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Alissa Rogers Mar 2012

The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure; I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth,
a consequence of boredom.
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons.
I am today, you are only last night.

Katlyn Orthman Oct 2014

Immortality lies in the soul
My body may age
I will grow wise with time
But my soul will still burn with youth
Until death do us part

NOLWAZI JOUBERT Jun 2015

So many of us sit, think and still
wonder,
But have we ever gave ourselves the chance to ask?
Well no!
We just rejoice and find oursleves
floating on cloud nine because
"it is just another public holiday"

So many of us have cherished this day,
as a day of drinking, parting
and being in the family way.
Which "Us" am i refering to?
Well it is the youth of South Africa,
That can only sing "Freedom is coming tomorrow" very well
without knowing the significance
of that freedom
and what it took for this freedom
to come

well let me take you back to the
hands of time.
In June 16, 1976
the mongoloid youth of South Africa
marched down the streets of Soweto for this freedom we have today.

BLOOD SHADE,
SCREAMS,
EXPLOIDING SOUNDS
and the cries of faces without races
filled the streets of Soweto.

Parents feared for the lives of their children,
but who knew that adolescents
could be so brave?

They stood together in unity,
the same unity we lack today.
Fought for what was right and that came with their African roots,
which we nolonger honour today,

they fought against the usage af
Afrikaans as the main language of communication at schools.
And look where it left us today.
We have the Right to choice
and the Freedom of association.

And not forgeting that,
they left us with the courage to say "WE ARE PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICANS"

One of my longest poems ever!
Jeremyeckl Jul 2014

A drawing of a superhero
Done by a fourth grader
Who’s father died in a fire.
He’s standing ten feet tall
With the wind blowing in his hair,
He’s got so many friends
And feels no despair.
All the happy people
They say they love him
And there’s nothing he can do
But just keep going.
But teacher asks a question
And he doesn’t know,
So all the children laugh
At the broken Superhero

Olivia Taylor May 2014

My innocence lost is buried under the green forest of my thoughts

SAM  Jul 2014
The Devil
SAM Jul 2014

He is not a
Little man
With red skin
Horns and a sharp tail
He is beautiful
An angel
And
He used to be God's
Favorite

s.a.m.

SAM  Jul 2014
Truth
SAM Jul 2014

Truth
Everyone seeks it
Yet people scarcely
Use it
It is manipulated
Distorted
Tainted
By the world we
Call
Home

s.a.m.

Shaded Lamp Jun 2014

I,
a colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
Would like you,
a colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
To accept, some of my
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
To join some of your
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
to create a completely separate
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
and as our
colonies of 37 trillion cooperating cells
cooperate less and less,  our new
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
shall be looking for a
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
to repeat what countless
colonies of 37 trillion cooperating cells
have done since we swung in the trees.

Ah romance, the thought of each person being a colony of cells is as humbling as it is fascinating.
Kayla Bellinger Aug 2014

I was beautiful once.

No lines creased my face,
No grey streaked my hair;
My eyes were bright,
My voice was loud.

I used to dance;
To sing
And command every ear to listen.

Yes, I was beautiful,
But every fire has to burn away.

Styles Jul 2014

My
Fingers,
dipped in,
your fountain
of youth.

Then I licked all five.

Francie Lynch Aug 2016

If you'd been here
When I was young,
You'd not forget
What we'd have done.

We'd climb roofs,
Jump in the river,
Snatch neighbour's pears,
Then skedaddle,
Laughing with sweat-matted hair,
Wiping off those grown-up cares.

We'd bumper-jump in four inch snow,
And never let our parents know.
Oh, such fun we two would do,
If I could stay as young as you.

We'd skate and bike,
Play street ball,
Act up in school,
Stand in the hall;
We'd hike with jars
Along country brooks,
Read and trade
Our comic books.
Lie in the sand,
Burn in the sun,
Forgetting it was time for home.
We'd never tire of our treats,
And often we'd forget to eat
Because we're having all our fun:
If you'd been here when I was young.

We'd play Tag and Red Rover,
Flags and Chase,
Then have sleep-overs.
We'd swap tomorrow
For daily pearls,
Then swap each other
For pretty girls.

We'd be up to our shenanigans,
Sleep the sleep,
Then start again.
This is the way
We'd have our fun,
If you'd been here
When I was young.

But now you're here,
And I'm much older,
The things we'd do
You'll do with others;
But when you need a  boost to climb,
This old man has a shoulder.
Yes,
I'll sure have lots of fun,
For you're here now.
That keeps me young.

For my new Grandson, Xavier (b. July 23rd.)
Thanks for all your readership and support. I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed the write. Peace.
Francie Lynch Jul 2014

"Whist," is what Mammy said,
As she whisked us off to bed.
Usually we'd go quietly.

But a gypsy woman sat at our table,
Reading tea leaves,
Pouring prophecies.

Guests were few, and she I knew
To be a special one.
She saw dark clouds in a cup.

My sisters, past the tender age,
Stayed up longer to hear her say,
"Tall dark men are on their way."

I pricked my ears from upstairs,
Tried to put both on the vent,
Both of them were forward bent.

Just then my father
Climbed the stairs;
I saw the dark mop of his hair,
He was tall,
He wasn't humming;
No one else foresaw his coming,
But I vanished off to bed.

they always knew we were listening in.

You kissed me on my cheeks
whispered a note on my lips
formed a letter on my neck
not a verse to my shoulder
and on my décolletage
took such an age on a poem
penned to the energy of youth
it felt like you'd brought me
a fountain
to write me on

- Melanie Wotherspoon
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