
Priesthood power

ladies in cushioned folding chairs
swollen ankles crossed 
the sacred womb
preserved bodies for creation 
shoulder to knee painted into 
the coat of many colors

squalling babes in arms 
too diminutive for motherhood
pre-pubescent hips 
       pre-prepared for human polyps
homemaking lessons for middle schoolers
babysitting a gateway drug
for force-fed doctrines
and unhappy marriages

a girl’s purpose
and duty

November's Brave Rose

Brave  is the rose caught in November’s thorn
While she endures nights of chill and snow,
Awaiting gold daylight's warmth to bestow---
And liven her frame…her mouth  drooped, forlorn.

       Gently, new moon peeps into kohl  of eve 
While  its luster  reflects on this bud , soft
Like a pubescent ovule held aloft 
By elms guarding her round shape NOT to cleave.

       Though one kind-hearted owl perches  nearby
Mutely disapproving  this ghastly tread…
An obscure fog sprays crystals  overhead
Instead, wings lock against nip of the sky.

         How unwavering…in her innocence
Morning rises, its lucent gleam so young
That frozen dusk pales    with wheezes unsung…
Oh,  grit of a rose saved by providence!



Written 9/10/2018
Contest of Broken Dream
Enclosed Rhyme - September, 2018

Romantic

Resting your  wunderbar  head 
On my bare  pubescent  chest 
Makes  my throbbing  pulsation 
Adorably  align to  our  passion of 
Night  and  day chronicles while
Tending  to  your 
Irresistible  magnetic  beguile that is 
Captivating  yet  still addictive.

Gayeast Ginger Bread

I know something about being a GLBT Ginger,
the undress and redress of our left leaning politics,
like sacred naked communion
for Therapeutic Warriors.

At my best,
when adolescence urged HisHer ugly ambiguous head
through pubescent tail,
I wondered if other fire redheads
and sun speckled skins
felt this co-passioned love,
desire beyond procreative need
to touch,
embrace,
to smell,
to taste,
but not to own.

How could I have known
difference between my Ginger sensuality
and gay male nervous sexuality
without more comparative communion?

Although,
in hindsight,
perhaps not quite so much commingling
of sacred elements
I invested with integrity
for sorting out these red
and blue-black,
purplish and heated
ultra-violet distinctions
of warm wet rainbow Gay ecopolitics,
with Ginger red-yin differences,
influences,
tinctures seductive and reductive,
distinctions inductive and deductive;
Integrity of wild red unrest.

Stinging Nettle

The first among to wake up in the Spring 
The award winner, comes with a sting
Stinging Nettle pubescent and green
Cannot touch the super herbal queen

Urtica dioica is the botanic name 
Dioica is the one with European fame
Tropical cousins are all not the same
Strong and sharp, they can make you lame

Each sting is a delicate hollow  hair
Stiffened with a tip of silica ware 
Swollen base that stores the venom with care
Shoots  its payload, touch,  if you dare

Transmitters are  same as yours and mine
Acytylcholine , serotonin and histamine 
If stung by nettles, remedy is close at hand
Do not go far, Dock is where you stand

Sugar High

There was a sudden lull in the day
 when all the children sat still without play.
They gathered round the barbecue
 straining to get hamburger, hot dogs, one or two.

The adults spent the hours oblivious
 as suddenly each child grew more mischievous.

All the adults busy drinking or cooking,
 with no one really looking.
 
The kids soon became quite rambunctious  
 little pubescent vultures spurred by compunctions,
ravenous beneath the glances of their parents,
 they ate indulgently on cake, ice cream, candy and cookies aberrant.

Then came the wild uncontrolled displays
 of an influx of childhood  uncontrolled craze
and foolishly each parent wondered why
 children wantonly indulged in the magical sugar high.

Traitor To My Gender

I told you that you are the one,
of all the women I've ever known.
I told you that you are the best,
so unique among all the rest.
I told you I Love You and could never love you any less.
I praised your beauty as I watched you undress,
but now that we've done the nasty, I must confess.
I just did all of that stuff only for the sex.

To all the young maturing pubescent beauties;
This is how All Boys think during puberty.
To all of the fully matured adult ladies.
Many men carry this attitude into their adulthood unfortunately.

Why do I reveal these secrets and betray all men?
Probably because I was raised in a household dominated by women,
wonderful, loving women I might add,
and that's why I'm a traitor to my gender kind of lad.

The Big P

the big P

it was in it’s own proud prominence
the path that entered your world
innocent 
ruled by beast
brawn
blood
pressed in tensile tension
awakening in sleep
asleep in wakening
a one note song
spewed from a 
two sphered voice
spiraling into the fulcrum
of your fecundity
it was in it’s own stuttering singularity
a part pieced partly from
paltry presumptions
petulant pursuits
penetrating into palsy
perturbed then pallid
plucked
pruned
passed
into peculiarity
punctured
pitied
perplexed
into perpetuity
trapped in pubescent possibility
perambulating at the periphery
of your heart
just beyond the miracle
of profundity.

Timberland

Wide the mirrored water stretched,
licking green upon the pointed pines, limbs sweeping low and cool.

The creek meandered, soft giggles escaping mossy rocks
where polliwogs swam, nearly, but not quite frogs, still sporting pubescent tails;
the adults pontificating against the shallow bank,
throats swollen with amphibious wisdom.

Soft brown mud squished, a buttered cream,
between summer toasted toes wading into wonder.
Fragrant evening campfires heightened hungers,
supper roasting over charred coals flavored
the stirrings of a tempting crush on a boy much older;
this girl just barely navigating puberty's powerful push,
his smile extracting heightened pulse, blush brushed.

Life's long summer slipped slowly away
and autumn found his wife and child laying him down,
the plot unknown, unmarked by me;
yet, painful, still, the memory of broken trust,
of love-crust pitched to a not quite woman
deep in the rusting woods of Timberland.

Copyright, February 14, 2016

State Sanctioned Care

“And they called it - Puppy Love”
He sang barefoot upon radiator piping hot
A naked child with pubescent cock in hand
An initiation danced upon burning spot
Eyes screwed tight midst his cruellest night
His face stained beneath desperate tears
We laughed out aloud listening to initiation song
Our compassion died midst those early years 

With the back of hand replacing mothers love
Tears became the victim to lessons learned
We danced to the whims of sadistic regime
Only strong did survive, weakest burned
Any favour shown would demand such high price
With **** bleeding more common that colds
Character building were all beatings given
As were the suicides of sobbing 13-year-old's 

The comforting arms with soft female voice
Whispering words that I would so desperately clutch
Groomed early years within pillow of soft breast
Whilst satisfying carers insatiable crotch
I survived stunted growth in spite of such years
Disguising damage that I knew went beyond repair
A legacy that taints all that I have loved and destroyed
A 1970’s state sanctioned system of care

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