By Karl Knights
The zoo is tough terrain; hilly.
I wheel as fast as I can —
then Mum shouts ‘Keep up!’
I stop. ‘Hand me…
I wheel as fast as I can —
then Mum shouts ‘Keep up!’
I stop. ‘Hand me…
Explore Poems: Youth
Showing 1-20 of 375 poems
- By Ada LimónMy brother holds a snake by its head. The whole
length of the snake is the length
of my brother’s body. The snake’s head
is held safely, securely, as if my brother
is showing him something in the distant high grass.
I... - By CAConradFrank’s sister grew long blue feathers
she said it was worse than cutting teeth
she spent a month screaming in the cave
pushing them out
Frank would lie in bed at night
touching his own back
crying
praying it wouldn’t
come to him
but the day his sister flew... - By CAConradMother was angry when
Frank accused his brother
of being a cartoon
“but look!” Frank said
“I can fold him
into airplanes!
I can chew him
into spitballs!”
“stop chewing and folding your brother!
he loves you very much!” she said
“then why doesn’t he say so?”
“because
we can’t afford a
screenwriter’s... - By K. IverYou’ve never seen a lilac in Mississippi.
Backstage you wear lotion laced with
its chemical imitation. A ballet mistress
says relevé always as command: lift
onto the toe using only the heel.
Your ankle’s bewilderment
old as the horned owl gaze from
your mother hunched in the... - By Karyna McGlynn& watch Kevin Bacon conjure fake tears in a Real Hallway
& I am Real Tears in a fake hallway
& “Procreation is gross though”
I’m nine & a half, watching “The Miracle
of Life” on my mother’s bed
Stirring my shells & cheese
I see... - By John MurilloFor me, the movie starts with a black man
Leaping into an orbit of badges, tiny moons
Catching the sheen of his perfect black afro.
Arc kicks, karate chops, and thirty cops
On their backs. It starts with the swagger,
The cool lean into the... - By Lynn EmanuelLove is boring and passé, all that old baggage,
the bloody bric-a-brac, the bad, the gothic,
retrograde, obscurantist hum and drum of it
needs to be swept away. So, night after night,
we sit in the dark of the Roxy beside grandmothers
with their shanks... - By Jos Charlesits a secrete
the grls speeching mye hole /
inn 2 the lindens / wee go out
& playe footballe / verie nashenallie
how wee leeve a stall / piteus
wen the grls
speech me /
this is how u make a porno / ... - By Ariana BrownI don’t know why
most mexicans in my hood
wore nike cortez’s–
why the breakers in my crew
polished ‘em daily,
as if a little spit could
salvage our childhoods–
why we all know cortez’s are best
for c-walking, gang shit,
sick moves thrust
upon an opponent’s pride–
why we thought
by... - By Tayi TibbleRinsing the sea salt out of our bikinis
with the drinking water and getting a slap
upside the head from your mother with her
House & Garden magazine reserved especially
for fanning away mosquitoes and sighing
because we know that this is how
it’s always going... - By William BlakeSweet Mary, the first time she ever was there,
Came into the Ball room among the Fair;
The young Men & Maidens around her throng,
And these are the words upon every tongue:
“An Angel is here from the heavenly Climes,
Or again does return... - By Alvin FeinmanThis this will it always be, and why
To ever argue for: here walking
In its life, or sprawled, or loitering
Down shallow valleys of the lawn:
The trees that are there
The pigeon bobbing through
Its fallowgray ellipse of ground—
The comfort of this ground
Is physical:... - By Edward HirschTwelve years old and lovesick, bumbling
and terrified for the first time in my life,
but strangely hopeful, too, and stunned,
definitely stunned—I wanted to cry,
I almost started to sob when Chris Klein
actually touched me—oh God—below the belt
in the back row of the... - By Lucie Brock-BroidoHow odd that she would die into an August
night, I would have thought
she would have gone out in a pale clear
night of autumn, covered to the shoulder
in an ivory sheet, hair
fanned out across the pillow perfectly.
Fame will go by, and,... - By Solmaz SharifEverywhere we went, I went
in pigtails
no one could see—
ribbon curled
by a scissor’s sharp edge,
the bumping our cars
undertook when hitting
those strips
along the interstate
meant to shake us
awake. Everywhere we went
horses bucking
their riders off,
holstered pistols
or two Frenchies
dancing in black and white
in a torn-apart
living... - By Chris AbaniA stream in a forest and a boy fishing,
heart aflame, head hush, tasting the world—
lick and pant. The Holy Scripture
is animal not book.
I should know, I have smoked
the soul of God, psalm burning
between fingers on an African afternoon.
And how is... - By Jim DanielsThe strongest boy in our high school
on the edge of Detroit did not play
sports—he would’ve had to cut
his long blond Samson hair
and put away his switchblade
and stop smoking dope.
The gone-to-seed coaches who taught
gym class hated him for the beauty
they could... - By Kara van de GraafThe water was so still
I believed it would keep us
right-side up forever
there in that pool
on a night so dim
it looked like the negative
of itself, with the friend
I loved in high school,
a boy (I thought
they were a boy) who
had also shed
their... - By Maria HummelThe memory of the young is grasshopper:
thin legs, backwards knees
balance a being that is green,
gold-tinged, that wants to keep singing.
That sings the afternoon rays
serrated, that flecks the sight of wind.
The memory of the young is leap-by-leap.
It sweeps itself for clues...