Youngish Poems | Examples

the sad vicar

the sad vicar

The vicar walks in front of the funeral procession
appears a bit wobbly, perhaps due to elderliness
eyes are watery, and the smell of lotion is too strong 
He lost faith years ago praying in churches, asking 
to be released from his throbbing masculinity 
which left him affairs with female parishioners
past their first youth, but with adult feelings about 
sexuality hidden in a black dress of widows 
God had left him, he blamed himself especially now 
that he was no longer young his discreet advances 
were no longer useful.
The vicar had lost his faith, he went through rituals 
that had no meaning, he was not a man of the cloth 
His mother had been deeply religious and wished 
her son will join the priesthood which he did partly
because to please her, and the idea of saving the world 
from the evil that lurked in the heart of man.
He didn't know at the time, his male sexuality was
his downfall, when he knew, it was too late to do 
anything about this problem, that youngish widows 
was happy to assist in solving
Someone called his name, deep in thought he had
walked past the interment place, ah, they thought 
our old is lost in prayers

ODE TO A SCRUNCHIE

Oh circular scrunchie
How are you ?
You have been tangled up in women’s hair
For far too long
Scratching the long curly beads
Of millions of youngish females worldwide 
For decades now
Connecting brunettes blondes and redheads alike
Protecting the very fabric of femininity
Women’s scalps
Oh bless you oh scrunchie
You are a true survivor
A true victor
Worthy of many accolades 
A symbol of strong women everywhere
No more need for Bobby pins
Ponytails are a thing of the past
Long live the scrunchie!
Hair today and here tomorrow!

rendezvous

Rendezvous 

The youngish woman sitting near the window
in the train, looks pale and too slim
Stroking her throat, I think she has tuberculosis
on her  way to the sanatorium 
"The Camelia dame"?
Her lover will sit beside her as she coughs blood
into a silk handkerchief and whisper words of love
As the train slows down, she looks into her hand
mirror, apply lipstick and rouge, and pick up her bag
She looks beautiful 
The woman cast me a look, I nodded my head in
approval, every journey begins with a dream

A New House

a new house

I saw a photo from a long time, so long it doesn’t matter when
the photo was taken; by a couple still youngish with four children 
of school age outside a newly constructed house
The year was 1909. looked straight at the camera as was
the norm back then, they had the Sunday’s best on
The family was not prosperous but exuded repose of moving
into their own home.  
The father looked like having a secure job, perhaps in a bank
or working for a railway company, the new-middle class
that with limited education, could do well and move forward
with enough money to give the children a good start in life.
They didn’t know of the many hurdles they would overcome
a war was on the horizon, perhaps the oldest boy would join
and overcome by trench warfare and dies of typhus.
We don’t know what the future holds but on this day. 1909. was
their happiest day, remembered as long as they lived.

Me

The body people never see
Is the one I keep inside of me.
I know they see me getting old,
With hair no longer quite so gold,
Perhaps my back is not as straight.
Maybe they see I have to wait

And walk, not run, across the street
To see a friend I want to meet.
My face has wrinkles now, I know,
Some things have sagged a bit below,
But this is not the one I see.
Inside my mind, it isn’t me!

When I’m not looking in the glass
I never feel the years have passed.
The inner me says I could run
Around the block, and, just for fun,
Ride my bike ’til twilight’s calling -
Or climb a tree, no fear of falling!

My hands, of course, do not have spots
Or knuckles swollen into knots.
Instead, a youngish woman’s form,
Not yet assailed by age’s storm,
Is lithe and not yet bowed by years.
So here’s to the inside me with cheers!

Crazy Animal Poem

Belligerent bulldog blows up balloons, bulbous and blue.
Frantic frenzied flamingo flips for a flute and a flu.
Persnickety porcupine prances perilous with pooh,
Concerned calico cat coaxes a cardinal’s carnival coo.
Daredevil dolphin diligently designs dalmatian dog’s hairdo.
Serendipitous skunk sashays toward sticky sweet stew.
Lavishly laborious lion lunges into little linguistic loo.
Youngish yak yells and yips at yellow bellied you.

My Childhood Church

My church is gothic, ancient, and smells like wax.
Many business dealings here, all kinds of pacts.
The daddies are sleeping, or pretending, at least.
The mommies are fawning at the cute youngish priest.

We children dare not squirm on these hard little pews.
Our bodies all squashed up, our freedoms are few. 
The beautiful stained glass shows us a giant Biblical scene.
I never tire of looking at Jesus in the pasture of green.

Sunlight streams through, it is like God is anointing this place.
The priest sneezes, and he gets really red in the face.
We kids stifle our laughter, and shuffle our feet on the floor.
Mom gives us a look that says “not one time more.”

My church has dark paneling that is ten miles thick.
It is pretty to look at, and the candles lit by alter boy’s wick.
This place is where people have prayed for a hundred years.
There is a sanctity about it, which eliminates my weekly fears.

A B C Poem To Rev My Engines

Alabaster annoyance 
Blatantly breathes bulbous brightness
Cadaverous comedy caring 
Daintily during delicate delivery
Exciting elderly enigma.
Furious fiery feeler
Gregariously greets
High-handed hustler
Ignoring imaginative immediates
Jauntily jeering judiciously.
Kangaroo kisses kibitzes
Leaving luxurious loners
Merrily masticating mincemeat.
Never-do-wells needing knowledge
Ostentatiously officiate on orange orangutans.
Precariously polite Pomeranians
Quietly quiz querulous quoters
Reposing rapidly ruining
Still sassy strenuous strikers
Turning toward Tuesday tournaments.
Understandably unprecedented underlings
Vindicate vicious vagrants
While wishing waxy widows would
‘xpect ‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtras.
Youngish yellow yowls yipping
Zipping zany zebras’ zealous zero zone.

Young Still Learn

Above battered caskets, demons engulfed. For grievances haven’t interlocked juveniles. Karma locking many naysayers, occupying persistence. Quietly remembering silence throughout universal vectors without xany youngish zorroants.

At the Surgery

At the surgery

Here we are at the clinic`s 
waiting room,
a fat lady with bandaged big toe,
and an old man leans on his walking stick
he lives alone.

An ancient couple from the upland,
dressed in their Sunday best,
hold hands and look endearing, 
a youngish woman who keeps rummaging 
through her bag, and me. 


Six pairs of feet in a slow shuffle,
Electrocardiography doesn’t
mend a tired heart, only tells
us we are mortal

That Season of the Year

It seems but yesterday that I said my

first shy hello to Joan in winter time.

That season she was home from high school by

her father's leave from distant state and clime.


Her smile rent my young rogue heart clean that day

and she poured a small vile of peace therin.

Such calming spirit nice did gently lay

and seeped thoughout this being's soul within.


Inane words came from my tongue I confess,

but cared not I to be some kind of joke.

Her eyes said she was happy nonetheless

to be with me until her time was broke.


Chance meeting, life turned sharply by the fates.

In time becomming youngish loving mates.l


I

Tango

Forgotten romance
Love is odd 
Emotion
We argued a lot
She did me
Harm
Sleeping around
The drinking
She is old now 
Like me
We live different lives
But my heart beats
Youngish
When I see her
She used to colour
Her hair red
Now it is grey 
She wears a pony 
Tail
And her eyes are still
Sea green 
But she was 
A lousy tango dancer

The Soldier

THE SOLDIER

HE SAT DOWN WITH US
A BEERY GROUP OF YOUNGISH MEN
NOT WANTING TO BE OLD AND REACH THIRTY
WE TALKED OF SEX ESCAPADES AND 
MONEY-MAKING SCHEMES WHICH HAD 
FALLEN DOWN 
AND BOUNCED AWAY FROM THE TV NEWS

“I’D SHOOT YOU FOR THREE HUNDRED”,
HE SAID, NOT SMILING,
I NODDED IN CAUTIOUS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT,
HIS BARBED WIRE EYES LOOKED AT HIS  WRISTWATCH

LATER YOU COULD HEAR HIM COUGHING IN
THE TOILET: THEN IN A SHORT WHILE 
HE WALKED THROUGH THE ROOM WITH ITS 
STORM OF TABLES AND CHAIRS  WHICH
PARTED MOSES-STYLE TO LET HIM THROUGH,

COUGHING AND CURSING, ANGRY THAT 
THERE WERE  NO MORE WARS TO FIGHT, 
EXCEPTING THE ONES IN HIS HEAD

She Played the Harp

She played the harp, I fell in love,
It was easy don’t you see?
I was only six or seven,
She was youngish, twenty three.

I was sitting with my parents
And her concert was in town,
Harp and voice reaching to heaven
Found me moving further down

Softly, softly, how she whispered
Come to me, love, come to me,
Row to row as I moved forward,
Life was just her symphony.

Her hands danced chords like angels sing,
Voice a warmth that wove its way,
Finding me like waves move shoreward,
Searching, searching for a bay.

All to soon the concert ended,
Knew I must be by her side,
By the time my mother caught up,
Asked my love to be my bride.
 
Other loves have all been less than
Hard to follow my first yes
Years have passed by at a  gallop
Still I wait her, I confess.

Epilogue:
Ladies perhaps found it precious
One so young could be a fool
Insensitive to lover’s gift
Carelessly forgot the rule

Love’s gift must be always honored	,
Details change but sense survive,
In Love’s time was left a rift,
Precious hearts now less alive.

Brian Johnston
August 5, 2014

These Coming Summer Days

Tis splendor in the grass these coming summer days
America’s youth can have their privileged adolescent ways
Swimming and playing or simply being laid back
They have little worries without any teacher’s flack
Enrich they youngish self before the inevitable groans of early Mondays

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