Young A Poems | Examples

Pirates

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.

The Lady and Her Dragon

In a valley where the rivers wind,
Lived a lady with a heart so kind.
Her hair was gold, her eyes were bright,
And in her arms, a dragon’s light.

She found him young, a scaly green,
Lost and hungry, never seen.
With tender hands, she healed his soul,
And in return, he made her whole.

They soared the skies on wings of flame,
A bond so deep, it had no name.
Through forests dense and mountains high,
They chased the stars, they kissed the sky.

He roared when danger came too near,
She calmed him with a whispered cheer.
No knight could harm, no storm could fright,
For they were bound by love’s pure might.

In the darkest night, they’d dance and sing,
The lady and her dragon, taking wing.
No castle walls, no golden crown,
Just endless skies and love unbound.

The wrong end

Take one more step and you will die

She hesitated her foot lingering in the air
Turning her gaze behind her

Trust me one more time Hop

The look of concern sprawling over his face
He was young a bit unkempt
His eyes seemed to undulate in varying shades

Just hop

She smiled as she surrendered to his whim
Thinking just a prank played

It was a bee she noticed
wings unbalanced
but unmoving

She reached a finger
prodding the insect in space

I can explain

She swivelled her head
No motion of any kind from anything
She could see the slivers of sunlight
Her legs for a moment
Shivered and dropped her to the ground

Sorry but your the first person who listened
He smiled as he offered her his hand

I am an Ender

The Mystery Of Time

“So many things we know as true...
are redefined in future's view.”
                                -by Poet

What's happened to our measurement of time?
   When I was young, a Summer was sublime.

From end of Spring to the first day of Fall-
   that space of time seemed epic, never small.

Our clocks and calendars compute time well-
   the way they've always done, to surely tell

the days and months we spend mete out the same;
   but now, perhaps has altered its old game.

Oh, time has changed- for young and old now say
   it's passing quicker in a puzzled way.

One week, a month, a year- advances fast;
   presents an altered value from the past.

Perhaps time is a mystery unknown;
   not bounded by our measurements alone.

A robin at early dawn

At dawn still young, a grey throat on the go
Rests on a branch nearby swaying with ease,
And moves from deep inside to edge below,
To please me, or to call the mate of his,
To swing and bend, balance against sharp breeze,
Seek a foothold, await if wind should rest,
And settled down when, sing sweet melodies—
Furioso and forte, full throat and breast,
Moderato when Vaishakhi winds rise,
The climax coming lento, shorn of haste,
Never to vie with winds, opting t’be wise, 
Ah, my morning alarm and summer guest,
Who, when I peep out to watch sleepy eyed,
Far away flies in thick foliage to hide.
______________________________________  
Sonnet |08.06.2024| Robin, bird
Poet’s note: Vaishakhi winds: pre monsoon winds in the month of Vaishakh, the peak of summer in India.

A MOTHER WHISPERS TO HER DAUGHTER

A mother is caressing her baby
her happiness flows in tears…
As she holds her daughter’s tiny hand, 
she kisses her forehead 
then whispers in her ear…

“Would you like to know a secret?  It may sound crazy but it’s true…
Long before you came along…I was in love with you.

You were a thought I had when I was young…a wish that persevered…
a dream that reached perfection on the day that you appeared…

There may come a time..a moment in your life…before your childhood is through
when you might stop and wonder…when I first fell in love with you.

I’m not sure how it happened…I’m not sure how I knew
but in my heart I’ve always had a place reserved for you.

A place both warm and comforting…where my love for you survived…
and where it waited patiently…for the day you would arrive…

I had an ocean of love stored up for you
awaiting the day our lives would intertwine…
and I will be forever blessed 
that…with all the other mother oceans out there…
you fell into mine.

Caveat

The brook is dry. The last time it let hear
Its waterfall was seven years ago.
When young, a thin stream of water was here,
Not very big, but nowadays no flow.

Without the vestige of a construction
Of a bathing place during the war,
Difficult to make such a deduction.
Thus drought cannot be ignored anymore.

Farming does not listen to our hunger 
But the strong voices of cupidity.
Soils, wind, and temperatures no longer
Set cultures but profitability.

Not a lot of things have to be explained,
But Mother Nature will never be tamed.

Old War Stories

I am young, a tough nut,
hard to crack.
Thick mud splashes half-blind me.
Bones are jostled, pushed into aching flesh.
I am spun around and dumped,
lifted up shoved back in.
A pummeled nose bleeds into my mouth,
stagger, run, beaten down by panting hulks,
heave myself to my knees. arms thrashing, finding
bodies to bruise. Chasing through cold air
stunned, brained, swapping pain thud for thud,
ear bashing clubs, yell for more, hack
and flay one sprained ankle dragging behind
a black and blue knee, plod on through the mire.
Limp away damaged and done.

Rugby is not for wimps.

Mind Bruises

I will tell you a sorrowful tale of an ancient time
 when the turning years carved grooves into vinyl,
a time that changed everything and nothing.
He was a lad, a stripling, knobble kneed and roughly handled.
A youth with a common history told a thousand times 
in any slum-clamped town.

A cultural weather mellowed him,
it gave the young a way to be poets, cynics, heedless pundits.
Rainbow children beguiled; they wed their minds 
to a street corner weed, past its vows between them.

Then it was that mop haired songsters 
again stirred his angry blood; he defied ruler and book,
forsook the hierarchies of the hard boiled,
long hair grew into words that shook as he danced
defying the soft shells of faceless egg men.

The boy drifted, still raw-boned, still trapped
by the rats in his head. Jail house beckoned; 
bars griped his knuckles tight.
One night he became a storm in a windowless room.

They held his body down, beat it black and blue.
All he could think of as fists pounded broken ribs,
was if he yet lived, he would write it all out one day
yet still leave out the bad parts.

As a Child

As that which lies above, so too does that below. Could not the same trait be shared by both the young and ol’? 
Frail hands awaiting another; even if only to hold. Each given a role. Each sculpting their mold.
As though without rhyme and reason; the space in between the two seems filled with only the time of season. 
Through the eyes of the young a soul will find bliss and through the eyes of the ol’ a soul sees all that was missed.
An ol’ soul is best reminisced through the way which it smiled. Yet, to the universe who isn’t a child? 


Behold anew leaf 
To witness; innocence nude
From seeds; came the roots

06-29-2022 
Like A Child Poetry Contest

We Dream of World Peace March 2022

Reflections in the sky
Ask you to do something
No one else has done

Compassion, self-calming, democracy
All attempts for peace
Honouring our imperfections, our humanity

Tragic thralls
Have no time to learn new ways
Life is death, fear leads their way, to die of loyalty

Conflict helps us grow and change
No time to share our wisdom, our love, our kindness
Bodies bloodied red, countries souls lie dead

Yet still we dream
Of World Peace
So young, a simple one.

The Lost Class

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?

Daydream Matinee

Daydream Matinee
David J Walker

What were these visions planted
Within my head 
In my bed
	So young a sleep 
But not so deep as unconscious exclusion
Was it only the illusion of a 7-year-olds
         Imagination

The silent hands of  messengers drawing
Motion pictographs on the walls of my
         Subconsciousness 

I see them clearly and completely 
As if a nights sleep at 7  still showing 
The Daydream Matinee

Naming me on the Marque 
And  only me as the audience 

Messages left for later interpretation

The Lovely Model

Sergey knew whatever she did would photograph well,
So he let her wander away the autumn day,
Following her, clicking photos

Her innocent look went along well with her 
Come hither hazel eyes,
Her dark hair, such a contrast to her ebony face

She was one of the best models he had seen.
Young, a tad insecure, having no idea how beautiful she was.
He liked these the best.

Sometimes a Song

The first time I heard a song for Norma Jean
I was all of fourteen,the words were beyond 
compare, sung by our man Sir Elton John.

No one truly knows you and take you at face value
Your beauty beyond compare, everyone wants to hold 
you, but can never see your despair.

You change your name, you gain fame
You burn bright into the night
And go out with the flicker of a light.

The tears and fears to die young, a song sung
The loneliness of fame its all a game
Your legend lives on but your gone.

You’re a Superstar, inaccessible by far
Your reel life is not for real
Hounded now by the media

In death they stripped you of your dignity
A life lived in vain, they call out your name
But whose to blame a flame flickered out

A sad song, can never go wrong
Life is but a melody
A Candle in the Wind.
 
09.08.2020

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