Best Second Year Poems
Hot August, 1974, I was back for my second year at college,
having just settled into a new place at Anita Apartments,
right next to the guys’ apartment complex called Tanner’s.
My first night, we answered a knock at our door.
Steve Dietrich, a friend of my roommate, entered our apartment,
but my eyes went immediately to the younger man with him.
That would be his brother Joel, there for his first year at BYU.
My first thought was this: How shy he is, so reserved. . . but so adorable.
He was tall and thin and cute as the dickens.
They stayed for just a while, and by the time they left,
I’d formulated my big plan:
to get to know this boy Joel (who everyone just called Joe).
There was to be a parking lot dance that weekend,
and so I waited expectantly, hoping all week
to catch a glimpse of this boy I’d found so attractive,
but no matter how often I strolled past his apartment,
my opportunity for a “chance encounter” never occurred.
The night of the dance arrived and I was right there,
all decked out in my colorful tight top with bellbottoms,
long luscious lashes curled and pink frost lipstick applied.
When I caught sight of Joel, he was slow dancing with some girl.
A blonde with glasses, she was rather plain and smaller than me.
I was not pleased to see her with Joe, and I thought to myself:
Hmmmm, who does she think she is? I saw him first,
and he is NOT going to stay with her tonight.
As they danced, I fixed my eyes on him,
my beautiful, long-lashed, sultry green eyes.
He looked up and saw me then. I must have taken him by surprise
because I did not lower my gaze.
I wanted him to know that he was going to be mine,
so I willed him with my gaze to break away from that blonde
and come to me.
And so he did. . the rest is history.
Beside me at this moment, lying on our bed, watching TV,
is the man who today bears little resemblance to that
very young man I met 35 years ago.
I turn to him and ask, “Do you remember the VERY first time you saw me?”
He replies, “I don’t know; a parking lot dance?”
Well, at least he came close. . .
For Frank Herrera's Contest: Love Story
Categories:
second year, husband, lovedance, dance, me,
Form:
Narrative
I am 7 years old and have already learned a lot
as ...
"God's wife is called Godmother
She is the mother of all her grandchildren:
Noah, Jesus and Santa Claus "
This is my second year at school
"All children start with clean hands"
(laughter ......... :)
By the way
... do you know?
"Grandmothers have very big bra
They are so big that
I get the whole butt and two knees into one bowl
... the second my brother can use a cradle "
From the child's mouth :)
02.02.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
second year, children, funny, wisdom,
Form:
Light Verse
Ever since my parents bought me a Grundig TV for my room,
And every week day unquestioned and without fail,
I've watched the Channel 4 News avidly, glued to it,
From when I was ten when my ship did at last sail.
I fell in love with Jon Snow instantly as a father figure,
A socialist or social democratic who would interpret,
Political and social events in a way that I understood,
Without any superiority or cold, aloof mood.
My best subject at university was marketing,
Came top in my second year Easter class exam
And everyday when I watched it I analysed Jon’s socks and ties,
Until I was 17, I could predict to myself the next days dyes.
This made me so happy and empowered me to continue,
In that Christian fundamentalist world of criticism and guilt,
But the C4 News was my little secret which I kept to myself,
As I was taught not to love things like that, of a worldly, societal lilt.
I was a devious child towards my parents and their religion,
And lived by admitting only to liking that which I loved,
So that they could have the satisfaction of disciplining me straight,
But pass me by as someone who religion did very much hate.
I had my own sequence, mathematical formula in my head,
And the first day I got my television when the light was ahead,
Because my dad used to monitor what I viewed with intense interest,
I did not flip channels somedays, to suggest no deviation was in my head.
And when Krishnan Guru-Murthy joined the show in 1998,
(I had predicted it from his way at BBC news presenting);
As he reported in Newsnight and BBC 24’s current events programme,
And I thought he would compliment Jon Snow and for youth be an emblem.
I'm hesitant to say that I used to be able to,
Predict when he would grow a beard in playful discourse,
But I knew that he would always shave it off again,
‘Cos that concerned, innocent face is not for recourse.
I like Garry Gibbon, love Kathy Newman, Jackie Long and Matt Frei,
And Paul Mason always gets to the roots of the economics issues;
Lindsey Hilsum and Helia Ebrahimi give such good reports,
And Geoff White always excites me with his technology eye.
Categories:
second year, betrayal, child, childhood, dad,
Form:
Rhyme
entering into the Sea of Words contest by Leighann Anderson 7/3/2011
Remembering...
I was 27 years old, and in my second year of working for my first real "grown
-up"
job. There is something powerful about wearing a pair of pressed matching scrubs, a
name tag addressed by first name only, and a stethoscope around the neck( a lot
heavier than the plastic one I was so accustomed to in my junior doctor kit.) I
thought I had the answer to any medical problem thrown my way...I was wrong.
In between bringing patients to their rooms, the receptionist, who is the spitting
image of Barbie, minus the plastic legs, informed me I had a phone call, and is very
important.
Being my first "personal" call at my job as a registered medical assistant, I
immediately had to remove my "work hat" and don my "me hat", something I tend to
lack some knowledge in.
My head overflowing with a thick fog, I try to navigate everything out before saying
the usual greeting, to no avail.
My sweaty palm takes hold of the receiver and a voice I barely recognize mouths the
appropriate greeting;
This is the phone call that would change my life forever...
I could sense through the black receiver plastered with a large "911" sticker, my
mom has been crying for quite sometime. Her trembling followed the same route I took home from work everyday after I left work and went
home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home
voice cracking the words of an accident.
With the word accident replaying over and over like a 33 vinyl record skipping at the
best part of the song, I hung up the phone.
I began to wipe the stream before it formed a puddle on the dirty blue carpet of the
doctors office.
Coworkers hands patting me on the shoulder, back, hand and arm, I was taking on the role of the patient, with not a clue of what to say or do.
I got in my beat-up white Mazda 210, not sure where the road would lead me. I followed the same route I took home from work everyday and went home. This is my safe haven, no one or nothing could harm me here. This is home sweet home, where
everything is so routine. I so longed for that right now. I pulled into the driveway, alone, scared, confused, and filled with the question of why .
I stumble to the front odor. to be continued....
Categories:
second year, losswords, me, work, home,
Form:
Narrative
We planted love inside our hearts
a rooted tree, when but a seedling
Carved our initials deep in the trunk
with rings worn on our left fingers
In early Spring of its second year
a budded sprout began to grow
By mid Summer of its fourth year
branches drooped and became brittle
In Autumn, its leaves fluttered and fell
roots were exposed to the ground above
Winter snows left it gasping for breath
The tree weakened, hollow and dying
Uprooted, it fell upon the ground
and now lays covered in fungi and moss
Long ago in my memory, a tree grew roots
Limbs entwined like a groom and his bride
The carving in its bark crumbled and I cried
From somewhere near, a lone owl hoots
Categories:
second year, lost love,
Form:
Elegy
in grade school
he heard about it
in high school
he prepared for it
in his first year
he explored it
in his second year
he focused on it
in his third year
he felt part of it
in his fourth year
he graduated from it
Now, he has a job
because of it.
Categories:
second year, education, inspirational, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
No. I’m not a rock; and I’m not an island.
I am about 8 feet wide and 20 feet long.
I get plenty of sun light, and I drain well, when it rains.
I have been lying dormant since last summer’s harvest of tomatoes.
That was the first year that my owners grew nothing but tomatoes.
Yes. I am dirt and soil; I am a natural food machine; I am a garden.
My soil has been enriched with all kinds of good nutritious compose.
Over the years my owners have planted many different vegetables;
but due to water shortages over the last four years, they have curtailed
their crops. For example, I have produced corn, white potatoes, squash, mustard greens, and tomatoes. However, this year, they decided to raise tomatoes, onions, and peas.
I tend to always do well with tomatoes, and this year I should
produce a bumper crop of tomatoes because of the winter rain
in Northern California. I will try my best with the peas, but I
make no promises.
There is a young and thriving peach tree whose roots have been growing deep into my soil for the past four years. The first year of production yielded nice peaches of average size. The second year brought my owner peaches about the size of golf balls. Please, do not blame me, because the soil in me was well nourished, except for water. From the garden, eat fresh my friend.
04302016 PS Contest, Poetry
Categories:
second year, april, earth, food, garden,
Form:
Personification
Dreaming of a pot of gold, you came to town
It was sprawling, this metropolis, you knew none around
Your earnings were scant and engagements, irregular
The overseer assured steady income in lieu of a favour
You succumbed to ward off uncertainties, and gradually sank deeper
You were born of impoverished stock, high up in the Himalayas
Your clean looks and youthful age were your kin’s panacea
Your home, the arid plains, where land is mostly barren
Starvation a reality, your innocent world was broken
When it comes to sacrifice, inevitably you are chosen
You were a country girl, pubescent and barely thirteen
Travelling to the big city with a distant kin
To serve an urban family with mop and pail
A drug laced cup of tea made you vulnerable to a cartel
You woke, imprisoned, in a dingy room of a highway brothel
Battered and beaten and raped to submission
You forgot the gods and your daily oblation
Your escort paid dearly for his betrayal and malice
Was it your homage to the gods or backstreet justice?
You languish now in jail, but the brothel still exists
You were in your second year, studying BA (Honours)
With a weakness for the life of the upper class
And the knowledge to achieve what you felt, you must
The initiation was debasing – no niceties, just frenzied lust
The payment was in cash –the first time wasn’t the last
You are not alone in your tainted existence
Women arriving at the metropolis in suburban trains
Working by day and exiting before the peak hour rush
Living in opulence, in times past – barely middle class
Very discreet, these devil women and financially flush
You conceived, a professional risk, and the baby you resolved to keep
Now nineteen and actively trafficking, his misdeeds make you weep
His latest catch, a tender ten year old, the same age you were shackled
Your flesh and blood, the son, you had mothered from the cradle!
Your agony was incomplete, now it had completed its cruel cycle
Hail lady of the night
With time, you’ve overcome both fear and fright
And blended the distinction between wrong and right
You’ve lost your vision, though you retain your sight
In a world shrouded in darkness where the sun still shines bright
Categories:
second year, life, sad, social, world,
Form:
Narrative
I Wanted To ‘Get Away’
By Curtis Johnson
Without naming the company, one of my favorite commercials use to be the one featuring ‘embarrassing moments' and closing with the question, “Wanna get away”? Many years before those commercials were conceived and popularized, I had such a moment in one of my college classes. It would have been a great time to get away, or disappear, or for a fire drill moments before, or for “The Rapture”.
The class size was no more than 15 plus the teacher, who was a rather friendly and smooth character. I think that it was my second year at Bible college where I was studying for the Gospel ministry. This was most definitely a required class for anyone seeking to be a public speaker. So I was well suited to excel in my Homiletic class, or so I thought. I did fine later on during the year and more that just pass the course.
But for some reason on that particular morning, when it came my turn to stand before the class and preach my sermon, I bummed out. My subject matter was fine, and my three points were well defined and organized, but just after the introduction of my message, I froze and forgot everything. The teacher and the class were great and very supportive. I do not remember if I managed to pull through it or whether I was forced to sit down. What I do remember is that, in spite of the kind spirit in the room, I was very embarrassed.
Yes, I became a pastor and preached hundreds of sermons and spoke in public on many other non church functions. No, the ‘freeze’ never happened again, and I suspect that I was to ever remain humble and never think myself to be a great speaker. And also, one embarrassing moment was more than enough for me, and I think that I learned my lesson well. 09282015. 1P
Categories:
second year, character, chicago, christian, class,
Form:
Prose
In Texas, High School Football is king
Every Friday night there’s a game
A big event and the stands are full
The games aren’t played for fun, they’re for fame
In my second year of College life
My High School Football team went to State
I was compelled to go to Baytown
A Championship maybe their fate
So proud was I, my team on the field
In the high school color, power blue
The group of us sitting in the stands
Tyler High fans through and through
Then the Abilene team came on the field
I could feel a big lump in my throat
Man for man they all looked like giants
The front linemen were something of note
From the first snap, you knew things were bad
Abilene’s linemen were in control
The whole line of scrimmage moved with them
My team got trampled under their roll
Yes, Trampled would be the word of choice
And it continued throughout the game
Abilene won the Championship
Trampled Tyler left Baytown in shame
Categories:
second year, history, sports, school, football,
Form:
Quatrain
Once upon a time not that
long ago. Lived a beautiful
young lady named Princess.
Who lived in the inner city.
Her eyes were hazel. And
they changed with whatever
she chose to ware. Her smile
would just light up any room.
Princess's skin was smooth
like silk and it was a lovely
mahogany shade.She had
thick dark wavy hair. Not only
was Princess beautiful on the
the outside she was beautiful
on the inside as well. One day
she said “ Moma, why did you
and daddy name me Princess?”
“Baby I told you that story a
million times.”
“ I know moma, but I love to
hear you tell it. Can you tell
me again please?”
“ Me and yo daddy named
you princess because you are
a princess. You are our little
princess.
Her moma has been gone for a
a while now, but she never forgot
her mama's words.
Folk around the neighborhood
said she lived in make believe,
because she told everyone that
she was going to be a real prin-
cess one day. She would often
say “ I was born to
be a princess”. On one particular
day a childhood friend said “ Girl
you good people in all, but ain't
nobody from the hood gonna be
no princess. Get yo head out
the clouds girl.”
Princess was very smart and
she excelled in school. Her
G.P.A was so high that she
got a full scholarship to study
abroad in a well known school,
to study philosophy in another
country.
She excelled in her philosophy
class as well. Princess was in
a new country and she was still
loved by all who came in contact
with her.
In her second year she met the
most handsome guy she had
ever seen.
“Hi my name is Sebastian Wil-
cox.
What is your name beautiful?”
“My name is Princess Scott.”
The two became inseparable.
They fell madly in love. And
one day before graduation he
asked her asked her to marry
him. But he had a secret he
was a prince,who left a king-
dom close by to find his one
true love.
THE END
3-11-27
Alexis Y.
Categories:
second year, first love, friendship, love,
Form:
Prose
The most important day of my whole life,
Was the day I went to Uni, bold and stark,
‘Cos it said to my parents that my mind’s state,
Was with the academics and society’s quark.
They called me as a child insane and *****,
For wanting my brother’s toys, books and pencils;
They also actually called me mentally ill,
For not wanting girly clothes which did frill.
I had my nose in the encyclopaedias and dictionaries,
And they just couldn’t figure why or understand,
And wouldn’t leave me to browse and scan:
Wouldn’t in love care and just let me have my stand.
Society was for sinners, every day they pointed out,
But I felt that it was the fundamentalist Christians,
Who were cold, uncaring, and without clout;
Ready to explode in anger at any societal person.
But they knew who I was on that day going to Uni,
On the journey to Glasgow in the Grenada car,
And so when I was subjective, contemplative and still,
My dad rudely V’d me with his fingers in a spar.
I think they thought I'd say nothing and carry on,
But I waited a few seconds and then firmly replied,
“What was that for?” and he retorted “What?”
And that glint of something in me for them died.
I gave a few murmurs, but succeeded in letting it go,
Having quietly shed a tear about my childhood and early life,
But I promised myself to tell the Hall wardens about the gesture,
Who also made me swear to tell them of any future strife.
And then in my second year, when my dad became,
The conductor of Billy Graham’s choir,
When I made the wardens aware of my pain,
They took me to the cinema and loved me plain.
It makes it so much better, other people’s concern,
Just that bit of interest that you've never had to earn;
Talking about one’s problems puts colour in your cheeks,
And life will be to you that whatever one truly seeks.
Categories:
second year, age, character, childhood, desire,
Form:
Rhyme
(In December 1936, English poet John Cornford
was killed in combat near Lopera, during the
Spanish Civil War. It was the day after his
twenty-first birthday. Could this be the poem
he was formulating in his last hours?)
They switched from cubes to cylinders,
those knights of Calatrava,
when cannon chipped the corners off.
We’re still playing at that palaver.
I’m lying in a scratch-mark
(saying “trench” insults true trenches),
about to take Lopera,
mired in medieval stenches.
Sunlight’s livening turrets
on the ochre-amber castle,
and we’re about to murder
its “Fascist-lackey vassals”.
We glided through the olives
like viruses, infesting:
since no-one gave us shovels, we
scraped fox-holes with our mess tins.
Amusing, isn’t it, pondering
exactly what a fight is?
Do I help humanity by
contracting enteritis?
The whole thing seems to hover
between contrary poles:
by killing (or by dying)
do we achieve our goals?
I’d hoped to fire some shots, then go,
but war’s prolonged, extensive.
I can’t defend aggression, though
passivity’s offensive.
Lopera – is it Cordoba,
or is it part of Jaen?
We’re lads with rusty rifles,
but do we count as men?
And am I now a soldier,
or a Marxist doctrinaire?
Five turrets glow down on me,
three round, while two are square.
Categories:
second year, history,
Form:
Rhyme
The only woman I ever loved gives joy and love, For I have met and loved other women but not with such satisfaction I feel now. For she turns a dark day bright and shares a smile that brings life to a withering rose, if only her parents knew they would have called her Rose because she is my Rose of Sharon. Give me love my angel for today we joined in one, let us rejoice in our love and strengthen our bond in marriage.
Days, weeks, months pass and my love is still strong and sharper than any double edged sword. We on the second year now, why the sudden change. Our usual routines fade with the honeymoon phase, no more cuddling its now frequent quarreling. Is marriage like this? Love fades now its reality; she comes late at night and leaves early in the morning. The home once full of love now lays with sorrows.Donot know who to blame but myself for I ran before I could walk and landed before I could fall and now everything is vivid we jumped into marriage leaving us livid.
Everything changes I do not feel at home anymore, because home is where the heart is and for now my heart is wondering. I start feeling at home at pubs, for it is there where I drown my sorrows. Nightfall becomes my joy for I know the bar calls and sorrows are drowned. I now long for body warmth for in bed we now like Siamese twins joined by our backs.
Usual routine at the bar two three beers a woman approaches, she speaks with persuasion, have I found love at the bar or is it the alcohol taking its course? She whispers in my ear all through the night. She then leads me away like a bull led for slaughter.
Morning and everything is bleak but I feel body warmth, had I partaken in the act of love with the mystifying woman. Suddenly she awakes; she smiles and demands she be reward for her participation in the act. It then hits me, is she the thorny rose that wilts other roses, the lady of the night that brings gloom. I glance around the room; nothing strikes me as a condom. Does that mean I partook in the act of love with the lady of the night without protection?
Has my marriage lead me to death, It seems death is now soon to be my destiny. For I know with the ladies of the night comes the devil's advocate.
And now that the curse of my marriage
She was one of the reasons I lived and now she is the only reason I'm dying...
Categories:
second year, sad,
Form:
hydrogen speckeled pair of eyeglasses,
watching from a distance.
high.. high above the weather vain.
chance of rain, chance of windowpane...elegance.
slim chance of hindenberge smoldering,
the embers falling down in ethereal glory.
wheels and wings of the cherubim burning,
falling all around.
that must have been what it felt like
to be an icon.
in that moment luck should have it
the wind shifted.
second year of la nina and
the fire fly zeppelin breathes
into the open field.
Categories:
second year, allegory,
Form:
Blank verse