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.
Life has no physical form or shape. Life is an essence we all calculate
We calculate our days by looking at a calender to see
What month, day or year were at.
Days go by quickly sometimes we lose track of what day it is
We keep track of time my wearing watches on our wrist.
By keeping a few clocks around the house.
A clock can be placed on a wall, Near your bed
You can also see what time it is when you look at a microwave
When you take a glance at the stove.
Clocks tell time in most appliances or devices we have or possess.
There's no excuse to lose track of time unless
There's no clock to let you know what time it is.
A motionless moment which exists within a timeline.
A timeline full of dates and numbers
Sometimes I attempt to view my timeline within Facebook
Just to speculate how much time as gone by
There are times I browse through my yearbooks.
Once in a while I grab a yearbook I have stored away
Just to go back in time and remember all those beautiful times
Times where I shared with friends and classmates
I sometimes ask myself what has happened to them
Where can they be in life?
Do they still live in the same hometown or have they moved away to another state or possibly another country perhaps.
Some get married and eventually have kids
Others stay single and roam around freely
Some become single parents raising children on their own
Some become homeless because they struggle with life.
Some cannot cope with life so eventually they end up leaving a little early.
Eventually within time those are the people we most miss.
Others get successful careers and live an extrodenary life.
Sometimes we have high school reunions every ten years.
Thats where we catch up on classmates whereabouts.
Whereabouts which were unseen to foresee
I ask myself will I stay in the same place or leave somewhere else
A timeline created by humanity. The race of a special species called human beings. Everything exists within time a given moment.
A particular numerical moment existing in methodical order.
Everything occurs within an illusion of beauty.
The time we all try to pursue with excessive speed.
When we push into unexpected situations, historical events within life changes within an unexpected manner.
Only humans have the power to change their timeline events.
Events which occur in proper order.
I went to visit my friend, Frank
I shouted his name and to no response...
this was the first time in six months
that I went to visit him....
he already depressed about losing his father
and having his wife leave him....
I tried to get his number, to call him
but... he simply disappeared
I got in touch with one of his co-workers
to get his address...
the first I notice when I visited was the unhinged doors
and the broken wine bottles
I went to the kitchen
the first thing I noticed there was the smell of spoiled milk
and the first thing I saw were the rat droppings
and roaches crawling in the bread pantry
I spotted the rusty knives, and smashed plates
the walls were filled with fungus and mold
the roof was the leaking and the doors
were torn off their hinges....
the garbage bags were ripped apart
rotten apple cores, half-eaten oranges
1/3 of a whole pizza and a rusty razor blade
laid bare...
I went upstairs,
they creaked and any second they were about to cave in
on the first door to the right was his room
spiderwebs cuddled with the doorknob
once inside, all I saw was stacked up **** magazines
dried up tissue, and a static TV.....
the pictures were smashed and there was hole in the wall
Cocaine, rusty needles and heroin filled his dresser
I walked out and went to the second on my left
there was the attic.... filled with yearbooks,
degrees, pictures, just so many memories left untouched...
I walked to the last door on my right
that was his bathroom...
I open the door, the first thing I noticed...
it was Frank's body hanging from the rafters
he was wearing a white wedding dress
with makeup smeared all over his face
roaches ate his eyes and his arms
were coated with dry blood...
the toilet was filled with feces
the shower curtains were ripped
and the sink ran brown water
there was no note.....
but the body spoke for itself...
Memories Contest
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We built a remembrance sight just for you, dear sister,
a granite bench with a poem engraved with your name,
I could always count on you to be my number one listener,
dear sister, since you died we’ve never been the same.
After your burial we had no clue what to do with your memoirs,
so every piece of memory you saved was stored in my garage,
I let the boxes sit for a few years like a natural reservoir,
that one Friday night I could’ve sworn I saw your mirage.
High school yearbooks, basketball awards and report cards,
also an old jewelry box I handed down to my daughter,
I can’t believe how your dear niece took your death so hard,
but faith and acceptance I am hoping to have taught her.
I still watch your videos so I may always remember your voice,
rewind…play…rewind…play… I hope to never forget,
somewhere way deep down I realize you always had a choice,
now I live in this depressing world full of sorrow and regret.
Flashbacks of the appalling last few weeks of your short life,
all the mania, car accident while drinking and driving,
you left us all tortured from your loss and ruined your wife,
this is why my pen flows freely as I continue my writing.
Tiny mementos and pictures placed gently all over my home,
frames with cards from you and letters you have written,
It’s hard but when I recall good times I know I’m not alone,
in the backyard I sway in the rocking chair you used to sit in.
There was an unfortunate flood during a mid-summers day,
I had no clue that the garage window was cracked,
all the items I was saving were sadly washed away,
those tangible memories I will never get back.
Date Written: May 5, 2016
The time reads ten on the clock
and I take in hand my pen.
I pull up my chair to my makeshift desk
and begin removing books from the panel
so that I may lift it and peer into my chest.
One by one I move them, one and all,
the short and the tall.
Moby Dick, The Idiot, Republic, Walden
and Civil Disobedience, The Oxford Book
of American Verse, Alcoholics Anonymous,
The Divine Comedy, This Side of Paradise,
VITA NUOVA, Paradise Lost and Paradise
Regained, Selected Poetry and Prose of Poe,
The Audacity of Hope, and so on and so
on until not one was left not even the
Bible which had rested on their heads.
I opened my chest and went searching
for treasures of my past. Most
were trinkets I stored away like a pack rat.
I found little figures of pirates and
soldiers which I played with when a boy,
marbles and sand dollars, Chinese stars
and nun chucks, most were not even my favorite
toys. I saw yearbooks from middle school and
others from high school. I dared not crack their
spines for I felt not enough time has passed
yet. I found letters from Francheska, Lucy, and Jenny.
I saw pictures of Stephanie, Virginia, and Niki.
then I began to read poems from Nicole and
glanced at the time. It was already one twenty nine.
Alas, it was a nice trip to the past, but now it is time
to close the panel and resume to my books
and my work, for if my head stayed in my chest I
would surely go berserk!
It’s Memorial Day
I thumb through my high school yearbook,
Soiled, unpadded from another day.
My children don’t know of our mindset then,
The second war all wars to end.
Daily goodbyes to the boys we loved,
The face of the first one to lose his life to war,
In my yearbook.
Pages and pages of lists to follow,
Names of those then serving,
The movie news theater down town,
Hiding no graphic battle scenes, and
Finally showing those terrible discoveries
Of the Holocaust, a mad man’s horror show creation,
Once we were at a dance,
Three months later you were dead,
Any boy that held a teen girl,
Insecure, frightened, excited, clutched,
He must leave all he knew,
And fight for you.
Pictures from my yearbook,
Nearly all of you are gone by now,
Heroes, memories, when the newspapers screamed
“Anzio – The Bulge, The Bombs, Normandy The thousands!”
And then The Bomb.
Still not the end, for
Many yearbooks have followed;
Korea, Vietnam, El Salvador, Bosnia,
The Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan;
It’s as if my tattered yearbook meant naught,
We thank you again and again.
We love you, our boys and girls,
And yes, you, too, old commanders and generals,
Who loved and love us with your last full measure.
So when we hear a roar at night,
It is only thunder because of you.
We pray your faces will never be
In a yearbook such mine –
That your captions will always be;
“Most Likely To Succeed,”
Thanks to those who have gone before,
Freedom will always be.
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
An editor of Twig, I was
The least accomplished one.
I hadn’t taken art for years
Like most of them had done.
The “Head-itor” took care of most
Responsibilities.
She gave us fifty pages each.
Back then, I was at ease.
The moment that I started spreads,
I found myself quite stuck.
I looked through older yearbooks, but
I wasn’t quite in luck.
Some photos looked a bit washed out,
And fonts were not much better.
With ruthless eyes, I scrutinized
Each page down to the letter.
“Oh crap!” I said, forgetting that
I’d come for inspiration.
I feared my spreads would be assessed
With equal condemnation.
I searched non-stop for perfect fonts,
Spent hours on grayscaling,
I hadn’t finished half my work,
But deadlines were approaching.
“That’s it!” I said, “That’s quite enough,
You’re being such a child.
Creative insecurity
Made lateness yours go wild .”
And thus I pledged to cast away
My green mentality.
I forced myself to believe once more.
In my ability.
This incident made me become
A Carol two-point-oh
Who’s confident in all she does
And lollygags no more.
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 ©
Evidenced
FIFTYFOUR
CharlaXFabels
The Church Parsonage on Church Street the old Methodist Church where eye
used to go to church it Burned down.
My mother died a horrible murder death.
My brother died in a car wreck.
We used to fight each other though eye was elder he was bigger.
Eye was a weak and sickly child of GOD.
My Father died and eye do not knoe what of.
Eye was not always allowed to live at home.
My room was taken and the things in it like my toy box and the comics and the
yearbooks were all destroyed.
Eye was given a hardship discharge from the ARMY.
My home at Morrilton was burned down by a natural gas line leak which then
exploded. My family always hated me and wanted me to die alone. Eye stopped
my consumptive habits and was in a real fight in Arizona only was beaten into
Jesus and left to die half dead eye still try to live and love and write this is mye bio
mye evidenced.