Best Balling Poems
Someone near and dear to me
Has a child with Downs Syndrome,
Who, more often than not
Is beyond difficult to control.
The little boy is six years old
But acts as if he’s two,
He can’t speak at all, just yells a lot
Throwing wild tantrums until he’s blue.
He likes throwing things around
As if everything’s a toy,
And has difficulty distinguishing
Between bad behavior and pure, ecstatic joy.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
always picking up after the boy).
His fingers are his eyes at times
As textures are his friends,
If he doesn’t like the way it feels
He won’t go there again.
And he likes to lay down on the ground
Balling up like a boulder,
Until someone comes to pick him up
While he gives them his cold shoulder.
It’s difficult to fully describe
All the nuances of this child,
The range of his emotions
From anger and sadness to his beautiful, blissful smile.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
walking many lonely miles).
They wonder about his future
And those around him always near,
And wonder how much happiness
Will follow him through the years.
Will he learn to play an instrument
Or dance and sing a song,
Is it possible he will marry someday
Will true love come along?
Will he find friends who will love him
And treat him sweet and kind,
Or only those who will shun him
And close him off like blinds.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
And losing her own mind.
His mother is a nervous wreck
And loves him
All the time).
© Terrell Martin, 02/26/2025
Baby girl, it seems like you have been gone forever,
I want you here by my side, 'cause we belong together,
You lift me off of my feet, you got me flying like a feather,
Floating in the atrocious storm, but only your smile can change my weather,
I find myself laying down just eye-balling the phone,
'Cause your lovely warm voice, keeps me from being alone,
I try calling you, but all i hear is voice mails and dial tones,
Missing you hurts my heart, like an emotion-packed cyclone,
And that very violent storm, is not enough to take down my love pillars,
Not even death, nothing in this galaxy will be my love's killer,
My love for you is strong, it can overcome any obstacles,
The stormy rain rolls off my face, and drips just like a Popsicle,
And i start to touch myself, but yet my body's all dry,
The rain didn't affect me, and i know the reason why,
'Cause even though we're millions of miles apart,
I will forever and always belong to your heart,
Nothing in the world would make me depart,
From the heart of my lover, that i loved from the start.
It started high up in the clouds,
the moisture balling together until
it became a perfect tear drop hovering
then falling down, gaining speed.
Bumping into others amalgamating,
spinning dropping ever downwards.
Landing with large splash on a leaf
and trickling, running ever down.
Joining still as it flows on
over the edge to the ground.
The rain drop fell into a puddle
and spread out reflecting the sky.
Glistening, sparkling and pulsing
It follows the contours of the land
giving life to all as it passes by,
relentlessly advancing with glee.
Not over yet, it flowed into a lake
now a vast body of water it continues
onwards, ever onwards. One day it
will return to the sky. That's another story.
A lot of lessons learned./ I sip this Hennessey and fought the burn./ My mind is clouded with
so many memories./ I hear your voice "Boy pick yourself up off your knees"./ But I wonder
why God would take you away from me./ Please Lord I need some clarity./ Nothing makes
sense. I cry, I can't lie nor deny I'm drowning in my own dark obscurity./
The pain remains inside./ Eating me alive./ I wonder without you if I'll survive./ I try and
hide from the responsibilities in my life, but have no success./ So I'm left with this heartache
in my chest./ Tears roll down my cheek./ Does that make a man weak?/ God I need to
know./ Was it just her time to go?/
So many times I sit down attempting to express what I was feeling,/ but my heart and
mind wasn't willing./ Nothing I wrote seemed to be enough,/ to compliment you and your
motherly love./ Every time I thought of you I felt like balling up in a fetal position and dying./
I could not write about you without breaking down and crying./
For awhile I carried a bad attitude./ Looking for an excuse to accuse anyone in my family
forever disrespecting you./ I think about all the tears my grandmomma shed./ I wished her
alive and everyone else dead./ Was it my imagination or was it your pretty face I saw in the
clouds?/ I hope you're looking down on me and you're proud./ And you're hearing my voice
right now somehow./ I wish there was a button I could push to rewind./ So I can tell you
what's on my mind./ Kiss your check./ Have you speak./ Hold you just one more time./
Your passing took away my energy./ You said you would never leave me./ You were
always so honest./ So when you broke your promise,/ It left me confused./ I felt cheated
and my soul was bruised./
Con't in Pt 2
Being an American in Australia isn’t easy,
but I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
Just one of the boys with all the right expressions
under my belt, like:
pasty glut
cosmetic spring roll rut
five o’clock shadow cigarette butt.
I mean, I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
I try to talk about the good ol’ U.S. of A.,
and I’ve never mentioned Uncle Sam once,
except to suspect he lives inside Colonel Sanders
who also gives me a big pain in the ass
with his mysterious suppository herbs & spices;
cos I’m trying to fit in, see?
I’m trying to integrate.
Okay, I can get nervous about women,
and cover it up under muscle and toughness, O.K.!
Say: “All sheilas are made fer ****in’!”
while dreaming:
leather cock thrust
beer lubrication
violet steak lips!
Say: “All poets are poofs!” and
beat my balls around fields of green
with wooden sticks so stiff and clean, screaming
semen icing power
spread on scones of breasts!
Bloody hell! Can’t ya see?
I’m trying to integrate,
trying to fit in.
Like wearing high-heeled snow-shoes
and roller-skater shirts;
doing al the expected things, even tho’
my Balinese sarong trips me up occasionally.
I’ve got a sun-tanned *******,
and I’m keeping me nose to the ground,
no bloody fear! I’m integrating, ya see?
Trying to sit in.
I’m a tough-fisted slow-sauntering grog-pissing
knife balling tit watching ***** hating self-deceiving
regular visionless mate of no matter:
Swallowed by deserts
and the fear of ******s;
Tortured by sun
and the freeze of lost passion;
Murdered in business;
resurrected in wages!
Enslaved in the cities and
imprisoned by FACTS
that stretch from my body
in steel rails of tracks I ride on,
I hide on:
I’ve lost where I’ve been.
But I’m integrating
(yeah, INTEGRATING!)
I’m just fitting in.
: baby, cool, hip hop, nostalgia, passion, word play
Back seat Bingo ©
Groovy hot licks on tubs
Daddy-o’s a finger zinger
That straw boss sure gets down
Get down gates get down
Ah train wreck, take five!
Cool pad to chill
Check out the Chicks
What’s your tale nightingale?
Let’s split this dive and cruise the strip?
Don’t jive me doll are you flat out
eye balling me?
How ‘bout we tour in my classy chassis, Jack?
Let’s haul ass and burn rubber baby
Want to jitterbug or back seat bingo?
Cool your wheels!
Every hustler has fallen.
Cracks in the concrete is how the streets are watching.
Calling me back, i thought i closed that door?
Slipping into darkness heating up my toes.
Rock bottom balling is a choice.
Do or die. Be heard or make noise?
Bodies traced in chalk then go void.
Last time i checked I'm dealing with faith.
like a rose that grew from under the pavement.
A hustler dies a hustler is made.
Happy (dead) Mother's Day.
Here's a fistful of wildflowers for your final resting place.
Your demise was far swifter than your time.
I wasn't old enough to get to know you.
Just a few matted memories and some 8mm film clips
Your smile was sweet and wide.
You gave me a naked cowboy piggyback ride.
We had a cat named Blue and a short, wide bulldog.
I'm guessing by the small room smiles
these were the best of our times.
Dad got rid of Blue because she couldn't break the habit of crapping in the bathtub.
One day a kid split my lip with a tin can.
I went balling into mother.
Another time I opened the farmer's gate so the cows could escape,
For punishment, he gave me a dead corn snake necklace.
Black crows surrounded mother's final bloody bed.
A little silver music box reminded me of her
It gave me some sad sort of comfort.
Time graciously swept most of the rot from inside this head.
Society claims...that we are in a economic tsunami,
but I swear it's not affecting me.
I'm hungry...I metamorph into the money monster.
I gets money 24hrs & seven days a week.
Ppl be sleep, but I be up at the crack of dawn.
Visualizing this money...getting it...
engulfing it in my palms!
Having qualms about being broke & one of the misfortunate ones.
Cuz, a fool & his money will depart an that's a promise from the book of Psalms.
I have no pity for ppl, cuz your decisions today will be your out come tomorrow.
So, if you accumulating cash: stacking it...investing it wisely: you want have to beg & borrow!
But once again...I...Gets...Money!
See, you have to understand the ***** psychosis which is similar to the cricket syndrome.
Claiming that he's balling, but in reality he's really crawling: self destruction on his own.
Sure he want the big house, all the money, & all the leeches!
But, don't nothing come to a sleeper, but a dream.
Ain't you tired of dreaming & wishing?
But once again...You...Gets...Nothing! It's part of my repertoire to be the cleanest individual in the crowd. Females going wild cuz they can smell the money scent from a mile.
The apotheosis of a winner is the true essence of a Black Man like me.
I can't be duplicated...dam shol not imitated, so please take heed... I...Gets...Money!...
Soooooooooooo there's a Comments Contest well
HO HO HO ...AND IT AIN'T EVEN CHRISTMAS!
Whew! Well, I never had much of a chest to get it off of anyway
but I thought about soup mailing a friend to ask his/her thoughts!
And then I questioned myself, " Are you nuts?" that's how things
get started! So that didn't last long...hmmmm
Next best thing to do was "let it sit" you'll think of something! hmmmm
Couple of days went by and I kept eye balling that block button
My hand would sneak over there and sneak back.
Nope, if it happens again just ignore it. You can do this!
Yes I can do it, thanks to Tom Hanks. Remember his line in
"You've got mail"? "Just when you say exactly what you wanted
to say, remorse always follows". That is so true and should be
taught from birth,
but back to my unanswered soup mail....I thought of something
and it apparently worked for I haven't had another shocker since
then but you never know when my hand will creep towards that
block button, just to see if it really works, of course!
Have a nice day!
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Freedom
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: March/2013
I grew up
in the
south,
where
spanish
moss
hanged
heavy
from
oak tree's -
Where
hound dogs
roamed
dirt roads
tracking
down
a race
of people,....
Black people,
America
said
were free -
We were
not free -
America,
was
"Segregated
America,"
Whites
on one side
and
Blacks
on the other -
Signs
posted
told us
where
we could
sit
and eat -
And
"For Colored
Only"
signs
pointed,
to
restrooms
that we
could use -
Water
fountains
were
prohibited,
except
the ones
outside
in the park -
I grew up
in these
times,
where folks
with black
skin,
were called
"colored,"
and
a few other
words
that lowered
our self
esteem -
A time
when we
were lynched,
and
hanged
from
southern
trees -
A time when
brutal
and
ruthless
killings
of
many black
family's
became
routine,
and
the perpetrator's
were never
brought
to trial -
America
said
we were
free -
We were
not free -
I grew up
in these
times -
When
a black
man
couldn't
look
at a
white
woman -
They
called it
wreck-less
eye balling,
which carried
a sentence
of death -
I've seen
the vicious
dogs
attack us
in the
street
on
command
from
police -
We had to
fight
for our
civil rights,
through
protest;
boycotts,
And
when we
gathered
to march
the police
beat us down
in the streets -
I grew up
in these
times -
When
they
assassinated
Civil Rights
Activist
Medgar Evers,
in 63 -
A few
months
later
they bombed
the 16th Street
Baptist Church,
in Birmingham,
killing
four little
black girls
as they
sang
and
prayed
in a place
of peace -
I grew up
in these
times -
I watched
on T.V.
Dr. King
deliver his
historic
"I Have A Dream"
speech -
He had hoped
that someday
all men
regardless
of ethnicity
could live
together
in
harmony -
Sadly,
he was
assassinated
in
68.
I've seen
the million
man march
on
Washington
D.C.
to promote
unity -
I grew up
in these
times -
America
said
we were
free -
We were
not free -
Let the stream of cash in, flood-gate
Like the Casino, I'll keep chips in your plate
Big-ballin', throw it in the pot, high stakes
Don't sleep, keep watch for fakes and snakes
So much dead pres' to burn, it's a crime
Surprised I ain't in the Feds, doing hard time
Making all this cash, you could say I invented it
Moving fast, speeding, put up a road-block, no preventin' it
I'm on a roll, pull out the spikes, can't flatten my tire
Gettin' this money on the low, but it takes me higher
Selling Mary J, Molly, and that white girl, no prostitution
Moving X and D, in the middle of finding a solution
I ain't doing algebra, money plus problems equals murder
Money talks, and all I hear from you is a murmur?
You poor, but I ain't talking 'bout serving drinks
I'm Balling, my chain's like a fence, got a lot of links
Back then, they locked me out, cash was the key to the door
I started from the bottom, got it from the floor
Dirty money, let it accumulate, sweep it with a broom
Wipe-out the marks with a mop, keep a clean room
Money keeps me ahead of the game, avoid defeat
I'm on the road to success, it's a one-way street
To Right a Wrong
In vain did they look in wonder
In vain do they seek him still
He fought for Australia his country
Kokoda went, to die and kill
2 of our brave Aussie soldiers
Were left off the list of the dead (20 years)
Their hometown RSL elders
Despised life blood that they bled.
Their fathers had gone to one meeting
Communism seemed to help of the poor?
Blacklisted even though warrior sons were beating
The Japanese back from our door.
So I speak of Dan Seaton and Leo Judge
These men gave all that they had
Fought bravely in New Guinea’s mud
Printed on the honour board by Dad….
Don Johnson
These Dirranbandi soldiers were left off the honor board 20 years till my father joined
the RSL
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxJHZ05E3gM
Well Joe the poor who worked from daylight to dark for a pittance, 6 days a week, saw the commo thing as a possible improvement they only had the positive propaganda at that time:} The rich were terrified of the Commos taking over and bringing equality:} The Squatters were sneaking about with guns and taking names for the black balling. And dead soldiers familys suffered.
I am not a politician
I have very little interest for politics
Reminiscing on Diddy’s vote or die campaign
Rallying behind Senator John Kerry Wishing I were old enough to vote
My how things have changed
Obama’s groundbreaking history was scarecrow
No brainer enticed me/I had to cast a ballot
I am still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Ruled by Caucasian Republicans and house niggas
Who don’t care about helping the poor
Or restoring a nation/ That seen the horrors of 9/11
Troops who went to war and never returned home
An economy that has knocked down
Some who were atop the financial ladder
To paper or plastic/Cheese with that whopper
Foodstamps and free Medicare benefits
Naive in a way when it comes to our leaders presidency
But I’ve seen the effort Healthcare among other bills
Met by Congress with resilience
A potential government shutdown that threatened
To send us to a modern day great depression
Insults being thrown at the first lady/Quicker than Randy Johnson’s fastball
But hey I’m still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Politics that haven’t seem to get past/ Obamas brown skin
The fact that the man be balling/Like he Jim Jones
Tinted lips from blazing Newport cigarettes and herbs Im sure
He is too much of a nigga /And they hate that ****
But what I think they hate the most/Is he's a polished nigga
With a Harvard degree, articulates well
And as Katt Williams so eloquently put it/He has no baby mama drama
He deserves the respect of his colleagues
**** it that he's swagged out like ya favorite rapper
Wears skinny suits and has a strut/
That puts Eva, Tyra, and Naomi to shame
He's a boss, Rick Ross
See this is why Im not a politician
I have very little interest for politics/Rather Im politically correct
Or politically incorrect/Never said I was a politician
My interest for politics lies in the lines of this poem/
Swaggarack capturing America's #1 terrorist
Left him deceased/On that Donald Trump they wanna see a death certificate
Spoof video, you wasn’t messing with Barack's Dougie
No way can I be interested in corrupt politics
Stomaching politicians with no morals
Reiterating again I will never be a politician
And despite my rundown of unjust riddles
I still have very little interest for politics
You cracked me up,
And left me breathless.
My coffee cup,
I’m a little restless.
I repeated a line,
What am I doing?
Maybe trying to rhyme,
Is what I’m pursuing.
This will have to wait,
Work is calling,
I am running late,
No need balling,
Hurry, hurry get a shower,
Get to work,
In less than an hour.
Oh my oh my,
Is freezing here,
Forget the shower,
Go have a beer.
Warm you up,
I doubt that,
My coffee cup,
Where’s my hat.
Will continue this,
At a later date
.
Hurry, hurry I’m running late.