"adolescents" poems
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"
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
The upbringing of a person could lead to a frivolous publican.
A brother and sister are both witnessing the featherbrained fool.
This world we live in is a bit bamboozle
Escaping to a state of ecstasy with your purple kaleidoscope why don't we shape the future and use cinnamon soap.
With your undercoats it's an antidote for a hurtful situation
It's like we are burning in ice.
Your a magician but you can't stop stupid.
Adolescents knowing the need to finish yet they are taking over to much to cope.
So now they are discovering, considering, cinnamon soap.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
i am running out of
air
i am running out of
scrapes on my knees
running out of
new corners to cross
in this neighborhood
we are growing up in the same houses
with the same curtain of trees draping
their limbs over our windowsills
we are sleeping in the same bedsheets
wrinkled from the imperative
tossing and turning
of adolescents.
we inflate our chests
and float away like red balloons
a freckle in the pale complexion of the sky
for this love affair with the pavement
has lost its edge
this slipping on
slimy banana peels
has stabilized
we have bitten and scratched and stained
the doors of your fingers
studied every trail of your fingerprints
we have grown older in the palm of your hand
your fists raised to the sky
it is time for you to open them.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.
There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.
Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same
Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility
Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality
But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.
17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.
17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.
But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
Our bare, brief escape begins at the dance.
Steaming, smoking animals moving chance
that this ***** dancehall can yield loving.
Drug crazed pickers rev up their machined
Six string-ed orchestral Gibson guitars;
Yow! All the hipsters are making the scene
just now arrived in their late models cars.
Adults aping adolescents boldy down
drinks, belch bad beer and sweetly perspire
while you seething, hot and so sensuous
put my hand to your breast showing your fire.
Baby let's dance! Let's have our fun!!
Our brief escape has just begun.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
Oh Adolescents
Emotional highs and lows
We mellow with age
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Isn’t it funny how as we age, we need less sleep?
Babies’ lives consist of it. Their time is infinite.
Children need many hours to rest growing bodies and minds. They have a different and separate life to live.
Maybe adolescents and adults do it to escape the hassles of daily life. They have lived long enough to expect struggle and uncertainty.
The elderly sleep less than everyone else. The clock ticks away what remains of their lives.
Dreamland dwindles as their time on earth fades. Tired eyes and tired hearts are what are left.
We love sleep, we dream in sleep.
Have their dreams been found and achieved, or do they float away with lost souls?
We love sleep, we hope in sleep.
Do their lives end when bodies fail, or are they just beginning?
We love sleep, we search in sleep.
Can they reconnect with loved ones, like in a fairy tale, or never see their faces again, as if in a nightmare?
We love sleep, we rest in sleep.
Do their cares melt away, or do their minds become crazed, like restless legs in the night?
We love sleep, we pray in sleep.
Is there a God they meet in Heaven, or an evil Devil in Hell?
We love sleep, we work in sleep.
Do they have room for regrets, or has all their energy been expended?
We love sleep, we die in sleep.
Is there a point at which they know, and go peacefully with no resistance, or do they refuse to acknowledge, fighting bitterly?
We love sleep, we live asleep.
Did they realize in life that they were asleep the whole time, passive pawns in a big world, or did they know enough to be awake, because a far longer, unknown sleep would follow?
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
"To Lionel Engers-Kennedy: to the memory of Hargrave Jennings: and
to A. C. W. G. and H. E. H."
Beneath the vine tree and the fig
Where mortal cares may not intrude,
On melon and on ******* pig
Although their brains are bright and big
Banquet the Great White Brotherhood.
Among the fountains and the trees
That fringed his garden's glowing border,
At sunset walked, and, in the breeze
With his disciples, took his ease
An Adept of the Holy Order.
"My children," Said the holy man,
"Once more I'm willing to unmask me.
This is my birthday; and my plan
Is to bestow on you (I can)
Whatever favour you may ask me."
Nor curiosity nor greed
Brought these disciples to disaster;
For, being very wise indeed,
The adolescents all agreed
To ask His Secret of the Master.
With the "aplomb" and "savoir faire"
Peculiar to Eastern races,
He took the secret then and there
(What, is not lawful to declare),
And ****** it rudely in their faces.
"A filthy insult!" screamed the first;
The second smiled, "Ingenious blind!"
The youngest neither blessed nor cursed,
Contented to believe the worst -
That He had spoken all his mind!
The second earned the name of ****
The first the epithet of *****
The third, as merry as a grig,
On melon and on ******* pig
Feasts with the Great White Brotherhood.
2.9k
When I think back to the past, my memories seem to blur together as if I have spent twenty one years on a non-stop merry-go-round. Ups and downs, too much to take in at once, the people you love only a splotch in your spinning, ever-changing field of vision. You wonder how long they’ll stay, leaning over the metal railing separating them from you; you wonder if they’ll call out to you until they become hoarse…but no one stays for long.
You think it’s fun and harmless until the carousel stops and you realize you’re the only one left. You clamber off the platform in a drunken stagger and wait for your mind, still caught up in the whimsical whir of charisma and carelessness, to catch up with reality. Eventually your thoughts slow and your vision steadies. Everything comes into focus. It seems eerily quiet compared to the cacophony of conversation and carnival music that was swirling and intertwining in the air just minutes ago.
Now there’s silence and you’re left to contemplate your past…and your future. This is the reality check, the wakeup call that sends so many adolescents into a panic; an early mid-life crisis if you will. Twenty one years spent so quickly, so carelessly…only eighty more to go.
And you can only wonder, “How will I waste those?”
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC
Nothing compares
To shaking on top of an old
Broken down windmill
With you.
Nothing compares
To silent summers
Sweating in the sweltering heat
Of love.
Nothing compares
To bright blue brick walls
Bringing about a brightening of bleary bland feelings.
Nothing compares
To dark auburn dreams
Drifting down my darling's cheek.
Nothing compares
To radical rants
On ruined romances
raining rivulets of righteousness
Upon those rotten adolescents.
Nothing compares
To myriads of murals
Of most moved men
Materializing
Meandering
In the fields below.
Nothing compares
To falling flat to fear
Fretting and fanning
To finish off
This fantasy.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
as children we live the eternal summer
as adolescents we go on in eternal blunder
in middle age we accept the eternal surrender
until old age washes in eternal slumber
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…
“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed… been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!
****** hell! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!” They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May, Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******
She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?
Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
****** hell! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a ____
Knock, Knock, Knock!
"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
As the little minds drift off to sleep with a strife,
the unsung heroes of the night come to life.
Protection from the succubus of the eventide,
using their powers of whim with a glide.
Stitched smiles and button eyes defend the adolescents
under the shine of crescents.
While the nightmares attempt to emerge,
the guardians uphold with a surge.
Unable to pirate their minds,
they dissipate with a wind.
The unsung heroes take their win with a fain,
therefore the children of the world are safe again.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
Blasphemy,
a forced wit to write is no better than fights on a playground, adolescents, unbearable, fruitless, all around useless,
success can’t be conjured it must flow from the soul,
frustrated tossing and turning and thinking, in bed,
thoughts are racing some trivial, most not,
in my present… yesterday’s future,
using this logic I am calmed and collected,
now knowing these feelings will pass, all of them will pass, with time they will pass, with a pen they will fall out, splat, creating images between lines,
the best part being mine all mine,
knowing I will sleep, I do, oh how I do.
and my dreams.
are an acquired taste.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
The Cresent Moon Dancing With The Silhouette,
Of Old Silos,
In A Ballroom Of Winter Air,
Completed With Hanging Glow In The Dark Stars,
& Planets Suspended In Spaces Endless Corridor,
Human Life Scarce For The Hours Of Darkness,
Except For A Few Nocturnal Beings,
Mostly Adolescents Sipping Liquid Courage,
Drowning Their Pride With Hearty Venom,
The Creatures Of The Woods Roam Freely,
Scrambling Across Roads And Frostbitten Yards,
Awaiting The Frosty Tears Of The Heavens,
Coating The Land In A Winter White Blanket,
Drops Of Jupiter Perfectly Fall Into Place,
Upon Rich Green Eyes,
And Swim In An Eternity Of Spring,
And Kiss The Petals Of A Sturdy Rose,
The Golden Gates Of Beauty,
Open And Welcome,
In The Cold November Evening,
Mercury Glides Upon Smooth--Vanilla Skin,
Enternal Peace Just On The Tips Of Frigid Fingers,
Slipping Into The Grooves Of Skinny Extremities,
As Gardian Angels With Rustic Gold Halos,
Reach Into A Troubled Heart,
Take Me To The Light
Drops Of Jupiter Roll Down Rosy Cheeks,
Take Me With You
The Cresent Moon Glitters Off A Radiant Dress,
Come With Me Sydney
Bright Light Fills Two Worshiping Retinas,
I Will, I Will
Rays More Vivid Then The Rays Of The Sun Itself,
Then The Green Irises Open,
Sadly It Was Just A Dream,
But Drops Of Jupiter,
Still Lay On Her Pale Cold Cheeks,
And The Cresent Moon's Light Still Slips Through,
Light Resisting Blinds,
And The Trees Whisper A Secret,
Which Was Shared,
With Me
Information Injected,
From A Vile Of Destiny
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
Mom,
I remember my adolescents
and how you consoled me
when I cried
when my father left
I remember consoling you
when you cried
It's funny to think
that you parent me with shoulders
heavy with countless burdens
and still smile day after day
numb to the reality of pain
how can I not love you.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
A blasphemous ******** as the dwelling beast salivates in its hollow. The glaring screen in the darkness is its only light. Years upon years it has followed the same sick fantasies. Self loathing and sickening it has reached the paramount of the low. Trawling the deep dark corners of the web to find his fix. Like a ****** addict it has delusions of needing his fraudulent fetish. A tiny drop of drewl collides with the derelict ground. It flows onto the pile of stale hardened tissues used to dispose of the beasts ****** off spray. A trundle to the local park to put a spring in its step. Watching the adolescents thinking corrupt thoughts. Child bearers stab the beast with scared stares of disgust. Attention is being drawn towards the hairy obese miscreant. Ripped shorts to expose the genitalia of the malevolent monster. A father approaches, intentions of confrontation are obvious. The monstrous **** runs to the road, unaware of the approaching speeding bus. It is drawn under the wheel crushed with the weight. Blood spurts in every direction, like a hot needle to a balloon full of acid. Slowly he dies in agony and suffering. The evil **** got his penance. ***** for eternity in the dark depths of hell.
The devil reserves the darkest places for the darkest men. His penance came, as will yours.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
It's a blessing and a shame
A title with no name
I really wasn't trying to play
And I really wasn't trying to stay.
We got more serious than I really thought we would
We talked every night, more than we really should
It made us feel like adolescents
Even when all these obstacles were present
Grew fat on conversations all the way from texas
And now I don't reply, your inbox's anorexic
Don't shed one more tear and let go of your fears
Enjoy every second, they quickly disappear
There's so much more to fulfill you with enjoyment
Life is so much sweeter, when you enjoy your every moment
I'm sorry that I hurt you, i can see you grieving
And there's nothing I can do, I just hope that you believe it
Only thing I can do, is advice you to move forward.
I'll forever cherish the thought of you, I'm sorry this is over...
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
from cars.
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles under their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,or was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
eccentric, weird.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
Beside the window sits chirping
Chirping
Chirping
Birds! I'm trying to write. DBQ... FRQ..... Fml...
Starting-
passing by the sun hides behind the top of the sky
Noon- I'm trapped
Black
white
Colorless ideas and sights
"Opinions" used to persuade the guard to mark down you did all right in your studies
Adolescents- slaves to your presence
Obey the clock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
"talk" speak your mind as long as I agree
God forbid,
My mind wanders
Far away lands,
Flowers unsold
People oh so bold
Love un-withhold
Stories untold
Take hold!
Wake up!
Absorb this!
My soul is invalid...as I am a slave to sick, adolescent oppression
Education is just memorization.
.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
If I were firece and bald and short of breath
I'd be the headmaster of a secondary school.
A spotted face boy cries "fight, fight, fight!"
A scrap has begun outside the school.
Greasy adolescents hurry to the scene
To find a boy - bloodied - face down in the gravel.
Instead of showing sympathy,
they portray their callous nature.
The mob-mentality reigns supreme
As he is mocked and jeered by ***** fingers
Of adolescent monkeys.
Meanwhile, in the corridors of the school
A sea of gray sways, as agitated 6th years
Barge their way through piles and piles
Of nervous first years.
Sweaty fingers clutch chewed-on pens,
Taking down their futures from the board.
The vacant stare of the class fool is aimed toward
The blank, unpainted walls.
Were they ever painted?
Or did god create them bland?
The footworn halls of our totalitarian dictatorship
Are kept active only by the zealous actions of our 'noble' teachers.
Every morning they arrive at a job they resent,
And see teachers whose eyes mirror their despair,
Then they feign a smile and proceed
With the monotonous task of teaching
Brain-dead, narcissistic, trogleydtes.
Exciting.
"All in all we're all just bricks in the wall."
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
You know what's stupid?
The concept of treating adolescents like children
throughout the entirety
of their teenage years, and then
around age 17 pulling a complete 180 turn
and expecting them
within the next couple of years to decide
what they want to do the rest of
their lives.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
From shelves and racks, or lying in stacks, Books,
Of all ages and epochs—adolescents and youths,
Aged and venerable, and e’en those in decrepitude,
Much eloquent, but in all silence, share with us
Experiences wide ranging, emotions well pent up,
Passions, love and hate, and joys and sufferings,
Triumphs, failings, histories, biographies and maxims.
A pat or stroke, or appeal in awe, or in supplication,
They’d unleash to you, in varied moods and temper,
Their stories, in letters, words, phrases, sentences;
In prose or verse on folios, or in acts and scenes,
Of Helens, Quixotes, Falstaffs, Holmes and Othellos,
In the highs and lows of their pleasures and pathos,
Of Lears, Tristans and Isoldes, and procrastinators.
Of the plucks and spirits of Arjunas and Achilleses,
Of the failings of the ill-fated Kareninas and Bovaries,
Of the unwavering faith of Jobs, Noahs and Abrahams,
Of the lovelorn Sakunthalas, and Sitas under Simsupa,
Of God’s Garden, and of the wisdom of the Himalaya,
They speak in silence, of the real and the imagined,
As mighty godlike genies waiting for our summons!
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
We have touched so much since December,
steeping teas torrid and arctic ice cubes
a thousand fibers, prince bee his princess
generous blankets papering flu
the drizzle on wedding dawns or departure’s eve
pieces of candy for holiday celebrations
even the ending of a movie –
these are wild fingers that we have
rebellious, juveniles in mind
singing summer stories through knuckles
bodies long slenderized
and they are more than myself
to them, I have no name
but my brain and I are their mother
a well-mannered woman in command
I feed them lotion,
then play in the sand apathetic
whistles papercuts that sting with
mouths as lions tigers bears sharks leaves
asking which hurts most significantly of all we
have loved –
and then again, what enduring does not belong?
The adolescents scoff at each of their
five circadian baths, and I hear cries
for showers because soap makes them crack
but it is in your best interest, I say;
you touch everything that gets in your way
to move is beauty and transitioning more so:
my hands are dancers, pirouetting
on stage to fall harmoniously with
bashes, revelations, words I care to mean
yes, these are what causes the bleed of
my aging hands, and throughout their years,
rings dying them green.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC