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J Bjork Sep 13
Chasing attention in stride,
everyone seems concerned with
empty things half the time
flourishing in every room at the center,
we speak out and judge
from perceptions that don’t matter,
pushing bad behavior like shills;
are we all climbing the same endless hill?

It is circumstance laced with denial:
we will get tired of being so busy
of spinning in mindless desire
and artificial normalcy,
tired of looking outside ourselves for
what will induce today’s new ecstasy

It’s easy to forget dry land
when you’ve always been at sea,
maybe there is still common ground
in living out our wildest dreams
and holding onto authentic truth:
don’t lose touch with this search for
the fountain of youth
09/19
Sugar Seventeen. Days that are so bright.
Life of rose, in sweet river, tasting like beet.
******* better than adult's freedom; Pain, so sweet.
Free from hustle and bustle, time of light.
But your light is for a while, then fade like night.
You are just a sweet dream. We wake to meet
With the truth, after we've had your moment so sweet.
You fade as time rides close on his bike with might.
Since you are a dream, Let us not be loser,
Like those who cry, "Had I known?"
Let's have good time as soon as possible.
Forget the morrow, jolly, 'cause time's bike draws closer.
With my pen and note, I will note my sweet moment now.
That on the morrow, my youth will be memorable.
"Sugar Seventeen" is a poignant and introspective poem that explores the themes of youth, time, and the transition to adulthood. sweetness, fragility, and fleeting nature of youth. Using the image of time riding swiftly on a bike, it reminds us that the years pass faster than we often realize.  

Structurally, it is a modern adaptation of the Petrarchan sonnet — fourteen lines with a clear volta, or “turn,” at line nine. The opening octave reflects on the beauty and dreamlike quality of youth, while the sestet shifts to an urgent call: to savour the present before it slips away.  

Some may argue that childhood period is eighteen years, but I believe that the moment you turn eighteen, the world sees you differently — as an adult, responsible for your choices and expected to step into the working life. That turning point is why I wrote this nostalgic poem: to preserve the memory of my own youth before it slipped away.  

"Sugar Seventeen" is both a celebration of the beauty and innocence of being young, and a gentle acknowledgment of the responsibilities and complexities that come with growing older. Its message is one of gratitude, mindfulness, and embracing the present moment before it fades into memory.
Donny Sep 13
I remember the blood
Spilt from a friend
dripping from his mouth
dripping from his body

He seems almost happy
Happy like a clown
The war was finally over
He was going to get kissed

He was too young
To have been kissed by flesh
The war took many
First kisses often with bone

He looked at me, blue eyes
His blue eyes reflecting
"You look like a *****"
His jokes never get a break

I gripped his red shirt
But he tugged me away
"You don't understand"
He just rolled his eyes

"I understand enough"
His speech almost a ****** cough
Before his eyes went glassy
And his smile faded

Another Youth
Another number
Another death
Another friend
Gore warning, I think
Heather Sep 1
Eyes darting across a blank canvas
Where do I begin?
Heart filled with words yet spoken
May this blank canvas embody these unspoken words

Blank—filled
Empty—whole
Bright—yet dark

Words unheard
Accounted for within

Sankofa,
Let’s begin

At the age of 16, poetry, cacophonic, became an outlet for me.
Emotions that once felt so distant, merely a faint and infant shadow, stand beside me today at 23.
Hello, friend, it’s been a while; I thought I would not be graced with your presence again.
As I begin writing again, I challenge myself to use emotions from the past to guide my present. Thank you for giving me the space to open my heart again.
Nigdaw Aug 29
you walk with the ignorance of youth
to live forever
tomorrow as throw away
as any cigarette ****
or boy that bored you
who mentioned LOVE
an indestructible force of nature
but once I walked with you
arm in arm laughing
a moment of time we shared
forever
you were fleetingly mine
before we parted
strangers
on a Saturday afternoon
We grow up in a world that breaks us,
then blames us for being broken.
Told to speak up—
then silenced when we do.

We were born into systems built on lies,
handed burdens with no blueprint,
and somehow expected to fix
what we didn’t create.

They call us lazy.
Say we’re disconnected.
Too soft.
Too loud.
Too online.
Too everything but enough.

But here’s what they miss—
We feel everything.
We think deeply.
We question what they accepted.
And we see through the noise they got used to.

They talk like we’ve failed before we’ve started.
But maybe we’re not the problem.
Maybe we’re the mirror.
And they don’t like the reflection.

We don’t want handouts.
We want to be heard.
We want room to grow,
not cages labeled “youth.”

We are not apathetic—
we’re exhausted.
We are not lost—
we’re searching for something real
in a world that keeps faking it.

So, listen.
Not with judgment,
but with intention.

Because we’re not just “the youth.”
We’re the pulse.
The pivot.
The possibility.

And whether they hear us or not—
we are speaking
This is a revised version of a poem I originally wrote at 15—updated 10 years later. Hopefully, it reads a little better now. Both carry the same heart, the same message, but not the same weight—because time, growth, and pain have added density to the second one.
Thomas W Case Aug 22
There is a beauty that
comes from walking a
clover laden field, or a
path in the woods and feeling
the autumn breeze and
smelling the wildflowers.
You are so alive.
There is an aching pain
as sharp and vivid as the
beauty, some knowledge in the
fiber of your spirit, that you
won't hold it forever.

Death walks with you silently.
It bides the times...so patient.

You are aware, so keen to
the fact that if you could
consume the beauty, the
honeysuckle, clover and brilliant
orange and pink of the sunset,
you might put death off for a while.
You do it in the heartbeat of your
sweet green youth, and you
keep walking, eyes wide open.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsFfqF7Cuhc
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read from my recently published books, Sleep Always Calls, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse and Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems.  They are all available on Amazon
Rivian Reid Aug 18
I remember climbing the grades as I watched time in 2X
My youth slipping though my fingers
And suddenly life is harder and you have urges to do bad things
And suddenly you’re not a kid
And suddenly I’ve learned to navigate the walls of my own mind
And now I’m not a kid
And my youth is gone
Thomas W Case Aug 17
As a child, the backyard was
my sanctuary and my
playground.
I climbed the soft
pine tree and crawled to
the top of the garage.
I stood and gazed at all the
houses and streets.
I felt rich.

My mom had a brown
jewelry box shaped like
a treasure chest.
It reminded me of
pirates and adventure.
I filled it with
football cards
gum
candy bars
family pictures, and a few
coins.

I found a small shovel
and buried it in the
backyard close to the
pine tree.
I pretended to forget
where it was.
A week or so later, I
suggested to my best friend,
Wally, that we should
search my yard for buried treasure.

Of course, we found it.
I acted surprised.
We celebrated.
All these years later,
I realize that my treasure,
then and now, is imagination.
I'm a wealthy man.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Noa4ztEUFDA
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I do poetry readings from my latest books, Seedy Town Blues, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls.  They are available on Amazon.
Shane Aug 14
The candy shared in days of youth
Has melted in our mouths,
And left a taste so bittersweet
It lingers on the tongue.

But with each year that sweetness fades,
And bitterness we chew,
Then swallow down like sugared stones
We wish to taste anew.
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