Teenagers and Drama Queens

Teenagers of both sexes can be such drama queens –  I remember how important and raw and overwhelming EVERYTHING seemed back in those years. The hates, the loves, the passions were all so much more immediate and colourful! So, my thirteen year old has only just become a teenager but is displaying all of these strong feelings. Or rather, the feelings are often getting the better of him.

This sometimes leads to some amusing situations, such as when he is required to write a poem for his French class on the subject of melancholy. His efforts seemed to me worthy of a bloodthirsty and world-weary Baudelaire:

Mélancolie

Dans la ville c’est bientôt le soir.
Mélancolie, la bile noire,
seule la tristesse comme émotion.
Tout le monde est donc en dépression.

Un autre homme tombe mort
Il faudra enterrer son corps
Le cimetière est déjà plein.
Voilà la fin de mon refrain.

English translation (sadly, without the sound effects they were required to create):

The city soon turns to dusk.
Melancholy, that black bead,
sadness the only emotion.
Everyone is in deep depression.

Another body falling down.
We’ll have to bury his corpse.
The cemetery is already full.
And that’s the end of my refrain/song!

Messy teenage bedroom, from alamy.com
Messy teenage bedroom, from alamy.com

And now that my internet connection appears to have come back (hush, softly, I don’t want to jinx it!), I’ve been enjoying the #Teensin5words hashtag. Some of them will resonate with many of us, whether we are currently parenting teens or not:

Stomp stomp stomp stomp SLAM!

You were never my age!

Shut up! I know everything!

Too late for Plan B.

I’m linking this up to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub, although it is not really my poem. But it’s a good way to end a horrendous week (or two, or three) without internet or phone, after not being able to read any of the wonderful poems there!

 

Multiple Choices

For Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub, I was inspired by this wonderful poem about Persephone by A. E. Stallings, written as a multiple choice quiz. Political indignation is all my own.

She pitches forward

  • in darkness
  • under cover
  • haunting waking hours
  • with mocking laughter

He wonders quietly

  • at her tangled shyness
  • how such a vamp could
  • where to shut her in
  • why she’s so cold

Their children hesitate

  • on brink of teendom
  • always picking the other side
  • which game to play next
  • to pick up weird vibes

We are so convinced

  • we have motley choices
  • our minds are our own
  • there is a right answer
  • we’ve the right to stun
www.thewhitepalace.com
http://www.thewhitepalace.com

Entitled in title and privileged, created in our image,

we sit back and enjoy

picking over the poor choices of others.

 

 

 

 

Open Link Night: One Word Epitaph

It’s the end of the month and Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. Join us for fun, laughter and good vibes – as well as plenty of poetry from all around the globe.

 

One Word Epitaph

gravestoneBorn here, grew up there. Moved a lot, not sure where home is.

Done with town life, biz junk. Had my phase of punk.

First man too mean, next too green, third took the cream.

Tribes ran off, so did my book.

Got left on hook, no laugh, no shame.

All I want: my sons, my pen and friends.

A book to read in fruit tree.

Sweet cat on my lap.

Good meal with friends.

Stiff drink at end of day.

Walks on hills, rolls in hay.

Snow and skis, come what may.

Summer Break – and My First Sonnet

It’s a very special Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets today – the last one before the summer holidays. So join us there for some fireworks, summer fun and lots of good poetry! Which my example below is probably not, but it’s my first attempt at a sonnet. [I don’t usually do formal poetic forms.]

BigCatLittleCat
From the Big Cat Small Cat advert by Whiskas.

You tell me love’s for fools and nuts, so crazy,

You say that you could teach me, given time,

Your memory of summers glimmer hazy:

‘Since when is being vague and rushed a crime?’

You seep through cracks with treacled words and varnish,

You temper barbs with little bits of verse.

Not sure. Is it my thoughts you seek to tarnish?

Or do you think your wounds are much, much worse?

Just like a pensioned horse, when this is over,

I want to pick a shady field to hide,

Be put to graze in four-leaved clover,

Lay saddle, bridle to distant side.

And, from your perch of plenty, safety, height,

You’ll watch my frolics, joy and sunshine bright.