Lockers Poems

High School Girls

Love didn’t follow you from junior high,
It lingered in corners like and made you sigh,
Your eyes sought faces, but none remained,
Only silence where your laughter reigned.

The halls are long, the lockers gray,
You walk alone through the first day,
Your broken mirrors—your beating heart,
Like ocean waves that drift apart.

Outside the windows, the branches lean,
Bushes and trees filled with leaves of green,
They whisper of summers already gone,
Of childhood’s song and its softer dawn.

Flowers bloom in the tender light,
Opening slowly to morning skies,
Dear blossoms rising, their petals near,
Touching the heavens, unclouded, clear.

But you—still waiting for love to start,
Carrying quietly heis fragile heart,
Dreams that shimmer but fall away,
Like glass at dusk, like mist at day.

Yet somewhere hidden, a promise grows,
In roots unseen where your gardener knows,
That even the loneliest soul will find
A gentler hand, a heart aligned.

So you walk beneath the sap filled trees,
Your breath a prayer, your steps a plea,
And the morning answers with fragrant air,
You are you and yes, quite rare.

A coin gawks at a grand big note - 1

Last night I dreamt I was one-rupee coin
Who met a two-thousand rupee crisp note
In a rich man’s pocket, looking so keen
At the exalted worthy of my vote.
The note asked: you find anything funny?
No, but you must have moved many a miles,
Which, a penny like me cannot any,
The coin wondered. No, caught I was on isles
All along, detained as if in dark land--
In lockers, safe from prying eyes of law,
Until given was to a corrupt hand,
No, there’s nothing in me to inspire awe.
    All life I’ve spent oh in utter darkness,
    Relieved I feel at last this to confess.
_____________________
Sonnet | 28.07.2025 | money, journey

Dark Male High School Secrets

They came in packs, 
shoulders knotted with gym weight,
smelling of Axe and iron,
boys who scraped knuckles on lockers
just to feel something slice.

At lunch, they stalked the quad like wolves—
every joke a blade,
every girl a mirror they wanted to crack
or crown. 
One leaned too long
on the freshman in geometry,
his eyes doing the talking his mouth
was too full of teeth.

They had trophy girls,
not lovers—prizes they unwrapped
with grins in the backseat,
then showed off to each other
like kills in the forest.

Behind it: the need.
To be taught something gentle—
to understand fractions, how to read a face
without splitting it.

One, behind the field house, cried
when I read his paper aloud.
He said don’t tell,
and I haven’t.
Until now.

Memorial Junior High

Malcolm and Courtney at Memorial"

In the halls of Memorial Junior High,
Where lockers clanged and dreams flew high,
Two hearts met in a gentle spin—
Malcolm and Courtney, love would begin.

Between math class and lunchtime chatter,
They found in each other what truly mattered.
A glance, a smile, a whispered joke,
And soon, young love softly awoke.

Courtney laughed like sunshine in May,
Malcolm's grin could brighten a gray.
Passing notes in folded art,
Secrets scribbled from the heart.

They walked the halls, side by side,
Where crushes bloom and fears collide.
But theirs was calm, like steady flame—
A spark that lit and never waned.

Dances, science fairs, and football cheers,
A bond that stretched through awkward years.
First love blooming, bold and bright,
Under the junior high gym lights.

Now time has passed, but still they say,
It started back on that fateful day—
At Memorial, where fate took part,
Two young souls shared one brave heart.

putting stuff into a storage locker

When you throw things into a storage shed
You are spending money on rent every month
Sometimes for years
Finally, you decide to look the stuff over
None of this was anything you should have kept or paid rent on
At one time we had three storage lockers in three states
It took me three weeks to clean them out
What I decided to keep fit into a small purse

Pencils scribble

Lockers slam, a metal roar,
Then quiet falls, books hit the floor.
No tests today, no homework sighs,
Just whispering leaves and butterfly skies.

Sunlight paints the desks with stripes,
As whispers bloom like dandelion pipes.
Chairs tilt back, imaginations take flight,
Through emerald jungles, bathed in sun's pure light.

Pencils scribble, tales unfurl,
Of talking beasts and dragons in a whirl.
Volcanoes erupt, castles rise so high,
On paper dreams take wing and touch the sky.

Chalkboard roars transform to waves,
Crashing loud in coral caves.
Pencils dive, dolphins in the blue,
Hunting words, a hidden clue.

Laughter echoes, vines of green,
Connecting hearts, a joyful scene.
No grades or stars, just stories spun,
Weaving magic, one by one.

This hour's jungle, wild and free,
Where minds explore, eternally.
A classroom bloom, vibrant and bright,
Where lessons blossom, bathed in sun's pure light.

So let the whispers turn to roars,
In this jungle where imagination soars.
For seventh grade's a wild, untamed land,
Where dreams take root and stories expand.

Valentine Revisited Wonder 4 Young Love 2 Reunion

A centric couple

Exchanging different coloured roses

Holding hands with vice like grip

Earth betwix their curling toes

Beneath a moonlight torn astray

With such so birthed exploding hearts

It even stirs the deaf neighbours

And labours love

Valentine poison arrow breech

Still hidden in the shadowy hall's

Of old school gym lockers

Now used as passwords

That scar to this day

Because

They are a cold reminder

Of what it was like growing up

Deemed to be never worthy 

Of 1 a single solitary flower bought
Nor
Valentine's card written

Hopefully better late than never

Something's are wasted on the young

And are worth waiting for

And mean so much more

When the right time

And the right person comes along 

Said someone far wiser under the
guise of I 

With a sheave full of blunt arrows

And teary eyes

As if to say 

1 day in the future you will eventually
understand

And come that day look back and
finally be able to smile without

Regret 

And nothing else will matter

But love itself relatable in this here
moment present tense actuality now 

Come the Reunion and everything is
back to the future

Towards Your Own Mind

"I'm going towards the art of life, walking away from within the lockers of my own mind, drifting to the thoughts of joy I've found opposites of my mind that is not yours, my thoughts are a million miles away from yours. 
My mind is not a soft cruise,
The struggle i lost and within myself, has from inside my own soul, I'm no longer running from within the horror I've caused in all, by myself throughout this life so far, but if you notice or even if you don't notice the full story, don't you judge me or even express thoughts of me that as if you know within a different mind,
As if you are fooling yourself,
One of the damn reasons most don't understand me and probably most won't even dare to cross minds."

-Ds-

Valentine's Slam

A centric couple

Echanging different coloured roses

Holding hands with vice like grip

Earth betwix their curling toes

Beneath a moonlight torn astray

With such so birthed exploding hearts

It even stirs the deaf neighbours

And labours love

Valentine poison arrow breech

Still hidden in the shadowy hall's

Of old school gym lockers

Now used as passwords

That scar to this day

Because

They are a cold reminder

Of what it was like growing up

Deemed to be never worthy 

Of 1 single solitary flower bought
Nor
Valentine's card written

Hopefully better late than never

Something's are wasted on the young

And are worth waiting for

And mean so much more

When the right time

And the right person comes along

Foot Locker

how long
is a foot locker
and what
do they keep in it?

foot lockers
foot solders
foot long hotdogs
footballs
what is the obsession 
are they politically correct
or are they just a foot fetishes
at the foot of my bed

Fair Game

If it's a fair game all can win.
If it's a fair game the running 
and sweating is equal
and the results can be timed.
If it's a fair game, when the clock runs down,
no miracle is asked or given, no tricks unveiled.
If it's a true game,
a zero sum invites the victor 
and consoles the loser to lockers 
and fifths of whiskey.
If it's a fair game no writing is required, 
no comma misplaced.

My School-Time Crush

In nineteen-fifty-six, my school-time crush
   and I loved to exchange sweet notes each day,
when meeting by our lockers 'tween each class,
   or walking to my next one on his way.

He was a senior...I, a junior, then;
   our notes confirmed to meet right after school, 
or plan our dates for coming weekend fun...
   each sealed with hearts and kisses...very cool.

You see, this was my first and only crush,
   who after all these years...still is the best.
In nineteen-fifty eight, I, then eighteen, 
   and he, at twenty-one, were married...blessed.

And so, that's all I have to say on this...
     when best is found, there is no other bliss.


Sandra M. Haight

~3rd Place~
Contest: School-Time Crush
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
Judged: 03/09/2019

Note: 
I attended an all-girl high school,
(first two years), and he, an all-boy 
high school (first three years) prior
to our meeting. We had both switched
to public school, unbeknownst to each
other, and that is when we met. So I 
believe fate brought us together!

Lunchboxes

In the lockers of the classroom desks
You find lunchboxes, of all shapes and forms. 
Some replaced from time to time, 
But others to appear only at lunch break. 
Filled as they come, empty as they go,
These lunchboxes travel a long way
Around a whole classroom, through all nooks and crannies.
Twisting and turning, to avoid being seen
By the sharp-eyed teachers of the school.
And if, by any chance, you would go into such a class,
Just look a little sharper and find
The naughty one at the back, eating
As the lessons go on. 

10/31/2018

Mondays

Mondays were school days.
Mondays were rule days.
Mondays can be cruel days.

Sundays make me sing
but Mondays bring
open books,
a crooked look from the boss,
leaving crying children
with their first strangers.

The outlook for Monday
might be blue
or overly optimistic.

Moms love Mondays,
circling the day
with a fat red marker.

Moony-eyed Mondays,
for lovers
separated by the weekend.
Their love-mobile
yellow bus, reunites their lips.

Shy Mondays
hide behind rain clouds,
and binders and backpacks,
and inside lockers,
and behind thick glasses.

Fridays make you tingle.
Mondays are the starting line.
The race is on!
You step over the line
and yawn and sip
coffee with reluctance.

Your t-shirt speaks loudly,
“I don’t do Mondays!”
No one hears you.

7/30/2018
Tania Kitchin’s Contest

Loud Drum

There once was a thin young man from Yonkers

Who with his drum drove his neighbors bonkers.

Gave it beat

With more heat

Till fish landed on him from near lockers.

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