Today I’m thankful for yearbooks
their value can never be oversold
Because the friends on the pages of our old yearbooks
like the memories we made back then
May age a little over time…
but they never will grow old
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
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 ©
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.
Last
Day of
School, signing
Yearbooks, summer
Plans
Caps
And gowns
Diplomas
Graduating
Class.
5/20/19
The Greatest Football Player Ever
What more can I say
These are his collage yearbooks
I built this cabinet in honor of him
As a child I was Johnny Unitas
F anciful fabulous fairyland
A geless adulation awaken
I rrevocably immortalize
R egal radiant recollection
Y earning yesterday’s youthful yearbooks
G lamorous gadgets gimmicks girdles
O utrageous outfits overindulge
D efiant delay deny demise
M ighty mascaraded matriarch
O utlandish opulent obscession
T wilight Twinkle Twiddle Twitter Tweet
H eed hopeful hallucination
E nsorcellment endowed elixir
R adical Revamp Restore Reverse
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 7, 2018
It’s an old clock
hanging on a wall
in a small room
on the third floor.
We go up there
four times a year
exchanging clothes
to mark the arrival
of another season.
Not much else in there
except my wife’s vases
and our yearbooks from
the Fifties and some
good novels we hope
to read some day
if there’s time.
Once a year
the clock stops
and I bring up
a new battery.
But not this year.
I told the clock don't move.
Stay right there
and we’ll stay with you.
Donal Mahoney
American Girls blankly stare
Where shadows lend the mood of dusk
And Harry Potter shares a shelf
With Curious George
Nearby the bed
On which I read
To my young girl …
Dream, sweet baby, sleep—
Now Hokies posters fill the wall
And school yearbooks mind the desk:
Distant, she is, across the state,
Having grown up, having grown up
And driven away
To live in a dorm:
Bound to happen,
Still, I wonder … why?
Here, in this bowl, a necklace she’s left
With faulty watch and various rings—
Oh! a ring, some day, diamond aglitter,
How will I cope? How will I cope?
Will my tears refrain
When the aisle I march,
Her hand on my arm
A glow on her face …
Will my tears refrain
When I give her away,
Give her away …
November 21, 2016
Past, Present, Future Poetry Contest
Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor
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.
Beyond the bridge the sweet,quiet and snow white home
Enjoyable walks replacing Endless crosslanes
Clean woods aroma exchanging for the Foul Streets
And quiet college with sidewalk in the Grass park
Rather than Concrete with no Rose to grow
And endless Yearbooks one could browse for hours
College small enough to find your Special Other
While student graduate and Think what is next
And when your turn comes you excitedly race
For College Paradise declares the world’s a Heaven
And everyone You greet is Sweet and Gentle
Instread of Harsh Thorns delicate fragrant flowers
Green grassy carpet exchanging Wrinkled Sand
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.
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
Fragile antiques
Old doll houses
and old love letters from the spouses
16 year old yearbooks
with old fashioned looks
Old musty smells
and cracked Christmas bells
Worn teddy bears
on 3 legged chairs
Pink fluffy mess
an ugly vintage dress
Red rusty bike
whose brand is Tike
Chipped tea cups
in boxes from UPS
Dusty record player
a plastic dragon slayer
Faded white onesies
and pink-purple ponies
Beautiful dream catchers
The tape Body Snatchers
Old cooking books
and rusty fishing hooks
Brown roller skates
in bright yellow crates
Shiny awards
your husbands old swords
Halloween costumes
and old perfumes
A blue cassette tape
a carnival stuffed ape
Things we keep
Things we reminisce
Things we'll never ever miss
Things that once made us ecstatic
Our valuables up in the attic
Growing Up Too Fast
Ever wonder what happened to what used to be?
The things we did when we were young and free
Reminiscing and paging through old yearbooks
Pointing fingers and laughing at old, embarrassing looks
Missing the way things were back in the day
so fresh and new…just starting out on our way
Nothing ever puzzled us, we were youthful and energetic
We enjoyed our days and life was a lot less hectic
Standing in line, pushing and shoving…going out for recess
Now a days, our lives pass day by day from one deadline to the next. God, Its so much
stress!
It seems we’ve all grown up too fast
Sometimes, ignorantly overlooking our past
Standing here at a new beginning,
A young adult who’s just started living
I hold a heavy heart, eager to learn, experience and see
But not wanting to leave behind the childhood that created me
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