Tag Archives: youth

Poem 74: From the top of the hill on Good Friday

(This poem continues my decision this month to post poems I wrote fifty plus years ago – this week’s poem was written around about when I was 17.)

The hills cringed green, blood-green.
They were thorn-throbbed, twisted; silent down a
Crumpled valley, torn green to the sea
Where two ships lay silvered and
Waiting for another. And on,
On where the ocean turned with the sky
Clouds jarred to royal purple with the mountains.
The air too choked thin and weak as the
Sun sank crippled at three o’clock.

Is there something here which does not pass?
Answer!
Is there something here which does not pass?
Is there nothing still?

I went down the hill and
Wrote what past I had before it fled.

Poem 73: Aunty Rene

(This poem continues my decision this month to post poems I wrote fifty plus years ago – this week’s poem was written around about when I was 15!)

My aunty died about thirteen years ago.
For thirteen years she has not known the
warm sun and pale breeze I now feel.
She has not known the thirteen
evenings, the afternoons, the blackbird peace and
childhood memories that swing around every spring.
As a spinster, she has no one to love her after death,
no one to be remembered by, and
not much to be remembered for.
She was just an ordinary aunty.

And I thought of all the ordinary people
who mean nothing;
whose names do not lie hidden
even in buried archives.
I thought of all these people,
once so wonderful, so friendly,
and now indifferently forgotten…

Oh what is life? and what is life? and life?…
My aunty never died,
she has only been forgotten.

Feel the warm sun and pale breeze,
Sing to the universe,
Tomorrow you may feel no more.
Tomorrow –
Tomorrow you may feel no more.

Poem 72: I’m on fringe of stupidity

(For the weekly poems in this month of April, I thought I would “dredge up” some poems from my youth and foist them on an unsuspecting audience… knowing they don’t have to read if they so wish. Today’s poem was written when I was fourteen – so that’s 54 years ago! I post these poems, not to show how clever I once thought myself to be, but simply to get a break these days from trying to write a poem each week. In my teens I wrote a lot of poems and once showed one to a “famous” poet who suggested I was wasting my time – so I stopped writing poems for fifty years!)

I’m on fringe of stupidity –
Who care? I don’t.
I see silly scarecrow
bending, scrounging in rubbish tin.
Who care? I don’t –
I’m on fringe of stupidity.

I do silly dance,
shout at someone, attract attention,
then feel silly, wish I hadn’t done it.
Who care? I don’t –
I’m on fringe of stupidity.

Jump, Jump, Jump.
I done that.
Gotta do somethin’,
anythin’ – that good as anythin’,
I’m good as anythin’
dung good as anythin’
god good as anythin’.
Who care? What anythin’?
Who care?
I don’t
dung don’t
god don’t
nothing care if
I’m on fringe of stupidity.

Jump, Jump, Jump.
Who care?
Who care anythin’?
Who care anythin’ anyway?
Who care?
Who care?
Who care?

1086. Justice is served

It wasn’t just depressing; it was downright infuriating. Nick had been stopped for speeding, and THE COP WAS YOUNGER THAN HE WAS.

You know you’re getting old when the cop who stops you for speeding is younger than you are. There was a time when Nick was always younger than the cop. He would always say, sorry officer, it must be youthful enthusiasm; I won’t do it again. The old cop would let him off with a warning. But now THE COP WAS YOUNGER THAN HE WAS. These days he was never let off with a warning.

Nick took the cop to court. Nick was a top class lawyer. He knew the law and how to manipulate it. He made sure that the upstart wasn’t going to be stopping him again. The cop’s looking for another job if you’ve got a vacancy.

1042. Too young to get married

The headline said it all, in the opinion of Mrs Angela Fergusson: MINNIE DAVIDSON MARRIES YOUNG.

I’m not at all surprised, said Mrs Angela Fergusson. When she was at school she was a ripe tart, always hanging around boys. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of it even back then, and now she’s gone and got married when she’s barely out of diapers. It disgusts me. It’ll end up in divorce for sure. These days people should wait to get married, not rush into it like they’re mature enough to know what they’re doing. But, oh no, these people have to dash madly in love and run off and buy a wedding dress. Minnie Davidson never had any values, and now she squanders what the rest of us regard as a sacred state to pamper her youthful desires.

If Mrs Angela Fergusson had bothered to read the article she would have noticed that Mr and Mrs Harry YOUNG are both in their thirties and honeymooning in the Seychelles.

1038. In raptures

Maxwell was in raptures! He’d recently arrived in the village for his new work appointment. He was to live there. He couldn’t believe his luck! He couldn’t believe what he saw!

There were crowds of young people; vibrant, cheerful, fully alive. He never saw one sick person. Perhaps it was the mountain air, perhaps it was something in the water. Everyone was fit and healthy. Everyone was so energetic and creative!

What an animated, pulsating community he’d been sent to! His new job was going to be a breeze: overseeing the implementation of the new government regulation to euthanize old and sick and mad people who couldn’t pay their own way.

(Note: this little piece of fiction was inspired by an article I read HERE).