Everything Apart From Coloured Leg Warmers

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

poem by a 16 yr old

Since everyone seems to be putting up poems (or in anka's case, snippets of poems), i thought i'd put something up as well, only not written by any famous poet. i searched for poetry written by teenagers of our age so that those of us who write poetry can compare ourselves to them. i found this one rather interesting. the author was anonymous.

The trees need dusting, the streets need cleaning.
This can be done, but not with brooms sweeping.
The clouds gather round, the sun takes the backseat,
A motionless breeze sets in; there goes the heat.

The men look at the sky, and shudder.
The young schoolboys switch from canvas to rubber.
The lights begin to dim, people in their places-
Everyone the same in a sea of unknown faces.

The air tries to make way, moving this way and that.
It fails, and the rain begins to fall-pat, pat, pat.
The drops fall fast, slicing through the air,
The rain has no uncovered ground to spare.

The streets are empty, the trees have company.
Bus stops and porches being used by all and sundry.
Nature takes over, we are shoved aside;
The drops continue to sail and glide.

The world appears washed, the trees seem clean.
The roads shine with a sun-fed sheen.
Can the rain wash away everything? Maybe it can,
Everything but the sins of a bad, bad man.


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