Geez, the first poem I wrote at 15 for a class. First poem I set down to write was a sestina and I can't find it (it's here somewhere on paper). I did find something that was probably the first free verse poem I wrote. It pains me to share it, but what the hell (punctuation must have just been optional little dots to me during that period):
Drizzle
The garden at dawn
Flowers cut
Poppies and irises
Lay scattered orange and violet
at our feet
The breeze calm,
Belying the tension, the heat,
The dew's sizzle.
The caress of leaves, grass
The touch
Rising, Falling, Beating
To the heart
To the rhythm
Dripping from our skin
Like a fine sheen
Of moist, humid
Rain
Drizzle
The garden at dawn
Flowers cut
Poppies and irises
Lay scattered orange and violet
at our feet
The breeze calm,
Belying the tension, the heat,
The dew's sizzle.
The caress of leaves, grass
The touch
Rising, Falling, Beating
To the heart
To the rhythm
Dripping from our skin
Like a fine sheen
Of moist, humid
Rain
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson