Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners
Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic”
Than the Red October Run.
The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.
There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.
By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.
“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.
The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.
Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.
Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.
No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers? The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.
The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense
and find a way to win?
Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?
Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.
It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?
The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.
Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.
Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.
Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.
Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered. Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
had been renewed,
There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.
For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.
But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.
At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”. Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.
The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.
Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.
Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.
Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.
To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.
He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.
You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.
Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands.
Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent. We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.
His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.
He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.
He looks each man straight in the eye -
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.
His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.
He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.
He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.
Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.
“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves. Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.
Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son. Keep pushin’. Remember, no pain, no gain”.
He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.
As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.
He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!? “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”?
He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.
Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.
Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.
Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.
So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands.
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/went_fishin_547715' st_title='Went Fishin''>
Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.
A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.
My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.
He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”
He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”
While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”
As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on. My hands were steady.
Yellow with black dots and a weed guard.
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.
As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.
So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes.
About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”
When the Bass broke water, it scared me.
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook! Set the hook!”
When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.
My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.
“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez. Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed,
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”
He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready. This is the part that’s great.
I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”
Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.
My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”
“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”
“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…
but for the great stories we get.”
I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.
You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.
They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/megans_hit___the_baseball_sonnet_553892' st_title='MEGAN'S HIT - the Baseball Sonnet'>
MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this game.)
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Dedicated to the Oklahoma Sooners & Saint Barry Switzer
Fifty years, boy & man, I’ve been a Sooner Fan;
And, like others, I’ve wondered many times:
Just what is Sooner Magic?
Is it real…or only in our minds?
Sooner Magic has won many games
And has even saved some seasons.
Fans always revel in its Glory;
But, still, we seek its reason.
Is it more than simple superstition?
If so, Sooner Magic must have a source;
And some way to know exactly when
To unleash its awe-inspiring force.
Yes, something very special happens on the field
When the desperate hopes of All the Sooner Fans
Somehow fill our Sooners’ hearts with Urgency.
Oh yes, they feel it…to a man.
And, as that feeling swells in their hearts,
It’s like some supernatural persuasion.
Our Sooners do what must be done,
They rise to the occasion.
Oh, there’s more to Sooner Magic.
On this point, please don’t be deceived.
Before Fans can even hope for Sooner Magic,
First…we must Believe.
Believe in the Power of Tradition.
Believe in our Sooners’ Will to Win.
Believe our Sooners will make it happen.
Believe because they’ve done it…
time and time again.
Yet, there’s still more to Sooner Magic,
A simple fact beyond reproach
Fans’ Belief must find its inspiration
In the Heart of the Sooners’ Head Football Coach.
With Confidence and Strength of Purpose,
He molds the Character of our Sooner Team.
He transforms talents into skills and abilities
And forges Victories out of Dreams
He’s taught our Sooners how to win;
But, win or lose, to give their All;
That Luck is Timing, but also Preparation,
For they must be ready when Victory calls.
In the blink of an eye it happens,
What seems a relentless tide is turned;
But it’s not called Sooner Magic
Without a Victory…well earned.
A breakaway run, a recovered fumble,
an intercepted pass;
Yes, Sooner Magic only seems to happen
when it must.
Anxious Fans go wild. Our Sooners win the game;
And, somehow, Sooner Magic always seems so just.
But Sooner Magic doesn’t happen every game;
And, sometimes, it’s simply not enough.
For on any given game day,
Their foe may just be too tough.
Even when “The Streak” died that day,
There was solace in what Coach Wilkinson would say:
“I’m proud of you. The only ones who never lose
Are the ones who never played”.
So, there it is; no mystery now.
Sooner Magic’s source is plain to see:
A Coach and his Team in singular accord
With the Hearts of Fans like you and me.
So, Fans, be very proud;
And know we play a glorious part;
For Sooner Magic never happens
If we’re not True of Spirit, True of Heart.
For as long as Fans have Faith,
As long as Fans Believe,
There’s no limit what our Sooners,
With a little Sooner Magic, can achieve.
Yes, it’s simply called Sooner Magic,
Great moments to be remembered
with a measure of glee;
And fondly recounted, season after
Moments when our Sooners were as
great as they could be.
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
The Little Master, Sachin Tendulkar
At Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai,
The Little Master chose to say good-bye;
His Rembrandtesque canvass hat shading eyes,
He whispered thanks up to high-open skies.
Gods spurned earth but as living Avatar
Though Sachin was not from Superman star,
Yet rolled cork and leather, he hit so far
Which soared not from willow but from his roar.
And when his bat was laid up for the day
After ferrying his side to safety bay,
He donned his landscape painter’s sunshade hat
And took his long-on stance as humble brat.
A twelve-year old watched India lose the Cup,
At thirty-seven roused his side, backed up
To the topmost crest in cricketing tide
And put one voice in a people torn aside.
A whole nation woke to the cry: Tendlya:
Beggar, Brahmin, Bhai and even infidel.
All drenched in the tide of common feeling
For one novelist’s second book breeding.
Only five-foot five, strong neck in between
Body made to withstand pace bowling steam:
No bumper nor full toss cowered him down
Not even that mean ball bled his nose brown.
At Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai
The Little Master chose to say good-bye,
His Rembrandtesque canvass hat shading eyes
He whispered thanks up to high-open skies.
Then the nation held its breath at ninety-nine,
While Sachin knocked nineties, not the last nine
To make that long-awaited world history,
Until Bangladeshi ODI test victory.
Over heads of cover and point with off-lifts
Elegant leg glances through long-stop rifts
Straight drives above umpires’ dreamy heads
Dashing pulls past gaping square leg dreads.
Back to back boundaries and easy singles
Late cuts through second slips’ shocking bungles
Then the home-stretch past the century post
When India at last roared in burning thirst.
Myriad mrthangists thumped the beat
Plaintive senais by the million broke out neat
Temple bells joined in the merry festival:
Ton-up! O! Ton-up! No more survival !
But the Champ had other ideas in sight
Like the fastest one day fireworks of might,
So he flashed his blade all over the tight field
To rob the world of its remaining shield.
Now he says forty is not really old
Cricket’s not the only thing to be sold:
To be a god in Hindustan is not all
To be a PM is not given to all.
Not one vote will go to the other men
Not one voice will be raised against batsmen
Who put the nation on the map of runs:
The man with the bat is the man who runs.
At Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai
The Little Master chose to say good-bye:
His Rembrandtesque canvass hat shading eyes
He mumbled something to himself between sighs.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Long poem by
Roy Jerden | Details |
Out in small town Texas, a handshake is a deal
Folks go to church on Sunday, say grace at every meal
Men open doors for ladies, kids say sir and ma'am
Boys can't wait to join the Corps, and serve their Uncle Sam
But if you were to go there, come autumn Friday nights
The place might be deserted, when the whole darn town unites
Upon a spread of hallowed ground, a grassy green expanse
To celebrate their civic pride and watch the six man dance
Now this dance is not for sissies, and I think you would agree
If you knew a bit about a man by the name of Jack Pardee
Yep, they call it six man football, and they don’t get much acclaim
They don't play for scholarships; but for the glory of the game
Three up front and three in back, any lad can be the man
To pass or catch or run the ball, and kick it if he can
A first down costs you fifteen yards; a field goal gets you four
You’ll hardly wait two minutes there before another score
Because for those without some speed, this game is not contrived
And if one team can't keep it up, they might get forty-fived
That's what they call the mercy rule, 'cause scoring is so fast
No point in running up the tab when one team is outclassed
So if you want a taste of life the way it used to be
Where folks can trust each other and kids can still run free
And there’s a game where little fellers surely stand a chance
Drive out to small town Texas, and watch the six man dance
© December 9, 2012
As a teenager, Jack Pardee moved to Christoval, Texas where he excelled as a member of the six-man football team. Pardee is the only six-man player to later have played or coached in the NFL. He was an All-American linebacker at Texas A&M University and a two-time All-Pro with the Los Angeles Rams (1963) and the Washington Redskins (1971).
He is the only head coach to helm a team in college football, the National Football League, the United States Football League, the World Football League, and the Canadian Football League. Pardee was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame as a player in 1986.
In the 2008–2009 season the state of Texas had 183 six-man football teams, more than all the other states combined. The number of schools opting for six-man football is expected to increase due to declining population in small West Texas towns, and newer private schools opting for six-man football.
The rules are slightly different than the 11-man version as explained in the poem. The "Mercy Rule" will end a game when one team is ahead 45 points or more at half-time or any time in the second half, hence the expression "getting forty-fived".
Long poem by
Daniel Cwiak | Details |
There isn't much difference in being a ROMANTIC,
Than there is is watching the CUBS latest antics.
You have to love life on some level, you see,
To believe that the CUBS will not continue to go Pennant Free!
So, deep down inside you summon all the love you have,
Keeping it buried, except for being what you believe.
I have always been a CUB FAN, sometimes in tears,
As "Wait 'Til Next Year", has forever been in my ears.
But I have followed this team thru thick and thin,
Feeling the pain and bearing it with a grin.
The ROMANTIC me sees them winning the Series one day,
The CUB FAN in me knows that is far, far away.
Their play has not been that extraordinary,
So, it tends to make us CUB FANS more than wary.
But then there are days when they flash-bang a team with hits,
And slap leather on the ball when it gets close to their mitts.
The big thing about CUB FANS is their "ROMANTIC" side,
Our hearts are big, we love much, and have little to hide.
There are those who scoff at our team's play,
But ROMANTICally we know that will all change one day.
Because the field they play on is one of the best,
We continue to hope that the team does the rest.
We are proud of our team but I've heard people laugh,
Like husband and wife, only CUB FANS can give them the gaff.
I wake each day during seasonal play,
Wondering what my team will do that day.
I look for big scores, no hitters, and more,
Most of the time I get really sore.
Not so much in a physical way,
But the ROMANIC in me sure gets a play.
The team will rock my foundations to the core,
When I find out how they let the other guys score.
So the emotional side of CUB FANS is real,
And has to be charged anew each day with ROMANTIC zeal.
That is why you'll see me write what I do,
Whether it's about my team or my life too.
I won't say it's easy being a CUB FAN in life,
But the ROMANTIC in me helps to get thru the strife.
Just remember that "hopeless" is not something you say,
When talking about the CUBS, at least not facing my way.
I know they haven't won a World Series since before most were alive,
They haven't even been in it...since 1945.
But we CUB FANS continue to hope and pray,
That our team will again, be there one day.
It's the ROMANTIC in me that says to you,
As my veins run full of only CUBBIE blue.
Smile, laugh, or think me crazy if you like,
The ROMANTIC soul that governs the life of this CUB FAN will tell you to just "Take A Hike"!
Long poem by
tom bell | Details |
Yes, indeed, Mr. John Heck is the winner with his answer-"Tulips"; His reasoning
is as follows...Keyboard humor; a somewhat off color joke I've heard, and
apparently, so has John, which goes: What's better than roses on your piano?
Tulips on your organ. I hope no one is offended, none intended. If so, please
accept my apolology. (And, I would believe, John's, should anyone feel that
necessary...which they should not.) The next clue; Namesakes come in pairs;
Two Lips. Third; "I sound like a part of you"; Lips. Fourth; Sweet to the senses;
Tulips...(I would add, they are visually, as well as aromatically.) Fifth;
Sometimes I stretch out, and make others howl; John's answer here; Tulip
pedals stretch out. (actually, in this clue, I was alluding to when a person yawns
and their lips spread out, and how it makes other people yawn somehow.
(Another Mystery of Nature!) Sixth; Thumbs in Dikes; His comment; Tulips are
flowers that are in abundance in Holland (Netherlands). This is on target, yet I
would add, think of the children's story about the little boy who stuck his thumb in
the leak in the dike, to save the village.
In any event, Mr. John Heck is our Winner!!!! Congratulations!!! Please, everyone
note, henchforth, Mr. Heck shall be referred to as, "His Majesty, King John the
Well, Your Majesty, Good Sir King John the First, you may request a custom
poem based on any one word.
Recap to date; Contest Quiz Part No. One- Make a six line poem incorporating
the following 6 words, or phrases;"Waffle", "Roller Skate", "Latex Paint", "Bench
Press", "Coal Bin", "Police Siren". Opening day worth-10 Points, less 1 each day
after, and humorous poems from above can earn up to 10 Bonus Points max.
"The Ballad Of Tom Bell" (Sung to the tune of Rogers and Hammerstein's "My
"A bench press, a coal bin, a Six Story Waffle???
Structures that Tom made with glue and falafel!
Rollerskates dipped in Latex semi-gloss paints?
A police siren was heard to place him in restaints!
Baked beans and burgers, drank with something that fizzes,
Frantically typing his weekly pop quizzes!
His Mother Goose characters "ARE" tied up with strings,
The fun anecdotes Tom Bell's poetry sings.
Tom has dog bites!
Suffered bee stings!
He is going mad!
(And seeing things!)?
So look at this bloke
and think of yourself,
and I'm sure you won't feel
Long poem by
tom bell | Details |
His real name was Cliff...
But we called him
Cleo Van Hoppenburg,
Better known as "Uncle Cleo",
To all who did love him...
Though not quite normal of mind,
He was the center of attention,
You probably know the kind...
"Ho, ho, ho!!!"
"Dommy (me..his nearest version to Tommy)....
Oh, he put on a show!
An easy target to fool with,
Specially for me and my cuz...
For the weird things he said,
And the weirder things that
He'd call up on the phone,
Talk endlessly on...
I'd set down the phone...
Go away for awhile,
Watch some TV, have a beer,
Come back, he's clueless,
Still chewing my ear...
One day he came to the door,
Stuck his hand out to greet,
Never expecting, I'm sure....
I grasped his friendly hand,
And a Ju-Jitsu throw he did meet...
Flew across the room,
Hit the far wall well spread eagle...
Laughing, though in pain....
I doubt my act was quite legal...
He loved to be with
me and friends...
He was always of alcohol, abuzz,
An open target for torture,
For me and my cuz,
That's just the way that it was...
We'd entice him to sing,
He eagerly agreed
We taped him singing
While on our instruments,
We played blues...
It was, I guess,
a shameful bad tease,
But from laughter so hard,
I just had to sneeze...
Soon bent over so painful,
I dropped to my knees...
Recorded his insanity,
For all to enjoy....
For many years after,
That tape we did deploy...
His weakness for boose,
Especially a bottle of wine...
He'd down it cross-eyed,
Till he did pass out,
which he did just fine...
He'd fall to the floor,
Dressed in Nazi helmet,
American flag t-shirt,
Didn't matter to him,
If it was caked in deep dirt...
Yet him we would ignore...
And took Polaroids to capture,
For the future to see...
Just what and how,
My world could be...
And when the monthly
check day, it did come....
He'd restart his cycle,
Quite startling some,
And he was money wise,
That is quite true,
The rounds of Jamaica bars,
And bar business, it grew...
He'd take a bus,
To our house, and
from the bus stop,
Some pedestrian would
He was drunk as a sop...
I'd have to go,
'Round the corner,
To carry him home,
Not an easy task,
I assure you,
Getting him, 'ol chrome dome
Back to the homestead,
Where with his great gaul,
He find himself in the yard,
And there he did fall...