"sophomores" poems
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
My sweet Austin Texas ecstasy, my beloved Guadalupe you
gem of the desert. Your family’s a basket-a-bigots but
******* they drink for miles and how near they are to my
heart. This heat’s a drug I swear it. Let's swim in that hole
in the bedrock between two rivers. That'd be nice: me and
you and mobs of Westlake High sophomores with their
blue-raspberry bikinis, a hundred Teen Vogue magazine
covers lined up on the grass like a set of bad church pews.
Imagine that whitewash of a crowd, you and me so alone in
that big static it's better than private. Let’s punch brick, peel
back our knuckles and watch’em clot in the sun. **** gauze,
we’re goin’ to a punk show. I’m puttin’ on short sleeves,
goin’ on parade, gunna flaunt my cigarette burns like a Cadillac:
I want those dorks at the Mohawk to look and love me like
they love gore. I’m gettin’ my black-eye ribbon tonight.
We’re in the Chaos in Tejas show, darlin’, put on Crazy Spirit
and bring your 2x4: skinheads ain’t jumpin’ themselves.
Let's get medicated, hunny, let's get saved. I love watching
Austin bleed out into the sand every dusk. Love the musicians
sailing out grimy and frothing over what night brings:
what a big sky, Texas, you're almost better in the day all
parched ground and azure azure. I love the glass on the high
buildings here, they’re like mirrors. This is God’s powder room.
This is where God sees himself drugged up and beaming in a
beautiful powder room. This is where God goes to remember
youth. I love how youth hasn’t gotten you yet. That unassailable
capacity for charity, that surging belief in belief shouting out
through your temples, I can’t stand how you make me sick of
making myself sick. You slapped the ******** outta me so quick
I’ve never seen grace move that fast. I thought you'd knock the
grapefruit polish right off your nails you hit me so good.
What a sight you are, kid, so proper and fit, Christ, you could
be therapy: so brunette-in-the-Fall, so full-lipped,
unabashed and Aristotelian, frayed like anything but ****
well stitched, impeccable at the seams.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
It’s starting to cool down here in Connecticut. Leaves are falling, like giant, burnt snowflakes (science says that trees send chemical signals to their branches to clip leaves away).
Peter borrowed a friend's toy-like, pea green, Fiat-500 convertible and we drove into the country to see the turning leaves. We hiked a bit too and stopped, in Mystic, for seafood.
I never realized just how theatrical trees could be, with their few, simple, chlorophyll tricks and how reflective still lakes could be. Wowzer, just - wowzer.
There are some things that should never be shared. Like a toothbrush, an iPad, lipstick, strawberry stroopwafels, a slice of pizza or a secret lover (that last one just sounded good). But life is good, I can share that. We’re young, dramatic sophomores with good hair products and we’re at it, working and playing hard.
Ahh.. ok, upon consultation, I have to add that some of us are in their mid-twenties with only a few good years left.
Did I mention that we climbed up a twisty lighthouse staircase too? Peter always thinks people should take the stairs, and not the elevators, “You want to have muscles and bones that work when you’re eighty,” He says. Since he’s closer to eighty than I am, when we’re not carrying furniture, I let him have his way. Of course, he’s never been to up Lisa’s 50th floor townhouse either.
My mom told me that they’re off to Poland again, over the holidays, for another tour with “Doctors without Borders” **** war). Lisa’s parents have (kindly) invited me to share their high-rise utopia again this year. Who knows, maybe Peter will have his chance to try those stairs.
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 3:30 PM UTC
And it's about that time of year
when all the school clubs
print out brand new sign up sheets
and hang up brightly colored flyers
promising "new friends and fun activities."
Model United Nations is meeting in the history wing,
Robotics has a new metal cutting machine,
and three of the singers from the student rock band
graduated last May.
(I hear two of the sophomores
have even started a club for Dr. Who.)
But what I think
my high school really needs
is a club for people
for when they're feeling lonely.
Anyone could show up
anytime—
from preps to prep hockey
to nerds and exchange students,
the artists and scientists,
and even the sad writers.
And we'd get together
as often as we needed to be reminded
that there are way more people than we think
that feel exactly the same as we do.
And maybe someday
a meeting will be called
and we won't even realize it,
because we've stopped calling them meetings
and started to refer to them as friendships.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
"Janice, I sat next to you in Latin.
We were sophomores.
You were a cheerleader
but smart too.
The excitement was unbearable
(Cicero; the shape of your sweater . . . ).
I asked you to play tennis."
"You did never."
"Yes, I did."
"I suppose I didn't want to get sweaty."
"So then you would have gone with me to a movie?"
"No, I doubt it. . . . I was a brat."
"You were divine.
I wrote a poem for you in Latin."
"Lynda, we met at The Three Penny Opera.
You were an usher.
I was a college student; you were in high school."
"Yes, a 'townie'."
"I put my arm around you.
I stroked your hair.
When I tried to kiss you on the forehead our noses collided."
"I was expecting a lip kiss."
"It was a powerful attraction,
but it wouldn't have worked."
"No, we could have made great love,
but it wouldn't have lasted."
"Gina, you lived on that 'hippie farm'
at the edge of town.
I was the 'knowing elder',
the one who'd worked on a real farm.
You were so high-energy, so alluring.
Guys flocked to you:
William and Michael; Davy, back home;
sexually involved with all of them."
"Not Michael really."
"You seduced me--
I think you wanted to make William jealous--
not that I was unwilling. . . .
I was, however, impotent."
"I wanted adventure and, yes, I suppose I did want to make
William jealous."
"Our intimacy awakened me.
I realized what I'd been missing.
Your rejection was devastating."
"I didn't mean to hurt you.
I didn't know you were so fragile."
"Carla, I loved you in your apartment.
It was all softness and warmth;
**** carpet, soft bed,
Carole King on the stereo. . . .
We slept together, showered together."
"I really listened to Carole King?"
"Your parents were divorcing.
You didn't have time for a relationship."
"I don't think I was ready."
"Just as I was overcoming my impotency. . . ."
"Sarah, I loved you on a camping trip.
We kissed at dusk in the Great Smoky Mountains."
"I remember."
"I felt so connected--
physically, intellectually, emotionally.
You smiled with your whole face, with your whole being.
I wanted to be with you steadily.
You said it wouldn't work.
I guess you were right:
I couldn't love someone who couldn't love me completely.
When we parted,
I cried uncontrollably."
"Yes,
I remember."
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 11:00 PM UTC
*Souls born precious as gold
Undoubtedly trusted
Growing nagging young and rusted
Forgetting they once were old
Think even advise will soon be sold.
We are all somewhat gone
Past virtuous innocence
In the name of renaissance
To being like abandoned carcass
Stuck in the quag of raucous
In the tombs of the dead
Where our conviction's never fed.
Like an extinct bird's inspirational song
Magnanimity hasn't visited for quite so long
We're lured to believe we are different
And that's what makes us the same
In one hell of a game
Yet not all our rules are the same
A Universe of Basilicans
Without a single-hearted preacher
A willing class of sophomores
Sadly in search of a Teacher
Do we need to embrace even the strange
In the ****** name of change?
Or just follow prints of our forefathers
And soar with the old ostrich feathers?
Ain't no vanquisher without intentions
They say but some intentions are good
I might sound a little shroud or rude
Talk of my thoughts and questions
But from the look of every nation
Reflects a birth in a wrong generation
Remember when the world was "world"
Without boundaries of first or third?
Does thinking about it make you this sad?*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
you ******* with your
smirk and your bow tying fingers and your
****** classic ******* rock music:
who let you in here, to lumber
about the lambs like
Putin and Crimea ??
why do you bother
introducing sophomores to
Oedipus and pronouncing the
center O (like it
******* matters; linguistics are
more organic than
carbon-based chemistry) or
teaching seniors of
Two Vast & Trunkless Legs of Stone
standing alone in the desert,
artifice of arrogance just as
graduation and self-congratulatory
partying and revelry and diploma-framing.
I think I know:
masochism is your middle name, and
maybe, after all, it is worth it,
when a collegiate who barely remembers
your face and never remembered
the color of your eyes, or his homework,
name drops Hemingway and Faulkner
to a college professor, blossoming an
argument, and later, a companionship.
maybe, after all, it is worth it.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Track Pain
But worth it for the joy
Of getting your varsity letter in
your first race, the amusement of watching the
sophomores be bad examples and sleep four to a small bed at
track camp, and the knowledge that no matter how much you suffer,
you suffer together with friends, friends close enough to call you Jimmy
instead of your actual name, friends close enough to be almost family.
Track Many One
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
1. Put headphones in like veins surrendering to needle,
scroll thru library
for sad british 70s punk-
preferably Joy Division or The Clash
so you can set your insides on fire.
2. Walk with rivers in your step
like your feet have always known where to go
like your steel-toed boots are fishing boats
in a tsunami.
3. Switch song,
speed up.
4. Dodge clusters of sophomores turned disease
which threatens your bloodstream,
ignore side-looks and eye contact
which is just a step away from a conversation you're not looking to have,
remember not to catch your ex-girlfriend's eye
like she's the light
and you're all moth
and desperation
and the last time you looked in her direction,
you didn't get out of bed for 3 days.
5. Keep walking.
Even if it feels like its the only thing you can do these days.
Remember that you're still breathing.
6. For bonus points,
clutch some pretentious reading material like
Infinite Jest, or anything James Joyce,
and if freshman get in the way,
it's ok to push them.
7. Glare at the boys who stare at your ***
like you're trying to set them on fire,
and bless broken hallway hearts
with the dust of their bones
like it's Ash Wednesday and everything's burning.
8. But always keep a straight face.
Lean on apathy like you're drowning
and it's the only piece of driftwood for 50 miles and
you've had hurricanes in your eyes since September 9th.
9. Don't let them see the burn holes in your spine
from endless cigarette prayers on starless nights
or the way you think about love
and riverbanks
and exodus.
10. Look straight ahead
like you're numb,
even though you've got hydrangeas blooming in your ribcage.
*Reveal nothing.
So they fear you.
So you fear you.
Class has begun.*
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:12 PM 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 beautiful princess , a pink dress and pretty blue eyes commands the catwalk ! Proud parents are the audience , a star is born ! Tonight the Fall Festival begins , handsome date , pacing up the walkway , corsage in hand ! Her first dance with a live band , best friends , hamburgers , hot dogs , cake and punch ! Music and laughter , slow dancing , glittering tinsel and lace ! High school gym , a grand ballroom , young sophomores on top of the world ! Escorted back home , a unbelievable night of romance , puppy love , holding hands down the street ! An innocent first kiss on the front porch ! A nerve racking , awkward peck on the cheek !
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
I walk and I wake, I never give,
and yet I always take.
this is your adult life.
we are going to be sophomores again.
a little bit less self assured,
a few more nights a week spent tired and bored.
when the chaos gives in to a good moment's rest,
I will salvage my soul to give you a show,
I am asking myself "can I do this?",
and the answer is, "no".
I walk and I wake, and I never give,
but I always take.
this is your adult life.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 3:15 AM 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
This began as a criticism of overproduced, hammy, yowly, look-at-me, as-arranged-by-a-junior-high-assistant-band-director interpretations of the National Anthem. It deteriorated. I blame the Russians.
Does Anyone Sing the National Anthem These Days?
Because Francis Scott Key was all about Who-Whoa-Whoa and Yay-Yay-Yay
A minute or so of recorded music
Over-produced in that insta-emo style
Then followed by “Whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa
Whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa
Whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa
Oh yay whoa whoa whoa whoa yay oh yah
Yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa
Whoa whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay
Yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa yay yay
It’s all about me-me-me-me-me-meeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeee!”
Followed by –
Baseball: “Play ball!”
Racetrack: “Gentlemen, start your engines!”
Rodeo: “Gentlemen, start your cattle!”
The federal government’s Outer Continental Shelf Oil & Gas Lease Sales
Close: “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s open your sealed bids!”
School: “Teachers, start your sophomores.”
Austin, Texas City Council: “And now, Comrade Muffin Snort-Ponsonby,
BA, MA, MEd, Chair Emerita of the Travis County Sensitivity League, will
chant her original composition, “Spiritual Wind-Song Ode to Comrade
Stalin.”
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 5:15 PM UTC
He wants to be in the war?
No!!!
I am literally going numb
I am fighting the urge to break down
and sob in sorrow and despair
I hate the war
It's taking my first crush
Since 8th grade
and now we're sophomores
I can't look at him
I am ******
I need a beer
but I ain't ever drank before
I need a cigar
but I ain't ever smoke before
I like you, boy
Why the war?
I think I love you...
and all it took was for you to flash those dimples
I will wait for you to come back
In my dreams, we are together
My hand is cramping
My heart is shattering
My mind is rambling
I am fighting the urge to break down.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
As you go to school,
remember every rule.
Freshman mask are black
and sophomores bright pink.
All the juniors covered in blue
not yet seniors in crimson red.
So never remove your mask
unless you wish to see
the actors underneath.
All the teachers wearing white
as they say to thee,
We will never **** you
unless you bother me.
Say what you will
about the kings who rule.
It’s easy to trust
those masked in gold.
Who can really say
where the flames began?
It’s destroying all the students
but at least we’re not dead.
The king and queen so wise
from all the gold they wear.
A plan to save the school
from that holy hell.
The plan was very simple
and far too complex.
When they saw the fire
they simple close their eyes
and tapped their shoes together.
Pretending the flames were gone
and soon exist they didn’t.
Hooray the king and queen
for all the vanquished flames.
Thank you for your justice
before the flames were near.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
As freshman, we learned that our bodies don't belong to us they are for men they are for governmental dispute they are up for discussion and scrutiny
As sophomores, we discovered that our bodies are up for grabs, for touching and snatching. They are for men they are for boys they are for the camera and for consumption.
As juniors, we found it impossible to love ourselves
Because how can we treasure something that isn't ours?
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
What is high school without the drama
Without the boyfriend
Without the rude bully
That isn’t all high school
High school is different from that
It is the moment you become independent
You become that person you have always dreamed of being
Everything has a reasoning
High school… is to prepare you for the real world
Elementary school is for little kids to have fun
Middle school is like hey a little more responsibility yeah!
Everything has a reasoning
When things go down with your parents
It is like the world would be swept off your feet
Like there would be no tomorrow
But things… Good or bad ALWAYS has a reason
You might not think it some days
But reasons are just another way of trying
High school is another way of trying
Try to figure out how life begins and end
It might come with a bang
But it could also end with a bang
Middle school is just a trial and error type situation
Not high school that is if you make an error than that is that
No more, because you have to redo everything.
No more, "If I fail this I can just redo it"
Wrong!
You can't do that in high school
If you flunk the test you have to retake it
Freshman in high school is all about boys
nothing more
they first flunk because of the boys
and then things go bad because they don't have the life they wanted
all because of a boy that they know would break their heart
sophomores and juniors know finally know how important life is
they would actually do their homework and worry about the final draft
Seniors...well...they are just seniors
they have to worry about what they are going to do after they graduate
What college they are going to go to
if they are going to take a break after that
what they will do if they don't make it to college
That is all the seniors think
But that is not the point
The point is…
That is how ALL high schoolers talk
To parents
Boyfriends
everyone
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
I hate your loving smile
I hate your glistening eyes
I hate your soft fliipy hair
I hate your pouty pink lips
I hate your tall, slim body
I hate your adorable dimples
I hate your constellation-like freckles
I hate your athletic graceful walk
I hate your sensual Adam's apple
I hate your boyish mischievous grin
I hate the way you throw your head back and laugh so wildly
I hate the way you make me feel
I hate that I have to write about you
To try and get over your piercing eyes
Because John,
The truth is I like you
I have since the 8th grade
And now we're sophomores
But guys like you don't go for girls like me
The truth is, I don't hate you
I try to convince myself I don't like you
I am writing this as a reason to why I should hate you
But I simply cannot
I think, slowly and painfully that I have fallen in love with you
I can't get you out of my mind
Every love story I read I wish it were us
I dream of you John, constantly and always
Oh how you have ******* with my heart
With that devilish smile of yours
I hate you John.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Evolution of Sophomores
Poor sophomores like polliwogs within
Their small Samsaric Sea do swim about
And seemingly without purpose or point
Startled by shifting shadows or loud noises
But polliwogs in time absorb their tails
Then grow their legs, and hop ashore to eat
Mosquitoes, moths, and flies and dragonflies;
Sophomores acquire their driving licenses
And seemingly without purpose or point
Do drive about their small Samsaric Sea
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
Poetry - Why Must There be Iambs?
Iambics are the sky through which words fly
Formations sweeping all five seasons across
In order royal and in right service to
The aspirations of all noble youths
For verses built without a careful plan
Fall but as clutter on a wasted page
Their meanings and intents broken apart
And lost (like sophomores between each class)
Free verse is only an unanswered why:
Iambics are the sky through which dreams fly
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
A party scene, in
Senryus - from last March, when a
party could happen.
He looked at me
like a treat. “You,” he said,
are looking hot girl!"
“I’m only hot in
in the dazzling reflection
of your lust,” I said.
“Then you’re on
FIRE,” he said as he put
his hands on my hips.
“Your girlfriend’s looking,”
I said, - she and I nodded.
His hands retracted.
He brushed his hair
back over his ears, "some
other time.” he said.
“He was set to Jump
you,” My friend Kim teased, "No,
not really.” I shrugged.
"You disappointed?"
I snorted "yeah right,
His GF was watching."
"OH!," Kim realized,
"You were posing!! You're
STILL a ****** - I KNOW!!”
“SHUT UP!!” I laughed,
putting a hand to her lips,
“That’s secret info!”
“Sophomores are
ALWAYS virgins.” Kim said, “Not
Lisa, of course."
We turned, smiled,
and waved at Lisa - she
was dating three guys.
Kim says, “She could give
us both one.” "Leftovers," I
said, “should mean pizza.”
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 7:17 AM UTC