"juniors" poems
Life is a about striving,
Life is about diving,
In,
Life is about setting goals,
Without the penalty
Kick,
But did you ever,
Lend a hand to a stranger,
Not thinking about the interest
Rate,
Do you have friends you can call,
At 2 am, without telling
what the reason
Is?
So you have a career in medicine,
Respected by peers, Admired by juniors,
But to get there, were your sacrifices worth
it,
Did you find a loved one?
Yes you did,
But did you find a soul
mate,
You drive a big car,
Live in a big house,
But do you have a heart to match
it?
Dress up, put on the make up,
Wear only designer,
But can you stare in your own
eyes,
Wake up everyday,
What a perfect life,
Ask yourself what did you really
Achieve*
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 10:46 AM UTC
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
Twas a southern Christmas and from the front porch to the outhouse, everyone was stirring, even a field mouse. Socks were hung over the fire place with care, hoping they would soon be dry there. Grand maw was in the kitchen holding juniors nose, so he would take some caster oil I suppose. Mom was running around with curlers in her hair, if old Saint Nick saw her he would get quiet a scare. Dad and his brother in law were out of the house, hunting for a trophy buck to brag about. While grand paw was out in the barn, turning the yearly corn harvest into moon shine. A little home made spirit to give all some good cheer. So when you think Christmas is strange at your house, just remember how we celebrate Christmas down south.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
Older boys telling younger boys “bad” jokes is part of the traditions in schools, much as the guardians of Elite Schools might deny it…here’s something that happened in the 1960s, and perhaps before too, and perhaps always….
*“Who’s the best person to marry
when you’re grown up?”*
asks the Senior boy
(with his double entendre)
in the shed behind the canteen
three juniors shrug their shoulders
and then one ventures: “Marry a traffic cop?”
“No,” answers the Senior
*“Never marry a traffic cop
cos at the crucial moment she’ll say: ‘HALT!’”*
Some boys laugh, one or two innocents scratch their heads
“I’ll marry a doctor,” says another
“Yeah?” says the Senior
*“At the crucial moment
she’ll be saying: ‘OK -
you can put on your clothes now!’”*
Now the juniors laugh;
they are getting wiser
but still an innocent says:
“I’ll marry a bus conductor”
“Oh no, no,” says the boy Senior
“She’ll be insisting: ‘Ticket, please! Ticket, please!’”
*“I’ll marry Susan at the canteen
where she makes the best
sandwiches for all those who hunger,”*
says the boy, obviously from a very charitable home
“No, no,” says the Senior. *“She’ll be roaring:
‘Who’s next? Who’s next? Who’s next?’
And you’ll have all the men
within three miles
queuing up at your doorway!”*
The juniors have gotten too smart now
Nobody offers any other possibilities
But innocents die hard
and there’s one last little boy:
“I’ll marry my teacher!”
“Well, isn’t she the best,” says Senior
*“for at the crucial moment,
she’ll be saying:
‘Do it again! Do it again!’”*
Now, the boys enjoyed it all; the girls never heard it, except when they married these initiates…and all the eminent people in the professions have been none the wiser…
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
The rise of a new empire begins.
Worst of the known 'unrefined generation
full of pride and extortion
as the profecy comes to pass
worst of a generation beyond repair
the foundation is weak,
that it can't peak
where are our seniors?
to civilize the juniors
one of a generation
moved by the masses of the electronic gadgets
poor at reasoning but perfect at the gadgets
long hours glued at them
principles and ethics vanished into the thin air,
games,social media,pornography are the topic of the day
Give me a break,who's the saviour of this rotten generation?
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
With special thanks to George Ella Lyon
I am from crumbling brick
(red, dusty, smelling of musk).
I am from aluminum siding
and triple-deckers,
tall, strong, unmovable.
Hailing from the city on about seventy hills.
From Grandfathers and photo albums,
cigar ash salad and pinecone wars.
From "use your imagination" and "go play in the street".
I am from a whirlwind of faith,
belief from non-believers.
From schoolyards, playgrounds, and crawlspaces
come these faces, and these memories
are worth more to me, than anything.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
She arrives in high stilletto’s
And a miniskirt so taught
That the boys are all distracted
And our job becomes a rort,
And the office girls get ******
And production spirals down
So then our new Middle Manager
Rolls up her sleeves and goes to town....
She sticks her oar in frequently
And stands with jutted hip,
She’s territorial dynamite
And serves us gloating lip.
She often curries favour
With Department Heads and such
And makes a fuss at our expense
Which irritates so much!
She has a way to circumvent
The types she will not face,
In using her authority
To snidely put them in their place.
Her manner is too sharp
And too dismissive for my taste
And the condescending smile
Has me grinding teeth to paste.
And the way she stands and taps her toe
And glares beneath her brows
Has the office juniors panicking
And avoiding, as allows.
There’s an issue over paper
And the telephone account
And the petty cash, though balanced,
Is a questionable amount.
Historically our working week
Has employed a give and take
With an easy flexibility
That allows us all a break,
But the new Middle Manager
Has reversed the mode of work
So that everyone competes
And the roster’s gone beserk!
Her manner’s often strident
With a whiplash to her voice
And the snarl of her vindictiveness
Leaves us all with little choice
But to bend our backs to labour,
Work our fingers to the bone
And suffer her till knock off
Then, thank God, we’re fleeing home!
There’s a memo in the “In box”
Rumour has it, from on high,
That due to overdue restructuring,
That some redundancies are nigh.
And though there’s great reluctance
And some measure of regret...
It seems our new Middle Manager
Has got her notice...Sorry Pet!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
15 January 2011
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
A boy named Jake and a girl named Lexi had never met before.
They had a class together last year, but neither one knew it at the time.
They both walked into their Sophomore Drama class for the first time, scared and apprehensive.
Lexi there five minutes before the final bell and Jake, seconds before the final bell.
Jake entered the class and quickly took the only seat on the floor not occupied by an unfamiliar face.
They all introduced themselves, all 27 of them, mostly Sophomores with a few Freshman, Juniors, and a single Senior.It was then, when Lexi said "Hi, my name is Lexis Marilyn Manchester and I go by Lexi," that he first noticed her.
She was cute, shoulder length blonde hair, a floral shirt and jeans, although Jake didn't notice those things at the time. Only her dazzling pale blue eyes, and angelic voice.
The guy sitting next to her didn't say his name at first, even though it was his turn. She tapped his leg and motioned toward the center of the circle the class had made in the Drama Room. Room I7.
He said "How.. uh, my name is Jacob Turner. I don't have a middle name, but I go by Jake."
He was cute. He had short, yet unruly brown hair, a white shirt with the letters "LDTA" on them and nice fitting black jeans. The only thing she noticed about him however were his mysterious pale blue eyes, and for some reason, lack of middle name.
Jake didn't even care that the class had laughed at his lack of middle name. The only thing of importance to him was that when he looked over, the cute girl named Lexis Marilyn Manchester, who went by Lexi, was looking at him. He quickly looked away as did she.
The class went on and neither Jake nor Lexi, made an attempt to talk to the other although they did steal careful looks often. The bell finally rung. It was a seventh period class, so school was over.
On his way home Jake thought of nothing but Lexi, and driving.
He stopped at a sign, only blocks from home. The traffic rushed by. The car behind him did not see his car. They pushed him into the oncoming traffic just as a big SUV hybrid drove by. The driver slammed the breaks but still did not manage to avoid hitting the drivers side door of the small, blue, beat up, Toyota.
The doctors say he was killed on impact.
That's what the school told the small group of friends who were asked to attend a quick meeting regarding the accident. Lexi went.
She thought about him everyday for the yest of the school year.
Even some over summer.
He never faded.
She wouldn't let him for some reason.
He was killed on impact but he never faded.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
The power of the “Bonnie Prince”
had broke and fled away.
William, Duke of Cumberland,
at Culloden field held sway.
His juniors came and asked the Duke
about the wounded men.
A playing card he then held up
on which two words were written”
“NO Quarter” said the playing card
thus was the order given.
They wasted not one bullet for
a wounded, dying man.
By sword, by knife, by bayonet
The English played their hand.
Charles Edward Stuart fled the field
when, clearly, all was lost.
(He never had a kingdom
but at least he had a horse.)
He fled up to the Hebrides
where , despite a huge reward,
No Scottish Laird betrayed the man
who was their Sovereign Lord.
The butcher of Culloden
made the Scottish Highlands pay:
Women ***** crops destroyed,
the livestock borne away.
He never caught his cousin Charles
though he came close at Skye:
The bonnie prince, dressed as a maid,
sailed by him on the sly.
The Jacobites were finished men
and nevermore would rise.
Their cause died on Culloden field
back there in Forty Five’
For over two centuries Scotland has been held against her will as part of the United Kingdom, but she soon may regain her freedom and self Government.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
NJROTC is the one thing that made me feel confident in who I was, now it is gone. There will be no ROTC next year, most people don’t care, but the people who worked their butts off are hurting. We work all year round, constantly training and bettering ourselves. The funny thing about all of this is the fact that we all new it was coming, we just didn’t know how soon. People don’t care and I don’t expect them to but I hope people realize that having that program changed the school for the better and the cadets in it.
We weren’t perfect we had our days where we just wanted to give up. We have had rocks thrown at us, yet we stood firm. We have been made fun of and still are but that never once took an ounce of pride from our hearts. I will not be here I graduate in May, so people wonder why I am so upset. I am upset because I have personally worked with every cadet who wanted to be something, I have been there when we won first place titles, I have been there for the most hilarious fails, I have been there for the biggest wins in the smallest ways. Regardless of when or where I have been there! I have seen them at there best and worst, I have given pep talks at meets that have changed the outcome within the blink of an eye. You can’t understand what it is like to be in a program like this if you aren’t in it.
In the eyes of the Juniors everything they have worked for for three years have just been ripped from their hands, they don’t know how to handle something like this, neither do I. ROTC made these kids who they are, it has shaped me into the strong, confident and intelligent woman I am. How do I look them straight into the eyes and tell them it is gonna be okay when I myself don’t even believe that? I will walk out of high school with only one regret, that I didn’t prepare them properly for this hit. I have lead and prepared them for everything but this, could it be true? Is this it? It is………..
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
They sing their dearest songs—
He, she, all of them—yea,
Treble and tenor and bass,
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face….
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!
They clear the creeping moss—
Elders and juniors—aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat….
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See, the white storm-birds wing across!
They are blithely breakfasting all—
Men and maidens—yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee….
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.
They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them—aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs…
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.
1.5k
Here we are
After all these years
After all the laughter
And all the tears.
We’ve been Fresh Meat,
Soph-ies and Ickle Juniors.
But this year we were at the top,
Number 1 Seniors.
But that title’s over.
Now that our real lives begin.
We forever hold the title “Alumni”,
The class of 2010.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
15 years old:
invite a group of friends over
to sit in my empty living room
with brand new wood floors -
we’re renovating
proof: I’m not poor
16 years old:
hang out of my sister’s
bedroom window,
swing into wet mulch,
steal away to twone’s
to get hammered and
touch my first ****
proof: I’m not afraid
18 years old:
lament over the fact
that I’m the last senior
alive without a cell phone
you got the flip, *****
happy birthday
proof: I’m one of you
21 years old:
rip six foot bongs,
squirt jaeger bombs
into mouths from a gallon jug,
***** black sushi sacrifice
proof: I can hang
22 years old:
get caught with drugs
in 90 degree Arizona desert,
make friends with drug dog,
tell the truth while you take a ****
sit in a cell and make plans
to call brother for bail
proof: the truth won’t always set me free
11 years old:
go into a department store
with my auntie,
heavy footsteps follow,
head to the juniors department,
heavy footsteps follow,
turn round, see an old man,
think, ‘he must be shopping for
his granddaughter’
proof: innocence is blind
have to *** head to the bathroom,
heavy footsteps follow
with ragged breathing,
watch as Velcro sneakers stand
just beyond the door my stall,
curl into a ball and
wait, wait, wait,
as my brain takes on silent screaming
proof: I am nothing but prey
hear the next stall door
creak open,
watch feet walk in and legs
begin to bend,
explode out of stall
into store,
find auntie and begin
hyperventilation and
true demonstration of fear
proof: I am a woman now
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Does anyone belong in this age?
The 21st Century hi-tech stage,
Teaching old dogs new tricks,
All technology's deep magic,
Hey, juniors, cut us some slack,
How did we pass high school's flack?
We had no internet to hack,
Not one calculator in our backpacks!
We had to use our brains for Maths.....
Now it's the 21st Century age,
We're all hi-tech citizens on this stage..........
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
Reading some homework
The day seems like artwork
Has the sky ever been so blue
Three guys toss a frisbee
perilously near me
shirtless boys silhouetted in turquoise
We’ve got our shades on
We pretend not to watch em’
But we know they’re putting on a show.
We’ve got fold up recliners
and we set a timer
to move to the shade in a minute or two
But the sun seems distracted
cooler and less radioactive
dozens of students are out on the quad
The trees aren’t just standing
the breeze has them dancing
to ‘Blood in the Cut’, a song by ‘K.Flay’
On this cool, near-fall holiday
We’ll while our day away
each of us claiming a chance to relax
Now that we’re juniors, we know the facts
We get that there’s still a lot of reading to do
but we know, we can have a little fun too.
What else would you expect us to do?
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 2:33 PM UTC
It isn't really a pep rally
Unless the winner
Of blindfolded musical chairs
Ends up at the bottom
Of a thirty five person dogpile
It isn't a pep rally
Unless the balloons stay
On the gym ceiling
For the next nine months
It isn't a pep rally
Unless the juniors and seniors
get in a karaoke and cheer fight
It isn't a pep rally
Unless you have the craziest stories
To talk to your friends about on monday
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
We’re shape-shifting, my roommates and I. Transitioning mentally from freshmen and sophomores (nobodies) into juniors (somebodies). We’ve been around, we’re not the new kids anymore. We’re being seen and appreciated. It’s a mindbang.
There was a coolike girl, Kathleen, who was a senior when I was a freshman. I had a mad, mad envy-crush on her. She was everything I wanted to be when I was scared and unsure about things. Kathleen was perfect., an example of success that, like a fulcrum, lifted our confidence.
When she was around, I’d watch her, discreetly. She had this unconscious habit of touching her chin, with her index finger, when she was thinking. I swear, I found myself copying her, until Leong saw me do it once and said “Kathleen!” I was embarrassed. You can’t get away with anything around here.
Kathleen graduated last year. I saw her once, in her graduation gown, from afar. I got emotional. Part of me wanted to rush over, give her a huge, congratulatory hug and tell her what a role model she’d been for me - even though we’d never even talked, but I was afraid she’d think I was a stalker.
May 7, 2023
May 7, 2023 at 12:06 PM UTC
A home away from home,
Is how I merily define a school.
Running in silent corridors,
Not wanting to go in morning assemblies,
Finishing lunch while teacher's teaching,
Passing chits when they caught us gossiping.
Our tiffin boxes were empty before recess,
Fun was snatching other's lunch then.
Years later don't know will these be remembered or not,
But those 'samosas of canteen' will really be missed a lot.
When teachers said " go out if you don't want to study"
We looked at each other to ask if they are ready.
We will really miss kabaddi and volley ball matches,
Between seniors and juniors.
Those lovely days of early ages,
And the open books with curly pages.
I will really miss each and every class,
Whether nursery or twelfth.
We will really miss,
The boring exercise of Saturdays,
And the 'Arora patties' on roadways.
We were sent to gain knowledge,
But we had all sorts of fun and games.
To teachers sending us out of class was a punishment,
But for us it was full source of entertainment.
Those lazy mornings and the lame reasons for not going to school,
Those fading school uniforms and opened shoe laces,
Those half opened eyes and closing school gates.
Few months later all won't be there.
Just a cherished memory,
Is going to become.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
When we were 12
I got my first pair of shorter shorts
When I went over to your house
I wasn't allowed to wear them
Unless it was to sleep
You were always jealous.
I was rail thin.
You were chubby,
But had less ***** than me.
I had no responsibities
You had school soccer
Volleyball summer jobs
And raising your three
Other siblings.
Soon you quit eating
And thinned out until
Your ribs peeked out
We sat on the bus
I showed you my scars on my arms
And you whispered
"I put a knife to my stomach
But was too scared to push in"
Then we were juniors
You gave blow jobs to
Your ****** boyfriend
While I slept.
Your blonde hair and blue eyes
Looked so innocent it hurt.
You lost your virginity.
Fell out of love.
You talked about going to
Arizona for College.
That I should go with you.
By now I was failing half my classes
And going to parties on the weekends.
You met other boys
Slept with one who broke your heart
And ran back to your
First love.
He willingly took you.
Then we were seniors.
You complained about him.
About how small his **** was.
How he treated you.
How selfish he was.
How he's a super senior that'll
Be twenty one next year.
He's a baker at Carr's.
I think you secretly hate him.
You say no more to Arizona.
You say yes to
University of Anchorage Alaska.
Its an hour drive away.
You say you're spending
Your college years living
With your grandma instead of
Living on campus.
Your parents dig themselves
Into you and live through
You. Your perfection.
You are a settler.
And I feel you'll be that way
Your entire life.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
The many highways and varied roads we travel each day
are lined with much danger and pent up rage.
A sense of anger that is a constant potential time bomb
just waiting to go off.
Many paths are taken at every moment of our lives.
Some roads are quiet, surrounded by solitary vegetation,
some roads are long drawn and monotonous, coaxing you
to fall asleep at the wheel.
Still, others are surrounded by dread and danger on
either side...here, safety is a seldom seen luxury.
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THE EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!
You have only to watch your daily news to witness
countless examples of a festering that every day,
in different ways, just boils over to a culminating
point where both victim and victimizer take a
proverbial bullet.
Children killing children, mama's selling themselves
to feed one or more 'juniors', daddy...where is
daddy in most cases?
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THE EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!
These pathways and roads on life's highways are
littered with our minute to minute decisions and
bring equal consequence at every turn.
Many times the challenge becomes exiting any
number of one way streets where hate and
collective fury reside, and finding passage to the
expressway leading to boulevards of understanding,
compassion and an enlightened view of our
fellow commuters.
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THAT EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!
Soon...very soon...this world; our world, the only
one we've got...will implode then explode then ball
itself up into a fetal position, and finally drink its
own bitter, fallout tainted tears as each last
survivor...remembers...what once was...
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK...
LISTEN TO THAT EERIE BEATING
OF THE CLOCK!
I'm afraid...YOUR TIME IS UP!!!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
The year is coming to an end, things are starting to become surreal.
Next year we are going to be juniors and the year after that seniors.
The next step after high school is college if you’re planning to go.
We don’t have that much time if you really think about it.
We need to take chances.
If you’re given an opportunity, take it.
Don’t be afraid to try something different.
Do something that will create a change.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
it's been twenty-five years since i've seen you last
it's been twenty-five years since i set foot in these halls last
since i've heard your voice echo down these staircases and in my very bones
we're forty-three years old
a far cry from the eighteen year olds we'd been
before everyone had left and
before i'd held your hand for the last time
you're there with someone else
someone probably better for you in every way i wasn't,
couldn't ever be;
you've gotten a hair cut, i notice; it looks good
you look good in that shirt, under those lights
you look good
you've always looked good, to me
i'm standing in the corner.
where else would i be?
surely not in the fringes of the middle, by your side.
the lights are too dim to see you clearly
but i still remember your smile
the lights are too bright
to consider daring to approach;
i've spent years content in your orbit
i can do it for a night more
i'm glad i get to see you again
i don't know if i will, ever, after this
you live half-way across the country
you don't live alone
you don't think of me
not like how i think of you.
twenty-five years, and i'd never
forgotten the warm press of your hand on my arm,
the brush of it on my neck
i'd never stopped longing for you
but our paths diverged too early, and
we were too young, and
besides.
i had only ever been the one pining.
i can't get any closer, anyways,
you'd notice me
you'd remember me
you'd smile at me
you'd hold your hand out,
and of course i'd take it.
but there'd be no familiarity, no comfort,
not like how i want it;
there couldn't be.
she's right there, and
you never thought of it like how i did,
regardless.
i wish we were eighteen forever
i wish we could spend an eternity
as seniors goofing off in the library
as juniors at opposite ends of the school dance
as sophomores in the hallways after school
as freshmen hiding in math class during lunch.
i wish i could hold to that simplicity forever
no pressure
no isolation
just you and me, friends,
comfortable with each other
comfortable in each others' spaces.
who cares what kinds of feelings i harbor?
who cares what you think of me?
i had the freedom to press my hand
against yours, and you
had the freedom to put your arm
on me as i slept,
and that's the only thing that
ever mattered,
could matter,
would matter.
i wish i could stay here forever
i wish twenty-five years from now never happens
i wish i could stop time;
i wish you were mine.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:12 PM UTC
A dusty box full of paperbacks,
a cheap auction haul, an archive
of someone's memories,
old enthusiasms, enchanting
stories, exciting action yarns.
Time was too short to read them again,
more recent ones waiting attention,
unread juniors ambitious for
promotion, leaning out of bending shelves.
These dog-eared browning pages, acid etched
in someone's memory, ready to serve
again, resisting pulping or
landfilling illiterate soil.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC