Underage
A moonbeam sat on a bough just outside my bedroom window.
The beam was of the shy sort, and it didn’t frolic about
in the forest during the happy hour.
I invited it, in the moonbeam was cold; I tucked it in
a blanket, careful that there was no physical contact
us the beam was of tender age; one must take care lest the Guardian Harridans find it nasty and demand a hanging party; no more playing football or forever being an outcast, lest I repent.
Children and moonbeams like stories, and I told a few before the moon paled, and I sent the little moonbeam on its way
untouched by human hands.
It is to be,
The path that my mother took,
The guiding hand that left her at a tender age,
The foster home that taught her about rage,
The lessons she learned as she turned the pages of each day,
The education she acquired made her diligent, dexterous, and dutiful.
It is to be,
The man my mother met on her journey,
The man she deeply fell in love with,
The man who made her smile in the morning light,
The man who stood by her through the darkest nights,
The man who showed her both the old and new ways.
It is to be,
The tempest that interrupted my family's voyage,
The turbulence that pulled my parents apart,
The stranger who made my mother dwindle,
The mystery she called a riddle.
It is to be,
The end of an era,
The shards and fragments of broken bonds,
The unsent letters my mother wrote,
The songs she sang during her dark days,
Songs of hope and praise.
It is to be,
The man I have become,
The enigma that dwells in my chamber,
The mystery I sometimes confront,
The memories that haunt me,
The untold encounters that have made me bold.
It's my nephew's birthday
Kendrick by name to be precise
I feel excited and rejuvenated
His birth ignited my burning desire
Awakening my soul
Shifting my perspectives
Shedding old beliefs
He turned 1 year old today.
I admires his attributes
He smiles so bright
Naturally endowed with creativities
I wow and bow
"Whenever I watch his activities"
He's happy and optimistic
A wondrous baby, wunderkind I think.
He's differ but special, very unique.
Even at a very tender age,
He does and give what none can't
Get to know him and you'll see it's true
Wishing him a magnificent birthday
I pray his days on earth be glorious just as he's.
Happy womb escape day my amiable and affable nephew.
The game we play
Very reckless
Taking risks without measures
Even when they don't believe in us
We've always believe in ourselves
Nothing good comes easily.
Exploring beyond
Our comfort zone
That's the game we play
Staying away from home
Without any comforter or helper
From a very tender age
We did what many are afraid to do.
Even when we have no clue
We stick to our crews
Staying focus
Without apartheid
Together forever our watchwords
Doing so many crazy things to survive
Even though we're aware of the ripple effects.
Use me; abuse me,
Don't leave your heart open,
I'll take it and break it,
Leave you bleeding and broken.
Search for my soul,
Look into my eyes.
Beyond your reflection,
I'm empty inside.
Nothing but darkness,
vast empty space,
trapped behind smiles,
and a beautiful face.
Body aching,
yearning to feel.
Your touch burning my skin,
the pain making me real.
Mistreated, misguided
screaming through the silence
that entraps me and wraps me,
entwined in the violence.
Loss of innocence
at a tender age
purity destroyed and taken away
Nothing left to give
it's all been taken
ripped away by lust
my body used; my mind awakened.
All the life, hearing cluttering of weapons is rough,
Being a single daughter is tough.
Last I remember, you held me when I was six,
I was injured and you were trying to fix.
Mama died saving me, I needed immediate attention,
But your one stare and even at that tender age, I was an addition to your tension.
I felt like that day not only my mother but also my father was cremated,
For nothing remained the same after that day - ill fated.
Years passed, the distance between us grew,
Had it been ten years ago, it would have been new.
You don't answer my calls anymore,
My ears dried waiting to be called just once more.
Your missions now last for days , weeks or even months.
I waited, waited for you to get over your grief and say "Mi amore, papa missed his little girl"
Alas! I grew up, not being treated like a pearl.
With me now lying in my pool of blood,
You might be holding me close to your chest and crying a flood.
But..... You got late, Dad
There was no other option 'your little princess' had.
Loved you so much Dad, that neither words can express nor you can guess.
Like every other young girl
She holds a dream, vast and bright
But born in a land of dark shadows
That hunt and silence dreams.
Tempted by a shinning chance
She seized it with both trembling hands
Unaware of the story on the next page
A huge decision at a tender age.
Chartered, restrained like a fragile glass
Sent to a land with deceiving masks.
Auctioned to the highest bidder
Made a cleaner, a toy for pleasure, a mother.
But she’s just a girl with a dream
A dream that will set her free
From the shadows that dim all light.
Motherhood was never part of the fight.
In the universe's tender age,
One billion years past cosmic stage,
First planets spun in newborn light,
Amidst the stars, in endless night.
High radiation filled the skies,
A hostile realm for life's first tries,
Heavy elements scarce, untamed,
In starry cores, their essence claimed.
Chaotic bursts, a fiery dance,
Supernovae's fatal chance,
Gamma rays with deadly might,
Sterilizing planets bright.
Life's cradle needed calmer days,
More time to weave its complex ways,
For elements to spread afar,
Nurtured by the newborn star.
In time, the cosmos found its peace,
Allowing life its sweet release,
But in those early, fiery skies,
Life's tender spark could not arise.
Somewhere in the land of "riches"
Near the birthplace of God
A young girl is in bondage
Mothering at an early age.
Taken from somewhere in Africa
Near the birthplace of despair
Lured by promises of a well-paying job
A lucrative opportunity, a better life.
Yet, there she is, at a tender age
Living in heaven but trapped in a cage
Cleaning floors and washing plates
Forced into motherhood when it gets late.
She screams, but no one hears
She whispers to a God who seems absent
In solitude, she embraces her fate
For where else can she place her hope?
MOM AND DAD STILL HOLD HANDS
AT TENDER AGE 92
WATCH THE PIT FIRE
NOTHING MORE TO DO
BUT SITTING IN THOSE
OLD ROCKING CHAIR'S
*"Moonlit Longing"*
"Endless nostalgia fills my mind,
As I dine,
The night grants solace,
With the beauty all around,
My thoughts take flight,
Pondering if he's had his bite.
The night is enchanting,
The moon, a trusted confidant,
Gazing from his heart's abode,
Enduring pain returns to my heart.
His unspoken heart left when I was eighteen,
His searching eyes, no longer seen,
His supportive arms, still and serene,
His embrace, my pillow,
But where is he now,
Still waiting for me somehow,
In the dark night?
Where are you, my soulmate,
In the joy-filled eye, we met,
At the tender age of twelve,
Time, swift as a gazelle.
Your ambitious words still echo in my ear,
Your voice, my comrade, so clear,
Longing to meet you again, my dear.
In the dance of memories, I find my way,
Through endless nights and endless days,
Though time has parted, hearts still beat,
Cherished bonds, forever sweet
He sat upon my knee
At the tender age
of three
Completely and utterly
mesmerized was he
His very first visit
to a London theatre
He was hooked
He was addicted
just like me
Now aged 25
so many stars
shine in his eyes
Each time we go
‘tis truly a joyous occasion
For to watch live talent
for us needs no persuasion
Our latest adventure
Just him
just me
to Wembley we go
us both for to see
a man named Joe
Japanese pianist is he
Writes music
for his orchestra
grand piano he doth play
His music will stay with us
every night
and every day...
No 1242 NEW POEM ONLY' Contest Info
Sponsor Brian Strand
Through Her Eyes
It’s through her eyes, that hide her cries,
one sees into her soul
which feigns the fears and teems with tears
that time cannot console.
She’s heard the rhymes of ancient times
as elders tell their tale;
how strangers manned and took the land
and claimed to their avail.
The tribes were sent without relent,
to reservations far,
without a thought of anguish brought
which fused a lasting scar.
As hardships flailed along the trail,
they left their trail of tears,
and still today they’re held at bay
with passing of the years.
I wonder how life could allow
this girl of tender age
to bear such pain without restrain
and never turn the page.
Perhaps it’s we, too blind to see
the truth of yesterdays,
and through her eyes we should surmise
the error of our ways.
May 22, 2023
A big thank you to Susan Lawrence for letting me post this wonderful piece of art with my poem!
Our sense of style (or lack of it)
Evolves but gets its start
When we are of a tender age
(Not merely young at heart).
For many children know if they
Like shining in a crowd
And therefore will prefer their clothes
Bright, sparkly or loud.
While others like to blend and fade;
(Unnoticed would be best).
In basic clothing, unadorned,
Is how they will be dressed.
Our preferences may change a bit,
But probably not much.
The snazzy dressers and the plain
Will likely stay as such.
He walks by day the northern woods
He seeks by night the skies
He sees in stars a face he knows
And one he knows no more
He plumbs with vague suspicion
The abyss of his soul
And calculates the irony
Of what he does not know
He is at war, he is at peace
He is beyond the pale
A portrait of a modern man
At manhood’s tender age
Who knows of no restrictions
Nor limits understood
Yet knows the truths that must be told
To beggars, and the proud –
Accommodating challenges
Summoned from within
He looks beyond the you and me
For where he wants to be
And walks by day the northern woods
And seeks by night the skies
To find in stars a man he knows
And one he knows no more
Related Poems