I see myself at the tender age of five.
A strange loneliness I feel, and I am shy.
I wonder sometimes why I’m even alive.
I chase fireflies and watch clouds in the sky.
I’m fifteen, more confident and doing well at school.
I read, play records and dream about guys.
I like to think I’m nobody’s fool,
and I’ve no time for watching clouds in the sky.
I’m thirty and still, there’s so much ahead.
Married, with two kids, I am having great fun.
Health concerns haven’t yet filled me with dread.
I swim often in a pool and lay out in the sun.
I’m fifty; my children have long since left the nest.
I teach and write poems; I’m a grandmother too.
Except for health issues, these years could be my best.
Life’s gotten so busy. There’s so much to do!
By 70, I still feel blessed, yet also have some woes.
I care less for possessions and the world’s triviality.
I want to be grateful no matter how life goes.
I realize now my purpose seeking spirituality.
When going to school at a tender age,
The little girl would put on her socks and shoes,
Give her parents a goodbye kiss,
And run out with her school bag and lunchbox,
A smile upon her face, filled with joy and happiness,
Excited to learn a new word from her teacher.
Days turned into months,
And months into years,
Until finally came her graduation day—
The day she would leave those beautiful school days behind.
Afterward, her school uniform and school necessities
Rested quietly in the wardrobe,
Becoming memories of her beautiful early days.
She looked at them, sighed, and said,
"Indeed, this is where you finally ended,
After being with me through my beautiful early days." ??
Where is the dress, where I hold the edge of the seam
My formally flowing reservoir of dopamine?
Against her skin I made epiphanies of gold
Despite my tender age of several days old
I once vowed to not escape her silky touch
As I grew old, it turned trapping much
Beside her, now matured, I grasp my creation
She watches and grins; I met her expectations
Now with her gone, I must voyage for approval
For that is how the human mind copes with removal
Her warm aura of blossoming rosemary
It only turned out to be...temporary
I turn to face you now, Sir Statuary
Before I set off on this forever ferry
Could this destination become final?
Like my heart, which always ends on a high note?
Annmarie. By Regina Elliot
Shimmered gold thin hair, heart
shaped face,
innocent look with love’s trace.
She was petite and tanned from
the summery sun-
ivory lace dress past her knees,
how beauteous youth can be.
Those July afternoons of chilled
iced tea,
she gave birth in the years to three.
The Long Island queen,
is it a dream-
that I see you fair again so carefree,
in the days of the pretty Annmarie.
When we’re in the tender age,
we don’t think that will change,
til the thief ancient and gray
took her memory away.
I’ve wept for what you lost,
it came at such a cost.
I know you’ve had some joy
in life,
my brother’s wife.
I recall the days of the pretty Annmarie,
sparkled eyes of depth and brave,
once the color of the Fire Island waves.
I remember the melodious Annmarie,
walking with her children by the sea. ~
Copyright © Regina Elliott | Year Posted 2025
Shimmered gold thin hair, heart
shaped face,
innocent look with love’s trace.
She was petite and tanned from
the summery sun-
ivory lace dress past her knees,
how beauteous youth can be.
Those July afternoons of chilled
iced tea,
she gave birth in the years to three.
The Long Island queen,
is it a dream-
that I see you fair again so carefree,
in the days of the pretty Annmarie.
When we’re in the tender age,
we don’t think that will change,
til the thief ancient and gray
took her memory away.
I’ve wept for what you lost,
it came at such a cost.
I know you’ve had some joy
in life,
my brother’s wife.
I recall the days of the pretty Annmarie,
sparkled eyes of depth and brave,
once the color of the Fire Island waves.
I remember the melodious Annmarie,
walking with her children by the sea. ~
He's a jungle boy
Smoking his pain pills
Steadily rolling his blunt
Jumbo size is his favorite
Doing whatever makes him happy his priority.
Always smoking
When he's not, maybe he's
Asleep, bathing, eating and more
He said smoking is his hobby
Because it keeps him reasoning not thinking.
Lost his parents at a very tender age
There was no guidance
Started living reckless and dangerous
Never jealous of anyone
Always zealous in all his endeavors
Many sees him as a savior
Because he always savor every moment.
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?
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.