Long Yearbooks Poems
Long Yearbooks Poems. Below are the most popular long Yearbooks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yearbooks poems by poem length and keyword.
The Monuments
Have you the strength to spear a spine, and will you ladle blood pudding into the Battle Queen’s bosom, under contract that ye shall taste sudden death, and then feast with the gods, not terribly mamed, nor returned to pander for P’sy in the proximity of pathetic peasants?
It was their use of technology which over ran you. They merely hid behind their gods.
Weapons of war become ancient, but recidivism of rogues replenishes rage.
Your kid comes home with a year book, bearing a William Bedford page.
If Bedford were alive, he’d be chopping your kid’s heads off, not signing their yearbooks.
Handshakes and hugs and “it’s been a long time” kisses
Meeting the husbands and the Mrs.
Pictures being shown of kids and grandkids
Some of the men with no hair on their lids
From Paris, France and other faraway places
Reunite friends wearing older faces
Singing a chorus of “I remember you”
Even on occasion when they really haven’t a clue
Varsity jackets fitting a bit too tight
Remembering the days we were Alter Knights
Yearbooks that through the years have survived
Passed around so old memories can be revived
Thirty-five years in the blink of an eye
Some tears being shed for the few who have died
Congratulations to the Kettering Alter Class of ‘76
Many happy returns is my 35 year reunion wish
That treasury of memories most precious,
With these few words I seek to praise.
It is our school yearbooks of the past,
The repository of events from happier days.
I thank GOD for time to compose this tale
And for youth of spirit to view these scenes.
Cause this adventure began so long ago,
When we started the trek as kings and queens.
The voyage took me far beyond this shore,
Where clocks no longer tick and time marches not,
And the almond-eyed girl strums her instrument
Until sweet dreams overtake me asleep on my cot.
I follow her as my vision assumes a landscape,
Across green pastures and meandering streams.
‘Til a pyramid of bamboo comes into view,
A quite curious structure of bamboo beams.
There at the entrance I climb the marble steps,
And carry this precious book into the darkness.
Being guided by the inner aura of mystique,
I gave the volume rest in the drawer of a chest.
As I bowed to request GOD’s grace and blessing,
The fire in my soul yearned for a divine quencher.
The whole world seemed beautiful as I left,
Knowing that tomorrow starts a new adventure.
Y
Yggdrasil
younglings
yobbishly
yohimbine
yammering yardsticks
year-round
yuppifying
yuppifies
yokefellow
yarborough
yellowtail Ypsilanti
yearningly
yellowback
yarmulkas
Yevtushenko
Yellowstone yachtswoman
yellowfin
yellowing
yearlings
yodellers
yearnings
yachtsmen yesterdays
yearbooks
yachtsman
youngberry
yarramans
yellowhead
yeastiest yardstick
yieldingly
youngling
yogyakarta
yoghourts
Yugoslavia yodelling
Youngstown
yarmulkes
yataghans
yawningly
yellowish
youthfully cowardly
yellowness
youngsters
yeastlike
youngness
Yiddish
yardmaster
yuppiedom youngster
Yaroslavl
Yellowknife
yellowcake
Yugoslavian
yuppified
Yorkshire
yellowest
yattering
yellowlegs
yesterdays
yeastiness
ytterbium
yesteryear
yardbirds
YouTubing
yellowwood
yellow-belly
Yucatan
yourselves
yabbering
Y words?
8/11/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Classmates — Back in Time
by Kevin Davis 2024
Just the other day, I paused at dusk,
Sifting through a box marked “school.”
Inside lay yearbooks — creases worn,
Smiles frozen in time’s gentle pull.
Teachers and classmates, familiar as breath,
Once roamed those locker-lined halls —
Four fleeting years of chatter and change,
Echoes caught in cinder block walls.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some leapt toward campuses lush and wide,
Chasing knowledge like a breeze —
Dorm-room debates and midnight oil,
Midterms rustling autumn leaves.
They became the dreams their parents spoke,
Diplomas framed in quiet pride,
Following maps of purpose and chance,
To futures they shaped and amplified.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Others stepped into workday rhythms,
Brimming with resolve —
Steel-toed boots or office chairs,
They let their talents evolve.
Paychecks turned into baby shoes,
Mortgages, and Friday night grills —
Love found early, steady and bright,
Blooming in everyday thrills.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some answered a greater call to serve,
In boots, fatigues, and creed —
Letters sent from foreign lands,
Written in dust and dignity’s seed.
Whether drafted or drawn by honor’s flame,
They bore both pride and pain —
Many came home with deeper truths,
And stars stitched into their name.
So where did they all go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Then I closed that yearbook gently,
Its pages worn like a friend’s old coat,
And reached for voices I once knew,
Chasing echoes their hearts still wrote.
We met again beneath summer skies,
Where laughter healed the space between —
And found that though we’d wandered far,
The roots of us remained unseen.
Now we know where we went, where we live,
And what we do with our time —
Most seem happy and content,
And satisfied with how we use our mind.
Before there were rainbows, I roamed ambidextrously,
I streeled out into predawn air, senseless between Moon and Mars,
Reeling under Calvinistic cinder blocks, I hid from my shadows.
Before there were rainbows, I thought my heart was wooden,
In those days, they had shiny suits of armor awaiting me.
I tried filling them with my syrupy fluid, but it always leaked out.
Before there were rainbows, everyone was Fred or Ginger,
Ozzy or Harriet, Lucy or Ricky, Sonny or Cher, ones, or zeros,
Machine language with a chokehold on the imaginable.
Before there were rainbows, the age of innocence in yearbooks,
In high school pictographs, we were anatomical imitations of expectation,
Like Rockwell paintings, we were predictable, amusing, and safe.
Before there were rainbows, I dare not believe in my spectrum,
No fella sang “I Feel Pretty!” No boy “…could have danced all night!”
It was all covert, something dirty in a bathroom stall
Before there were rainbows.
My muscular lightning belied my vulnerable rain-soaked downpours
Before there were rainbows.
My secret Preludes to the Afternoon of a Fawn went undetected
Before there were rainbows.
I’m a senior now admiring all the hard-won freedom,
All the fluid beauty of the young, recalling the canned laughter
with what we tried to be before there were rainbows.
Published: July 10th, 2022 - Dissident Voice
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally becoming friends
While we all start to understand
Old sad sentiments
I’m outside on the soccer field signing yearbooks
Name loopy
Hearts scribbled quickly
And for some reason the sun already seems to be setting
Mason and noah steal a kiss when they think no one is looking
Samantha gives her number to callie
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally tolerating eachother
After years of longing to leave
We finally have a reason to stay
Those old sad sentiments suddenly seem cruel
And evil teachers cry while receiving hugs
The sun sets on one last day that you will all be together
The bus ride home is bittersweet
You let tears fall as my head rattles
Roughly on the window
Its my last day of school nd I hope that we will still be friends after this drive
When I move away
Call me when adages start to feel to accurate
Or when sad sentiments feel too real
I promise to always pick up the phone
Tears come easily on this special night,
It's saying farewell that is hard.
Thoughts turn to the celebration of the end of our twelve-year journey,
the end of our growing years together,
hugs and kisses are abundant.
Nervous laughter as memories crowd.
Signing yearbooks,
But how do I say...goodbye?
Feeling footloose, with nothing to grasp and hold.
A vacant feeling,
Watching all we've known disappear.
Will we see friends again,
or lose them forever?
As we search for our dreams,
will we find ourselves?
Graduation: a time etched in memory--
laughter, tears--bittersweet.
March 28, 2023
For "Graduation Day" contest
by Craig Cornish