Now in all fairness, this is not really my first poem. This is the first poem that ever made it out of my little notebook and onto the web. It was the first poem I ever posted on a poetry forum, and the first poem I'd ever had the pleasure of receiving constructive criticism on. (Thank you -again- Tara!) My first poem is long gone and has been for many years, a decade or 2 at least. I couldn't even begin to remember the subject, let alone actually post it here, so this is the best I can do.
take a deep breath
OK, hold it - cuz this stinks...
hold it... hold it...
Mahogany skin, like aged tobacco, stretches across tired bones.
His countenance seems to have absorbed that which he picked for years.
Back is bowed over, like an ancient willow in the storm of life,
the weeping of which is mirrored in his eyes.
His gnarled old walking stick taps out a sorrowful cadence;
the walkway he follows is bespeckled with countless labored tears.
The procession he follows, made in respect of volunteers lost in war,
the roaring sound of which echoes in his mind.
Aching body begs to forget the deadly battles it endured;
his damaged frame creaks and protests numberless pains.
His exhausted pride, spangled by death,
is symbolized in the stripes of our flag.
Now I'll blush for a week over this thing. Andrew was right to have used the word "repulse" in his post! You can read Andrew's first poem too.