Second Year Poems | Examples

California Orange Faerie

Delicate dainty flowers with crisp petals of peach
Climbed off of their vines onto the backs of the oranges
The rest of the garden grew silent, watching the show
What would happen next? Would there be frost?
Signaling the prophecy of the California orange faerie.
She only comes to the groves every twenty-second year.
Most people lose track before she arrives.
Is this year fifteen or seventeen?
The oranges had lost track themselves,
But the delicate dainty flowers knew.
They announced the imminent arrival of their queen.

Pink Lilies

The pink lilies cluster together as if they were in a hug
tall and gallant posed they are breathtaking beautiful
with a friendly yellow stigma and rusty red filament
lively colors that brighten the day with a sweet smile.

The first year they seemed to crawl out of the earth
breaking from the soil so small and delicate but pretty
The second year juvenile growth a little taller more full
the pink petals ever so playful and lush.

Year three proud and full, high and showy
from a few to a bunch reaching up saying hello world
Here we are in full radiance of nature's glory
our satin pink petals force a touch to realize real indeed.

The pink lilies get lots of complimentary comments
bringing satisfaction to a gardener's pride
Bought from PCH trying to win five grand a week for life
never win those prizes but never lose for every spring a winner.

The Old Soldier

The picture stared down at the old man

Good times, friends for life

The decomposing body was in its second year now

The dust and webs had cloaked him like a blanket

Giving him comfort that life denied him

Time ago, they would have classed him as a hero, time ago

The black van took him away

Eventually releasing the body for burning

The prayers were brief

His final epitaph came when the council cleared the house

The picture was the last to go in the skip

Glancing at it, the worker remarked to his colleague

Old soldier.

A Long Good Night

Dear mother too-long-gone.
One year,
second year of motherless
mother’s days. Never
thought you’d be the first
to go, over many who
seemed more likely,
but I’m not God. He knew.
He knew…we all die.
I thought I knew,
until you did.
The emptiness is complete.
Christ hung on that tree.
He knew
how bad separation
from a mother, from His Father
was. Too-long-gone,
come, Lord Jesus, come
reunite…
it’s been a long good night.

5/3/2022

Happy New Year To Kings

Passover’s month is the New Year 
  for Israelite Kings
I know that seems like
  a crazy thing… but back in the day 

Jews used to date 
  the start of a king’s reign
by its proximity to Nisan
  the month Passover’s in…

So, if a king was crowned
  a week before Nisan began
By Passover he was in the second year
  of his reign’s lifespan…

Now if you’ve always thought of Nisan
  as the first Japanese-American car
Well, here’s this poem ~ and there you are

Would Twelve Thirty Work

Would twelve thirty work?
Sure, I say. What day?
She gives me a sideways glance. “Today?”
“Sure,” I agree. ” Why not?”
A glimmer of surprise flits across her eyes.
She is pretty inflexible, so she does not understand me.
She did not understand why she had to have counseling classes either.
But this is my second year at this school.
Now she knows I am a thirty-minute break, and she appreciates me.
She thanks me profusely.

The Second Year of Barely Breathing

The Second Year of Barely Breathing
David J Walker

When can we breathe again 
exhaling the dust
Of a long-lost day
Safe from the safe distance

Look them in the eye and pray a prayer
Of resistance to the unknown God of goodbye

Our Father 
If we ever 
get to sit together 
again
hear our prayers of common fears

A faceless family of mannequins 
Dropped in for a taste of pain

A faithful student of mandolin music
Dropped in from a soaking rain

Our Father 
If we ever 
Leave the house 
again
hear our prayers of preservation
from a death we did not plan

Cold Start

Cold starting the car on a crisp autumn morning
my Dad wasn't the happiest bloke,
put antifreeze in it, ran the engine, ten minutes
and then he could pull out the choke.
On his pale blue Austin the locks needed defrosting,
condensation to clear from inside,
warm water down the screen and then give it a clean
after that, it was ready to ride.
In my sixty second year, like that old car, I fear
(and it crept up on me without knowing),
I now have developed a cold start routine
since otherwise I can't get going.
Wipe the sleep from my eyes,
stretch my arms to the sides,
move my head in a figure of eight,
a good cough to feel better
clears my carburettor,
then a yawn, and a two minute wait.
I get out of bed but my exhaust backfires,
I wasn't quite expecting that,
with a moan the good lady hides under the sheets
and I'm left with a disgusted cat.

Now the End Is Near

Now the end is near
Covid now is in second year
Still we live with the dread and fear
We're promised that the end is near
That freedoms on the way we hear...

Where do you go to my lovelies 
When all the instructions are read
Do the boundaries astound you
Do you lie much longer in bed?

Are you lonely keeping distance
Have kids eager to be in class 
Missing hugs with special loved ones
And loathe wearing a facial mask?

If one lives in an apartment 
At least you can view the starlight
Those with a house and a garden
Can be out by day and by night.

When the weather is against you
Are you at a loss what to do
Do you get weary of reading
And watching television too?

Have you done so many puzzles
That you have now become brain dead
Does memory stray to old days 
In dreams of the good times ahead?

3rd March 2021

Hollyhocks

Hollyhocks will bloom
in their second year of growth
reaching to the sky.

Thank You For Your Service

I felt that I should volunteer
for two short years to do my part,
and so I asked the local draft board,
“Make me next, I want to serve.”

The letter came from Uncle Sam.
It told me to do and when.
They gave me a green uniform,
as orders flew from all directions.

The food was good, the hours long,
as training turned us into men.
Our hair was short, our pay was low,
just sixty-three dollars a month.

I went to war my second year
and lived behind a wire fence.
A prison term is what it seemed.
It felt like incarceration.

When it was over, I came home
with ribbons on my uniform.
“Distinguished Service” was awarded,
by the officer in charge.

Fifty years have come and gone,
but still I hear that special phrase,
from some who say to veterans,
“Thank you for your service.”

On Graduation Day

My favourite laptop screensaver
is a photograph of you
                    on graduation day ...
your beaming smile
hides an aching heart
of such tragic loss

as your two school friends died
in your second year of study,
neither living to see your smile
                    on graduation day ...
they would have been so proud
of all you had achieved

and my heart fills with pride
that you didn’t give up studying,
in fact, you were the top student
and recognised internationally
                      on graduation day ...
I was proudest mother of them all!


9/12/19
Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph 
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode

- Seven Years and Big Brother -

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

As Love Lay Dying

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

The Hundreth Day Out- I Wished It More

I loathe the light of breaking dawn
as it snatches my dreams of you.
Your face appeared for a moment-
Your breath- a brisk, soft wing-
the pressing of your side, I felt...then gone.

The goblet I have not rinsed,
as the last drink of wine was from your lips.
I gave you "Ann's Beautiful Daughter" in our second year,
once pink, but now dried. It died between
the pages of your favorite book.

I inhaled your perfume as I slept last night,
my drug that let me sleep on, to dream-
and as I awakened and cursed the sun
I realized it was the hundredth day, I wished it more,
for with time the world might be less grim.

I listen for your voice- in the songbirds,
the rain, the wind rushing thru leaf-gallows from trees,
but the silence is deafening. It creeps into corners
and slides down the walls, and when I call it back
the lips part to shout, but it cannot be heard.

I say your name to feel it form on my tongue-
to hear it echo a familiar ring...in the room...
down the hall- to fill a barren space.
I repeat it over and over until it sounds odd.
Then it falls from my ears and reaches up to
caress my face.

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