Teenage

Shadows are only black,
formed either at the front or at the back;
Perhaps, it’s a coward, shy to be free,
it always accompanies us, too shy to flee.

But my mind’s questioning,
why shadows are so boring,
why’s it so timid, and why not vivid?

Couldn’t it be green, red or blue,
with a shade, tint or hue,
or couldn’t it be orange or pink,
so that we keep looking it, without a blink?

Shadows could be instead colourful, bright-looking and wonderful,
rather than appearing gloomy, like a 1950’s movie.

My sister Ellie means the world to me
She is only four and a half   years old even with our parents divorced..
We try to Facetime on her ipad and my phone
as much as possible
We only see each other on the weekends
She lives our mom
And I live with our dad
She and our mom live in England
and me and my dad live in England too
but in a different town
We are both home schooled
but we have so much fun!
Me and my sister love each other to the very end!

The passionate warm tones of the leaves,
clashing with the grey cloud-filled sky.
It is the way they seem to stand out
amongst the melancholy landscape
in a stalemate settlement.

The satisfactory crisp snap of spines
of discarded leaves, abandoned,
doomed to rot on the earth below.
The low grunts and the harsh exclamations
of the steel beasts break the silence.
The sombre weather reflects the dismal
atmosphere of a dead end town.

It’s beautiful outside.

The sharp cold air, the massacre of leaves
and the quick death of a star
marks the demise of the warm seasons,
and the birth of the cold.
As the nights begin to prolong,
and the animals begin to evade the inevitable cold,
That’s when the real animals come out.

The polluted air. Poison to outsider lungs,
A familiarity to the hopeless.
The scents of meats echo
throughout the drunken streets.
Fuelling the amorality and felonious shenanigans
In a clouded forty-eight hours.
Nights that end in tragedy,
and days re-born into the repeating beauty, of a melancholy town.

It’s beautiful outside.

School, can be a snore
some say they like it,
I’m not too sure,
Some may be insecure
when they walk the halls
seeing all the teachers, making all the rules
Tom may disagree, working hard and being good, getting his GCSEs
Max on the other hand struggles to make friends
Other students laugh at him
until he cries on end,
teachers try to help him
but nothing will work
kids can be mean, but it’s all in a days work

If you sit by chance to write a poem, with a pen, paper and a thousand ambling thoughts,
here are a few types that’ll assist you, in writing a poem of immense value.

When you wish to phrase all your thoughts, free from rhythmic limitations,
when you wish for a boundless form of expression,
the free verse will lend you a hand.

If you want no rhyme, but a five, seven and five, the haiku’s your pal.

When you want it all to rhyme, be it a ballad or a pantomime,
the rhymed poetry will always be on time,
to bring in your poem a lyrical design.

When you want to make your readers chuckle,
and your expression to be rhythmically whimsical,
the limerick will amuse with quintessence,
to all its readers immense,
making the verse worthy and laudable.

I turned round the corner
to see a living hell,
Bushfires spitting,
God please help me out.

School, five days a week

Five lessons a day

25 lessons in total.

A place to learn

Most people would say

It is rather brutal.

You’ve got English

You have Maths

And probably some PE.

Science is strange

Languages are a change

And breaks let you be free.

Young days, olden years
Decaying passion fades slow
Until weeded out

shelly bric a brac layers sea flung far salt grind fresh
wrung out smooth crack strong polished
seep in black loud time rip
bone wash scorch dry crisp

weird times
weird year
weird day
weird minute
I wonder when everything will stop being weird
and what is weird is normal