Archives for posts with tag: teenagers

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teenagers down the shore
by win harms

memories of the ocean
sweet spring sweat trickles down my forehead
the sand stings my legs, as a crosswind
creeps up from behind
the salty sea is cold, numbing my bare feet
i hear my friends giggling ahead
and i laugh for no reason at all
you look at me and smile that secret smile
and for one moment we are alone in this
i can’t remember the taste of you
but i know i’ll understand you again
i get higher with the thoughts of days to come
we are sleepy with excitement
last night is so incredibly far away
we were older then, parading like sophisticates
we are young again, spinning in the sun
the past doesn’t matter and
the skeletons don’t feel like dancing
i am mapping out my life
and i want to see you there
with your eyes sparkling like the sea
we walk the boardwalk with the wind in our hair
creating everlasting impressions in time

Photo: “Summer Down the Shore” by funflash, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (16×20 metallic prints available at etsy.com)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: win harms is a poet living in France with her professor husband. She hails from the state of the cowboy poetry contest, but she has lived pretty much everywhere, including many psych wards, and considers herself a survivor of the struggle. The chaos has ceased and now she spends her time doing needlepoint and laundry, but longs to share her words with the world. As of last year, she left her roaring twenties, and is now feeling fecund and free. “Teenagers Down the Shore” and other poetry by win harms appears in the Silver Birch Press Summer Anthology, available at Amazon.com.

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RUNNING ON EMPTY
Poem by Robert Phillips

As a teenager I would drive Father’s
Chevrolet cross-county given me
 
Reluctantly: “Always keep the tank
Half full, boy, half full, ya hear?”
 
The fuel gauge dipping, dipping
Toward Empty, hitting Empty, then
 
–thrilling—way below Empty,
myself driving cross-county

mile after mile, faster and faster,
all night long, this crazy kid driving
 
the earth’s rolling surface,
against all laws, defying chemistry,
 
rules, and time, riding on nothing
but fumes, pushing luck harder
 
than anyone pushed before, the wind
screaming past like the Furies…
 
I stranded myself only once, a white
Night with no gas stations open, ninety miles
 
From nowhere. Panicked for a while,
At a standstill, myself stalled.
 
At dawn the car and I both refilled. But,
Father, I am running on empty still. 

Note: Robert Phillips, born in 1938, refers to himself as a “teenager” in this poem, so I’m guessing he might have driven a 1954 Chevy when he was 16.

Source: Find this and scores of other remarkable poems in Drive, They Said: Poems About Americans and Their Cars, an excellent anthology edited by Kurt Brown (Milkweed Editions, 1994) — available at Amazon.com. 

Image
teenagers down the shore
by win harms

memories of the ocean
sweet spring sweat trickles down my forehead
the sand stings my legs, as a crosswind
creeps up from behind
the salty sea is cold, numbing my bare feet
i hear my friends giggling ahead
and i laugh for no reason at all
you look at me and smile that secret smile
and for one moment we are alone in this
i can’t remember the taste of you
but i know i’ll understand you again
i get higher with the thoughts of days to come
we are sleepy with excitement
last night is so incredibly far away
we were older then, parading like sophisticates
we are young again, spinning in the sun
the past doesn’t matter and
the skeletons don’t feel like dancing
i am mapping out my life
and i want to see you there
with your eyes sparkling like the sea
we walk the boardwalk with the wind in our hair
creating everlasting impressions in time

Photo: “Summer Down the Shore” by funflash, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (16×20 metallic prints available at etsy.com)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: win harms is a poet living in France with her professor husband. She hails from the state of the cowboy poetry contest, but she has lived pretty much everywhere, including many psych wards, and considers herself a survivor of the struggle. The chaos has ceased and now she spends her time doing needlepoint and laundry, but longs to share her words with the world. As of last year, she left her roaring twenties, and is now feeling fecund and free. “Teenagers Down the Shore” and other poetry by win harms appears in the Silver Birch Press Summer Anthology, available at Amazon.com.

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GREAT GATSBY RAP
by Zander

The man Jay Gatsby
Only wants to be happy
Has the dream of an American
To have a wife, he’s a fan 
All he wants is Daisy
Just the thought of her makes him hazy
Longing for Green Light
Tom can only watch in spite
The new friend of Nick Carraway
Linking him and Daisy from across the bay
Luxurious Living in the Egg
Having lavish parties on the reg
Driving up in his Rolls Royce
Saying “old sport” with his voice
Having Daisy is his last hope
Without her he wouldn’t be able to cope
Always a man with a lot of time
Getting around with his buddy Wolfsheim
Some say he is a man of crime
Some say he bootlegs wine
Trying his luck in a love triangle
In the end all he could do was untangle
Shot by Mr. Wilson on a pool float
He then lay dead in a blood-filled moat
He leaves a legacy of a mysterious fellow
Who ended his life lying around mellow
This is the story of a man who was great
Who died in a pool with a life full of hate

###

“Great Gatsby” by Zander appears on teenlink.com (written by teens since 1989).

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RUNNING ON EMPTY

Poem by Robert Phillips

As a teenager I would drive Father’s
Chevrolet cross-county given me
 
Reluctantly: “Always keep the tank
Half full, boy, half full, ya hear?”
 
The fuel gauge dipping, dipping
Toward Empty, hitting Empty, then
 
–thrilling—way below Empty,
myself driving cross-county

mile after mile, faster and faster,
all night long, this crazy kid driving
 
the earth’s rolling surface,
against all laws, defying chemistry,
 
rules, and time, riding on nothing
but fumes, pushing luck harder
 
than anyone pushed before, the wind
screaming past like the Furies…
 
I stranded myself only once, a white
Night with no gas stations open, ninety miles
 
From nowhere. Panicked for a while,
At a standstill, myself stalled.
 
At dawn the car and I both refilled. But,
Father, I am running on empty still. 

Note: Robert Phillips, born in 1938, refers to himself as a “teenager” in this poem, so I’m guessing he might have driven a 1954 Chevy when he was 16.

Source: Find this and scores of other remarkable poems in Drive, They Said: Poems About Americans and Their Cars, an excellent anthology edited by Kurt Brown (Milkweed Editions, 1994) — available at Amazon.com (many copies are available for just 4 cents plus shipping). Highly recommended! 

Closing Thought: Our deep condolences to all those affected by Hurricane Sandy — many of whom are running on empty in ways too numerous to count (and not by choice).