Two Poems By Mark Niedzwiedz

Being Young, 21
  
Being young, 21, is everything
For wisdom does not come with age
Only tired bones and fade
And maturity means accustomed to
The crumbling of a once great temple, you
Invisible now, featureless, faceless
That’s the rub of the wrinkly skinned
Who live in seaside towns, with mothballs twinned
And all this whilst the beautiful people
Run like gazelles, screw like rabbits, have such delicious fun
God, it’s just not fair, though once I was there
In the class of being young, 21
  
Being old, having a layer of mould, is disgusting
Grandpa in the garden smiling, pottering
With his ugly brood, screeching, hollering
I’ll leave to poppets and dears with leaky bladders
Who pee themselves and fall off ladders
So, young man, please get blind drunk for me
Do excess like there’s one day left, for advancing years
Bring only scraps of happy, but no few tears
Don’t listen to elders, sit at their slippered feet
Run like gazelles, screw like rabbits, stretch out in the sun
And I’ll cheer from afar, still a member at heart
Of the class of being young, 21 
I love my dog more than my dad
  
I love my dog more than my dad
By a distance, not a tad 
There I’ve said it, the cardinal sin
Preference for a canine to my next of kin
His big floppy ears, doughy eyes, cold wet nose
Means more to me than my father’s bones
That lay in a grave, I hope at peace
My accidental parent, who came from the East
And whilst my dog showers me with kisses
I remember the drink, the rows, the Christmases
He was never there, never told us he cared 
But still I loved this boy soldier, unrecovered man
Though not as much as I love my dog
Sorry dad, I hope you understand 

From the UK, Mark Niedzwiedz is a professional composer and lyricist. So far, Mark’s poems have appeared in poetry journals such as Grey Sparrow, Oddville Press, Scritura, Wink, Rat’s Arse review, Sac, Literary Heist, Harbinger Asylum and elsewhere.

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