Long Basketball Poems
Long Basketball Poems. Below are the most popular long Basketball by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Basketball poems by poem length and keyword.
* For basketball legend Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, soon ...
yes, soon enough, indeed
those rafters will roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, will bow in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh ...
and those proud parquet floors.
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 2, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
She was an Indian Barbie, long curly lash
And brown complexion. The hair was
Perfect, shiny black and she had on a small
Pink gown to cover her 36-24-36 body.
Last seen, she still had on her high heeled shoes.
Oh how my daughter cried, “Dolly, Dolly,
Where are you?” when she found out she left,
It on the basketball court’s grounds. She took
It along, against her mom’s frequent reminders,
When grandpa brought her with him for a walk.
She cried horribly, my wife mailed me. Tears
Rolling down her cheeks even as her mother
Scolds, tears not for the accusatory words
But for her Dolly who is gone. Gone away,
Lost and probably in another child’s hands.
My wife, with a guilt ridden grandpa’s idea,
Told her Dolly wasn’t lost after all. In fact
She was on her dolly way to dad now who
Works onboard a ship, sailing far, far away
So he can buy milk and nappies for small kids.
“Punta sya dun kasi lungkot si Daddy di ba?”
(She went there because Dad is lonely right?)
She asks in between sobs of her mom, who
Can only nod and kiss her on the forehead
And whisper a “Yes,” the whitest of white
Lies meant to comfort a grieving, sad child.
Fast forward to the time I talked to my child
On a long distance call, from a very public booth.
She asked me if Dolly was with me, forewarned,
I can only sigh a cheerful aye. “Talaga? tignan ko nga!”
(Oh yeah? Let me see her then!)
Of course she must have meant to talk to her.
I didn’t hesitate, all so suddenly I knew what to do,
Then and there I belted a falsetto, uncaring
Of the Island people around me, for in that one
Sparkling moment, I was talking to my child not as
A father but as a long lost friend who misses her.
“HAH! Helloooo Dolly, andyan ka sa barko ni Daddy?”
(Hello Dolly, are you there on Daddy’s ship?)
She asks me after my high pitched hello, asking
with such gasped longing, with such breathless relief,
with such childlike delight and innocence. Even as
Eavesdroppers wonder what harm befell my balls!
The rest of that dreamy conversation is lost to me now.
The wonder of her tone, her concern, her yearning for
Her doll is all that remains, of the father and daughter
Transcending bounds of love, blasting colors and
Rainbows to a gray span of reality, even for a while.
---Part 2 on my poem list please read too long to post
Little Lilly wanted to go, to the playground, to have some fun the other day.
And all the other Trolls wanted to tag along, for it looked like fun, they said.
So we went at dusk, for our first try, so no wee ones, would be anywhere near.
For you know, Trolls can play pretty hard, and I didn’t know, just what to fear.
I quickly found a bench as home base, for those who needed to have a time out.
Anyone who couldn’t play gently, or broke anything, found they’d get the rout.
First the sandbox became a deep, dark hole, from which to pop up, to scare, thereat.
Of course, dodge ball became club ball, so you can guess what happened with that.
King of the Hill was a really big thing, since they are all, the most territorial, by half.
Surprisingly, the slide was all-OK, but trouble came from underneath, as they laughed.
They wanted to exact a toll, of course, in the middle, as you passed above, quite brief.
The merry-go-round made them dizzy, knocking everyone down, in a domino motif.
The Seesaws became a great big catapult… to the other far side of the playground.
The monkey bars! Well, they aren’t monkeys, that’s for darned certain, I expound!
They tripped, fell, and smacked themselves senseless with no ones’ help, I ensure.
It could’ve been climbed much better, if not covered in so much drool, I’m sure.
Swings became broken as they pushed the others, all the way to the moon, oops!
And basketball became a slam-dunk, as unfortunately they didn’t fit in the hoops.
Hop Scotch took coordination, and you have to be able to wait your turn, too…
So, as in tag, they started bumping and fighting, until becoming a crazy piled up dado.
Races started more fights as all wanted to win, and threw everyone out of their way!
Hearing a laugh, I turned around to see Grandpa Troll, was ready to stop the moray.
He stood near the bench, as I stood looking up, amazedly, at what they had done.
Now, there were other benches everywhere, but they were piled high, on a single one.
I’ll never truly understand the brain of a Troll, for them a playground’s just not fun.
And they don’t play gently, and are bigger, than our wee folk, as I had already known.
They spent the night, putting things to right, even better than before they’d been broke.
And I finally took them home, to find OTHER things, designed especially, for OUR folk.
Over the years there have been many game shows and some are standouts.
With sport things like baseball, football, basketball, golf, it a good combination.
The game shows of the 50's staples on the game show channels.
Have the makings of the treasured memories that bring us to like our Mom’s perfume called “Channel.”
Things from the past trigger so many of the fond memories.
These game shows have stood the test of time, almost a half century.
Let see Bob Barker started out with a show called “Truth or Consequence.”
That it was a popular game isn’t of question, re-naming a whole town in New Mexico, From Hot Springs leading this game show to its final destination.
Another game, which comes to mind “Candid Camera” not really a game show, a first start I think for what is now reality T.V.
For your enjoyment this was added along with the games shows, another shakes my thoughts, “It’s Your Life” a star studded tribute to a family member or celebrity.
Another first in realty T.V., the memories I see’
These memories are just as vivid today as yesterday.
Some are still among the last standing game shows “Jeopardy” is a main stay.
I sometimes feel that Alex is my long, lost Uncle or something.
The game brings all categories known subjects and teaches a little about important things.
This is what the Holy Bible teaches and professes. In a game show there are dares and challenges.
The legends of the Bible like Sampson, David, Ruth, were all heroes some were even inspired by the Angelica’s.
This only was for real, they played a game of sorts, were commanded by God to show them His will.
And the Book has stood the test of time all through the ages, and is among us still.
If we as humans played ferociously with the intent of studying the Lord’s road map,
The Holy Bible takes you places you could only dream of. Life wouldn’t be a trap.
Loving, caring breath of the Holy Spirit could come upon us all and the real game would begin.
Playing with Our Lord in His Paradise, playing for a better life in Our Savior’s Kingdom.
So enjoy. There is still another game called the “Wheel of Fortune.”
So spin away, win your cars, trips and vacations.
But remember this playing with Our Lord not paying attention to His laws and
edicts.
Will only yield you a life of faltering, the game will be over, and you might be standing outside of Our Father’s precinct.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
Johnny Cash gives it away for free,
John K says he would like to be Prez.
Richard Nixon will run against him,
so the republican party says.
Lamar Cox gets 44th KO,
‘The Stilt’ scores 58 in one game.
In high school Heater’s 135,
gives him claim to some basketball fame.
Presley says goodbye to the Army,
and is back on the recording scene.
X-15 sets a new record height,
‘Sit-in’ becomes protesting’s new thing.
Queen ‘Liz says they’re the ‘House of Windsor,’
“Unsinkable Moly Brown” goes down.
The first Playboy Club hits Chicago,
Ebbit Field is knocked down to the ground.
A 9.6 quake in Morocco,
takes more than 15000 poor souls.
Another sends Hawaii a wave,
kills over 17000 more.
Cardinals move to Saint Louie,
Chicago White Sox wear their new threads.
Oversized mitt designed for catchers,
will keep their hands from turning all red.
USSR says they’ll stop testing,
Krushchev bangs on the desk with his shoe.
Lasers will light up the science world,
France now has an Atomic bomb too.
Satellites can now track the weather,
the court says ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ okay.
Civil Rights bill passes the senate,
new birth control pills are here to stay.
‘We shall overcome’ is new anthem,
but not at the riots in Jacksonville.
MLK gets jailed in Atlanta,
while preaching for equality still.
Senate investigates “Payola,
Alan Freed’s one of the 9 accused.
Meanwhile over in Comensky Park,
their new exploding scoreboard debuts.
Americans pay high earnings tax,
John K and Nixon go for the throat.
They debate 4 times on our TV,
before Kennedy gets the most votes.
Say hello to Aretha Franklin,
Chubby Checker has us in a twist.
Huckleberry Hound wins an Emmy,
Cassius Clay is the best with his fists.
A jet hits 2000 MPH,
California cops say UFO.
The atomic reactor is born,
Flintstone’s is the next hit cartoon show.
Lee, Richard and Maurice Petty go,
against each other in the same race.
Richard beats his brother and daddy,
which gives racing world a new face.
Paul and Best kicked out of Germany,
we are not really sure what they did.
Clarabelle speaks in her final show,
simply voices the words, “Goodbye Kids”.
The world’s moving faster and higher,
technology seems to have no cap.
Back in Wakenda, at 3 years old,
I’m still taking an afternoon nap.
alienated and separated has become society
disenfranchised and distant are now the state of families
all of those systems designed to make us feel connected
have fallen short and now we feel rejected
we're just a bunch of numbers and no one even knows our names
we're just a group of digits and that's a darn shame
but we're more than pieces of silver for we do have hearts
for we are the blessed children of the Lord Of Lords, Our God
and it's only in the church where we've kept our sanity
for out in the world it's just total anarchy
we're more than just objects to be used and misused
we're more than just bodies who by our bosses are being abused
dehumanized and desensitized is how we've been treated by the status quo
but we are treasures in the eyes of the God we all love and know
God loves us and it's time we loved ourselves
Jesus loves us and died to give us an eternal wealth
yet people are more concerned with amassing monetary hordes
no compassion for each other and no love for the Lord
we need to seek the word of God with a desire to be changed
for now is the time for our spirits to be rearranged
no longer to take each other for granted but to treat each other with respect
to see ourselves as more than pieces of silver as more than just objects
to be like that woman who lost her coin and diligently searched until it was traced
and then to rejoice upon finding it for her treasure was now fully replaced
to diligently seek the treasure that is the word of God
and then to apply it directly to our hearts
to comprehend the true value of our fellow sisters and brothers
and come to understand that we need to treasure one another
for at some point in life you will need someone's support
for life is like a basketball game you need a team on the court
10 pieces of silver, Stella had a house party
a single coin restored, a parable about rediscovery
for whatever it is in life that you feel that you have lost
just take it to Jesus and lay it on the cross
let Jesus restore it, let your treasure be refound
let God reform you and place you on higher ground
to look high and look low for that which has been misplaced
to seek that treasure of the spirit, God's saving grace
and once it's restored to rejoice and celebrate
Stella had a house party upon the restoration of her faith
Freedom foremost, and the will to fight
to keep and protect our natural rights.
Nightclubs, jello shots, disco balls
mechanical bulls, beers cold and tall!
Baseball, football, and basketball games,
crazy rodeo riders on horses untamed.
Books by the millions, more than can be read,
and knowing anything can be by anyone said.
Burgers on buns, potato and tortilla chips,
yeah, those are American, born in Texas!
Satirical cartoons, radio and TV,
the magic that was Hollywood, as it used to be.
Ragtime, Bee-bop, Rockabilly, and Jazz
Swing, R & B, movie soundtracks, and Bluegrass.
The warm blanket of country when feeling cold,
the power and fury of rock and roll.
The grind of hip-hop and of rap…
on second thought, we apologize for that.
But funk gets things all out of control,
and who can say no to harmonious soul?
Stream locomotives, tracks narrow and wide,
flying machines that soar through the sky.
The glorious art that is the western,
and old Las Vegas, the moral tester.
The miracle of southern barbeque,
the burn of moonshine, or Mountain Dew.
Soft ice crew and greasy-fast French fries,
the expectation that politicians lie.
Liberty in law deeply enshrined,
muscle cars driving of the right side.
Suburbs, cabins, farms and guns,
and every legally available type of fun.
Forests, combines, and big chain-saws,
as well as full equality before the law.
A vast landscape, awesome to see,
an undying faith in our families.
Art from great down to lackluster,
recalls, vetos, and filibusters!
Checks and balances on the powerful,
we invented the internet, so things are never dull!
Mountain bikes and rollers blades,
fried chicken and biscuits, porterhouse steak.
Diners, dairy bars and fast food,
we walked on the friggin’ moon,
and built the only probes that escaped
into the void of interstellar space.
I could go on, I am tempted to,
but I think I’ve made my point to you,
And when young fool have yelled there fill,
reject their nonsense talk of “guilt.”
All nations have screwed up, it’s so
but perfection is something man never knows.
This nation still tires to confront is sins,
and brings forth profusions of great things.
The scales upon which we are weighed,
are ever clear in what they say:
When it all is said and done,
America is made of awesome.
Basketball Blues
Here I am trying to string some coherent thoughts into a prose in writing…
When there is this sudden continuous thumping noise behind where I am seating…
Oh no! That can only mean one thing, my little girl is into her basketball dribbling...
In this limited space of the living room, her boundless energy needs venting…
Ever since the local junior basketball competition has started, I wish we live on the moon…
When the whim strikes, it’s Michael Jordan incessant dribbling about in the living room…
Only the emptiness of space around the moon can silence the sounds of these staccato booms…
NASA or whatever relevant space agency, book me quickly, if possible, beam me to the moon..
Yeah, I know better, our cajolings and pleas for quiet in this living room is a waste of saliva…
This feminine version of Michael Jordan in my living room is in one of her breakaways runs afire…
Look out! Control that ball, you almost bump poor Nemo in his cute fish bowl off that table…
Where’s your mother, what do I have to do to get a little peace in this time of the day altogether…
Little girl, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to finish this little poem of mine to post on-line…
I have my readers and fans, they’re just like yours, hoping to see the best I can offer each time…
Yeah I know, your fans and supporters, they are cheering you on too, I see the picture…
But little angel of mine, please put away that blasted ball , how about something else to consider …
Let me finish up this shortened prose, post it up online and then I will bother you no longer…
After that, it would be better that I quickly retire to the master bedroom, silence there is pre ordered…
Tell me again, when is your last game, for all this thumping through the week is giving me heartburns…
Do you have to bounce that ball indoors, that noisy din will one fine day bring on angry neighbours…
Better you do something not so noisy, say, clean Nemo’s tank - it looks rather dirty to me….
What? You’ve clean it twice already in this week, are you very sure of that? How about money?..
Would you like to have some change and maybe you can grab a soda outside, it is one fine weather..
Fervently I dare hope, my little Michael Jordan, do go and pick up your many dolls, where’s Barbie..?
I
Hear the bouncing of the balls--
Basketballs!
What a sound of merriment they cause when each ball falls!
How they echo, echo, echo,
Inside the gymnasium walls,
Arriving at a crescendo
While the spectators shout “Bravo!”
Drowning the referee’s calls;
And the players start
To make their last dart
Amidst the reverberation ricocheting off the stalls
From the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
From the bouncing and the dribbling of the balls.
II
Hear the ticking of the balls,
Ping-pong balls!
What a soft and easy sound comes from their bounce and rolls!
In the crowded room that’s bright
How they fill it with delight!
Like the ticking of a clock,
Steady but fast,
Or the picking of a lock,
What tune they make with their ceaseless tick-tock,
Until at last--
Oh, what a miss that appalls
The audience that has remained speechless in the halls
How it falls!
How it scrolls!
And the erring player rolls
His fists at his own pitfalls
By the swinging and his missing
To hit the balls, balls, balls
The balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
To hit the light and small and saffron ping-pong balls!
III
Hear the loud thud of the balls--
Volleyballs!
What feeling of suspense is caused by their great falls!
Across the nets stretched tight
How they gracefully take flight!
The watchers anticipating,
Who would win they keep waiting,
Breathlessly.
Until the umpire from his platform blows a long shrill whistle,
And the balls drop on the ground like useless heads of missile.
Then tempers start to bristle
In the air there is a rustle
From both player and spectator
To win the set or never
Hold the trophy covetously.
Oh, the balls, balls, balls--
"Pick them up!" the umpire bawls.
Once again
The balls are hit, tossed, and passed
And the game goes on full blast
While the players on each side dare not complain
Yet the audience fully knows
By the spiking
And the digging
How the game would sooner close.
Who would be covered in palls
Suffer beating,
‘Cause of losing,
And forced to receive catcalls
For dismally failing to score and keep afloat the balls,
The volleyballs--
The volleyballs, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
In the scrambling and the spiking of the balls!
March 18, 2023