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This is a question Teenage Poetry

Hormones and rhyming dictionaries seem to go together. Let's celebrate this by publishing the poems you wrote as a teenager.

(, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 14:49)
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What do you do?
when there's nothing left to fight for
the whole world swallowed
what it was you had to say
your ideas and your views
have all become mandatory
everyone, and his son
has become your cliche

and i could be your lover
if you weren't so damn pessimistic
and you could be my rhythm
if we weren't so out of time

your beauty
ellegent and relentless
me with your forever restless
soul, whole
heart keeping time to a forgotten rhythm

envisioning death as a populist
in a world that doesn't care
succumb to the rebel fist
adopt a knowing stare
blank, like a forgotten canvas
and are we...
forgotten, and can this...
honestly be...

Man I was a cheery shit
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 11:48, Reply)
Haiku Rant.
What the FUCK is Haiku?? Yeah yeah yeah, it's a set of words with a set amount of syllabols, and 3 lines. Whooopdy-fucking-Do!

I rekon it was made up by an anally retentive arse-wipe who was too damned egocentric to admit that he couldn't rhyme to save his life.

"Charles Ponsonby-Smythe?, Your poetry is Shit: it doesn't even fucking WHYME you twunting 'tard".
"Erm, no actually, it's "Haiku", a very advanced poetry style used by intellects and poets for centuries before poetry was debased and bastardised into the lower form of rhyming that we know today *snort*".
"but Charles, It doesn't rhyme, much less actually make sense"
"Georgie; you're nothing but a common fool, and faaar too stupid to understand this complex form of art, now go and get me another muffin"

It's pretty much the same shit as "Contemporary music". Contemporary meaning "with the times" .. so.. that would be modern popular music then?? NO. Contemporary music generally requires special festivals with discount student tickets to MAKE people listen to it. Why?? becuae it doesn't actually fit the dictionary definition of "music", and it sure as hell isn't Contemporary... more like "Contemptable". If you want to see the result of a tone-deaf psychotic self-obsessed extrovert, warbling in dis-chordant tones and prancing all over a stage, got to a contemporary music festival. Similarly, if listening to a bunch of 60's throw-backs "breathing in time" tickles your fancy and in your eyes, is the hot shit of the music world... don't delay.

If you want Haiku, Go to your nearest "cool" coffee bar where some diss-affected, xenophobic, "my parents don't appreciate me" haiku-writing motherfucker is pouring out distended non-rhyming scentences. The audience will be appluading while trying to work out what the hell it was he was whittering about, and lamenting the fact that, quite simply, 3 lines of shite is never enough to get the gist of what the crap it was about.

They applaud, wanting so very much to appear intellectual adn fit in. It was most likely the same bunch of tossers who watched "The Blair Witch Project" and declared it an astounding masterpiece. It was also them who looked at the mad paint-splatterings of a juvenile elephant, and declared the animal to be an artistic genious. Claude Monet? Van Gogh?, you suck... this Elephant is WAY better than you ever were.

It's just bollocks.
and you bloody well KNOW I'm right.

...and to prove my point...

Its simply bollocks
Un-rhyming meaningless shite
is this a poem?

you see? Haiku is Crap.

Mary had a F*cking Lamb
It was a F*cking Filthy one Too.
Together they indulged in watersports,
And made videos in the Loo.

You SEE???? now THAT's not even technically a poem... and it's a million fucking times more entertaining, and I didn't even need a bastard calculator to do it either!!
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 11:47, Reply)
For post-argument couples in bed
The acres of space
that lie in-between us
are easily bridged
by the length of my penis
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 11:47, Reply)
Fireworks...to be read in a rap stylee
Listen up everybody
Firework alert!
If you don't listen carefully
You'll end up getting hurt

Cheap fireworks
May seem nice
But think about the safety
Not about the price

Cheap fireworks
don't do much harm
But if they go wrong
It's your leg or arm

So remember, remember
Look for the best
On bonfire night
Don't get hurt like the rest

Nina, age 9. I won £25 of WHSmith vouchers!
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 10:49, Reply)
For You
With open mind, I reach for you
With all my heart, I long for you
With crying soul, I wait for you
With my whole being, I hope for you

(Circa 1996, Age 15)
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 10:16, Reply)
Well, let me let you in on a wee beaut i made up drunkely last week
Flipped her over
and done her dry
scarred her ass
and made her cry

Nasty, I know. But hell, was it funny at the time!
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 9:27, Reply)
My personal favorite...
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I have amnesia...
fuck...what was the last line?
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 5:08, Reply)
Poetry for the School Canteen
Stale pork pies,
All mixed up with dead dogs eyes,
Dried blood sandwiches,
Piled up thick,
All washed down,
With a cold cup of sick.
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 2:01, Reply)
I wrote this when I was 11, after we were told to write a poem about our home town.
One day, I went to Bearsden.
Then the next day, I went there again.
Because I live there.

(It's a John Hegley-esque gem...)
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 1:16, Reply)
Part of a cheery song I wrote
We’ve all been hurt,
What makes you think
That yours was worst?
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 1:16, Reply)
It's often thought that you are able,
by hitting your head on the table,
to get ideas for photoshops
but you'll just end up drawing cocks.

(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 1:00, Reply)
My dad was a cunt
my mum is a whore,
i'm a white van driver
so need I say more.
(, Sat 13 Aug 2005, 0:07, Reply)
a real valentine card poem (16 years old)
roses are red,
violets are blue,
i want to fuck your brains out
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:58, Reply)
teenage angst poetry
I wrote this when i was about 18 or 19

Oh how I long to hold her hand
Oh how I long to please her,
Although her heart is far away
Her head is in my freezer.

Come and run to me oh babe
And get those tight chains loose.
Let me taste your tender lips
And your pancreatic juice.

As I gaze into your eyes,
And as I sing this ballad,
I stroke your pretty little face
That sits next to the sallad.

By jove:P
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:40, Reply)
Limerick, actually written before my teenage years...
There once was a very good climber
Whose knob was made of china
He fell off a rock
And broke his cock
And now he's got a vagina
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:36, Reply)
roses are red
violets are blue
daffodils are yellow
and grass is green.

never could get the hang of this poetry stuff
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:33, Reply)
roses are red
violets are blue
what colour are yours
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:31, Reply)
I went for the surreal ones
My old man's a dustman
He wears a dustmans cap
He lives at the bottom of a goldfish bowl
With a teabag and an exploding monkey.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 23:25, Reply)
I twunting hate teenage poetry
I hate it so much, it was the first article I wrote for my friend and I's website.

Click click

It was mainly as a result of a backlash to a college magazine full of this bullshit which, I found, eroded the eyes when you read it.

Hope you like it chaps, it might inspire some cracking future poems on this thread.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 21:20, Reply)
Teenage Nursery Rymes?
As I was walking by St Pauls
A woman grabbed me by the balls.

She said "Son, you're a man of pluck,
Let's go inside, and have a....teacake.

Threepence, sixpence, ninepence, a bob
It all depends upon the size of your...appetite.

Why do I still sing this?
It remains a
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 19:31, Reply)
sort of on topic?
I used to use this 'gem' to test microphones before gigs*...

'One-one' was a racehorse
'Two-one' was one too.
'One-one' won one race
'Two-one' won one too.

Think it was funnier out loud. Maybe not. Bugger it I'm gonna have to go and write a teen-angst poem.

* for 'gigs' read 'church prayer meetings'
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 19:18, Reply)
This is long but bloody funny

In hindsight it's more than a tad un-PC but hell, it was the nineties, man........

Rory woke one sunny morn, to think about why he was born,
"Is my life a one-way street, or can I dance to a different beat?"
He pondered on his destiny, and what his life was meant to be
Should he be happy with what he's given, or should he try to do more livin?
"Each day I'll try out something new", And that's what he set out to do

He looked back on his life so far, Soccer, birds, time at the bar.
Humdrum it was, becoming lazy, "It's time I got a little crazy"
I've scored some chicks, I've had a laugh, it's time to walk a different path"

And so on this momentous day, Rory decided he'd be gay.
It was a major lifestyle swing, coz packing fudge was not his thing.

"George Michael, Prince, and Elton John will be my lords, I'll sing their songs.
I'll hang around with boys in frocks, and suck on many drag-queens' cocks"

He danced in clubs, YMCA, and fell in love with being gay
"Queers are great, they're so much fun, I even like the taste of cum!!"

After a month, at last, at last, he took his first man up the ass.
His partner's cock, to big to measure, filled Rory with ENORMOUS pleasure
"I am in love!" he screamed in pain, as Nigel shafted him again.
He and Nigel spent an hour, getting horny in the shower.

His new life began to take its toll, on Rory's little dainty hole
His ring was raw, each night he bled from having orgies in his bed
Too many men, too hard, too fast, had ruptured membranes in his ass
Truly buggered, what could he do? One more knob and he was through.
He was so sad, he cried and cried (he'd loved the feel of men inside)

And that's the story of Rory Fitz, who winces every time he shits
His life is ruined, his ring in shreds
and, having Aids, he'll soon be dead.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 19:04, Reply)
We had to write a Haiku in English, year 8 about the person sitting next to us. Mine wasn't too well received.

Looking at your face
Makes me want to kill myself
So I shot my brains
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 18:50, Reply)
Monkey see
Monkey do
Donkey wee
Monkey poo!
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 18:16, Reply)
Sex is bad
Sex is a sin
Sins are forgiven
So get stuck in

I apologise for the crapness of that poem.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 18:10, Reply)
A Classic
cat shit,
bat shit,
dirty old twat,
sixty-nine assholes,
tied in a knot.
yay, rabbit shit, fuck.

Thanks George Carlin. The catch all poem.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 18:04, Reply)
Written while stranded in Leeds Station...
...one Saturday night having just missed a connecting train due a crappy scheduling, all the shops were shut and the toilets were all out of order.

It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
I'm sitting here bored as can be.
It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
I want to go home for my tea.

It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
I'm fed up, there's nothing to do.
It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
I can't even go to the loo.

It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
I might as well not even exist.
It's Saturday night in Leeds Station,
Sod this, I'm off to get pissed.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 17:46, Reply)
lots of poems...
I wrote lots of little poems because I have nothing better to do with my life
click here to read them
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 17:32, Reply)
My Smelly Granny
wrote this in 5th year at school:

My frail, old smelly granny
She's full of cabbage gas
And when she lets a mighty one
The skin melts from her ass.

The stinky, wrinkled lady
That preposterous old crone
Everyone take cover, quick
I heard her anus groan.
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 17:28, Reply)
Oggy Oggy Oggy
Oggy Oggy Oggy
Tits in a trolley
Balls in a biscuit tin

Teacher in the class
Finger up her arse
Playing with her ding-a-ling-a-ling

Bit of a classic, really. Wonder if anyone else posed it?
(, Fri 12 Aug 2005, 17:27, Reply)

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