Poem | |
It was war
Blood and gore
One by one they lined up and took their designated places
They stood across from one another with their war faces.
Battles are dark
I wear the mark
The General yelled for ammunition
Loaded and released without hesitation
His aim is sure
But less than pure
The wounded are removed from the field
Both sides are determined and neither yield
Young Teenage boys
Playing with toys
One side will win this hard fought battle
Bodies will fall and treated like cattle
No one blamed
The winners get one point for their effort
But both teams leave covered in dirt
Except for one youngster
Decides he's no soldier
Even in the worse of instincts lays hope
Not everyman smokes violence like dope
Our folly continues
With few breakthroughs
Playing high school football can be futile
So many young boys lie on a broken pile
That is the crime
Cut in their prime
One boy will be forever called wimp
As he bravely leaves with a life long limp
Just like war
Blood and gore
Poem | |
They're playing in the bowl tomorrow
and we are so very proud.
We Seahawk fans are loyal
and also very loud.
We'll be settled by our TV sets
before the game begins.
We'll stay for the fifth quarter
no matter which side wins.
I'm thinking of my men folks
who had cheered them through the years.
Are they watching them from Heaven
and applauding with loud cheers?
The Seahawk's franchise was formed
back in Nineteen Seventy-Six.
My husband and four brothers
would yell like lunatics
when the Seahawks added to their score
And it seemed as though they'd win.
I would look at them all yelling
and would shudder at the din.
Then when my son was older,
he joined that happy crew.
I threw in the towel and recognized
I would have to join them too.
They taught me all about first downs
and field goals and touch downs also
and many of the games intricacies
that a good fan needs to know.
My husband and my brothers
and even my loved son
have all gone on before before me
Their cheering on Earth is done.
I wish that they could be here
to see their loved team play.
Daughters and grandchildren will cheer with me
tomorrow on Super Bowl Day.
By: Joyce Johnson
Poem | |
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Poem | |
Just like football I am waiting ,
on the side line,
To go up on the field,
Yes we are playing Goodooga,
Aboriginal big guys, tough as steel.
Here comes Albert racing faster,
Trotting down the bloody wing,
Gotta stop him, take him head on,
Hit his ankles, the hurting thing .
Fell him like a big old tree,
Pot belly lands on me ,
I’m a still a seeing stars,
all round me ,
Get up you silly Galah.
So there I was out on the wing ,
Waiting for a pass to me.
Intercept, Albert's a coming ,
he passes ball, dodges see .
Just a few of broken arms,
Black eyes worn with pride.
Rugby Leage what a battle ,
Carry the ball through the other side.
Running for the other goal,
Sidestepped Albert, got there see.
Not a bloody forward pass, (illegal)
Planted it between the trees.
At 17 I was in an interstate game,
between Dirranbandi n Goodooga, we lost. (shame)
Poem | |
I sat in church listening to the preacher
Without hearing a single word he said
I was thinking about the football scores
And my favorite team instead
As they passed around the collection plate
I put my money in
Wondering just what was the going rate
To have God absolve you of your sin
When it came time to share a sign of peace
I turned to the pretty lady in the red dress
Giving her my most pious smile
Trying real hard to impress
I shook the preacher’s hand at the door
Saying I loved his sermon that day
Anxious to get out of my tie
And to be on my merry way
As I stopped at the traffic light
With the windows down in my new car
A homeless man walked up to me
And started talking real bizarre
He said, “You know there’s nothing special about Sundays
Nothing special about the building they call a church
By simply going through the ritual
You don’t improve what your soul is worth”
“If you would rather be watching football games
You can talk to me some other time when you are free
And twenty dollars in a collection basket
Doesn’t buy your soul out of poverty”
“That lady in the red dress
Is much too young for you
And you have to fix the relationship you are in
Before moving on to someplace new”
The cars were honking from behind me
Because the traffic light was green
I turned around to shout at them
Then turned back and that man was nowhere to be seen
I drove the rest of the way home in a haze
Wondering if I imagined the whole scene
But when I turned on the football game
That man was in a commercial on my screen
“So think about the words I said
And talk to me on your own time
In a location of your choosing
When you are in the right frame of mind”
“I am always available to hear you
And provide guidance along the way
But the outcome of these football games
Is not a thing for which to pray”
So, I gave up church on Sundays
And I donate to other charities instead
And today I am a more religious man
Always conversing with God inside my head
Poem | |
IN THE DENTIST’S CHAIR
Lean back and just relax
Put on these protective glasses please
Injection - this will not hurt at all
He says in fluent dentist-speak
Man with goggles and mask like an alien
Probing me like an insect aboard a UFO
God I‘m starving - no breakfast
Oh , from the x-ray looks like
We need a couple of fillings
And It was cornflakes and fried eggs and bacon
I’m afraid it will cause some discomfort
But just relax
I look at the legs of his pretty assistant for comfort
I was afraid to come here at all
Coward for pain in dentist’s chair
Put off and put off six months, till now -
April is the cruellest month*
Month of early cherries from Spain
And lettuce from the greenhouse
And a cucumber salad upon a table in the garden
Like a patient etherized upon a table*
As the alien probes my molars
And asks me about football on tv last night
Oh for a melon big as a football right now
Sold by the shop on the corner where the woman
Is so full-figured....watch her as she gives
Cucumber to another customer
Yes a bit of voyeurism sometimes is fun
Dental assistant’s legs show nice muscles
As she reaches up tip-toed for a tall
Pile of green plastic rinse-cups
Rather similar to a cucumber
I try to answer the football alien
With a mouth full of metal
I stutter and garble out a reply and the alien uh-huh s
Disinterested interest as they say
She looks into my face, concerned, and I am flattered
But she only sees my horrible decayed tooth
Now spit, and again, rinse, spit
I am helpless like a beetle on its back
Wearing plastic goggles
Use this tissue
She’s so helpful, like mother
Don’t eat for six hours even if you have a good appetite
Oh those melons….appetite
I am a man of appetites
No ! I am not Leopold Bloom nor was meant to be*
My appetites are mostly for learning, for humor, for sorrow,
But maybe a melon tomorrow.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*These lines are quotes from T S ELIOT and J JOYCE, both masters
of the stream of consciousness technique.
Poem | |
written by Jan Allison and Tim Smith
Poem | |
To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?
When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?
To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded…
And ‘Sooner Magic’ is on your side.
Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.
So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…
And do the Victory Dance.
Poem | |
its a game
has a name
you need the tools
to kick over the wall
Poem | |
Under the lights on Friday night.
High school football starting to ignite.
Merciless to everyone.
This is war, not for fun.
Winning state is a beautiful sight.