Best Fans Poems
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
Alas ‘tis the fate of plucky Jan
To write her poetry while on the can
Her pen’s been known to scoop
A sprinkling of poop
And gleefully to let it hit the fan
Oh ! to touch that light that fanned across your eyes
the moment I began to pray.
Like a thousand wings of eagles flapping in the wind
my heart soared to places I had never been before.
Oh ! to be that sun that spread across my landscape
reviving my emotions and offering vitality.
Like a million butterflies flying on ephemeral beauty
my soul moves through the air,
knowing their is nothing there, beyond compare.
Oh ! to love with airborne arms & finally reach the sky
embracing every hour, with utter Grace
Like a million dollars washed away in rain I'd hold no value
except those diamond thoughts ,
that like thine own refrain, would say to me,
"Oh ! to touch that light that fans across your eyes right now !"
Football fans
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
Football has its ups and downs.
When fans and players act like clowns.
I mean the way they speak and play.
I mean, are they true fans or players I say?
No football team can always be good.
Even if fans think they should.
I mean, if all the teams scored the same.
What is the point of playing the game?
saturdays
hockey night in canada
~ phone best stay silent
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I have fans. They make me
Cool?
~Dimitri Lupescu
thousands of eyes watch
a handful of men play ball
and feel connected
My name is Black.
My mouth is diseased.
I walk on walls behind your back.
I've come for your soul.
You had it out on lease.
(You forgot.)
Stop tending to the chickens,
Or don't stop tending to the chickens.
Either way there are no fans left for anything to be hitting them.
But if they were still around they would get hit by you-know-what.
So don't touch me.
Don't tick me off.
I send the weak and injured off screaming in horror.
Mostly I'm just misunderstood, though.
I call a spade a club.
I turn maestros into minstrels,.
Melancholy into minestrone.
I eat sadness and vomit out anger.
I'm a riot at parties for the first five minutes,
Then I'm the mom you didn't call,
The key you left in the car,
The ringing in your ear,
The stinging in your throat.
I'm the faint chittering you hear
Somewhere in your bed,
Somewhere near your head.
"Love from the Heart of a King"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Do you “Remember the Time”
When I couldn’t get you out of my mind
You were just “Another Part of Me”
Not just like “Billie Jean” you see
And I never wanted to say “She’s Out of My Life”
Because only a “P.Y.T.” could become my wife
I wanted the ultimate “Thriller,” and you were so “Bad”
And I never felt like a “Stranger in Moscow,” I’m so glad
Don’t you remember when we met, “Dirty Diana” wanted to take me to the stall
But you, and only you, had what it took to make me get up “Off the Wall”
So there was “Blood on the Dance Floor,” but I did not care
All because you always said yes when I asked, “Will You Be There”
You never told me to “Beat It,” you never made me “Scream”
You never cared about “Black or White,” or demanded me to “Jam” while on your team
You only wanted the truth, that’s all you told me to ever do
You tried your best to “Heal the World,” but I just wanted to “Rock with You”
But, as you already know, “They Don’t Care About Us”
I guess it’s just “Human Nature,” there is nothing more to discuss
Just remember that “You Are Not Alone”
“The Way You Make Me Feel,” keeps me near the phone
Only that way can the “Smooth Criminal” feel superior
How do I know, I simply asked the “Man in the Mirror”
For My Pickleball Fans
Lost all of my luck
Behind net pickleball stuck
My game ran amok
you should see his serve
seems to have much swerve and curve
while with vibe and verve
hard to understand
in wrong court my ball would land
which was full of sand
always would mumble
while playing had been humble
fell after I did stumble
need someone to teach
play pickleball on the beach
with bad words would preach
my ball had much speed
was with anxiety and greed
when I took the lead
what he said with a grin
had cackled just like a hen
would be sure to win
you need a teacher
served like profound preacher
was a rare real screecher
would play in schoolyard
where the surface had hard
also scared and marred
My Horn Haiku is in a 5-7-5
Format
There once came a grey haired old man.
Or am I mistaken was it rather a ma'am?
Nevertheless he big brought gifts
And climbed big cliffs
To deliver them to his little fans.
I’ve never taken a swim with the dolphins
But I did swim with the Celtics
One day in Miami
An odd celebrity encounter
Just me and the team
Swimming in the same hotel pool— all together
The men had their shirts off
Incredible beautiful bodies
Muscles, intricate tattoos, six packs for all
Running, jumping, warming up, swimming together
They enjoyed each other’s company – like gentlemen would
Embodying everything you would want to see in a sports team
That moment, I wished I had been a true sports fan
I wished I had known exactly who they were
I would have called them by name, said hi, introduced myself, and asked graciously for a picture
Instead, I just watched them – casually - not interfering –
I smiled if they looked my way
And when I sensed they wanted to race each other
Over the full length of the pool
I immediately moved to the spa
I won’t name or describe the player who won the race
But, for the Celtics fans reading this
I will tell you,
That after the race
They joined me in the spa.
Aye, Mikey, the Banshee's wailin'.
Closer. Ever closer. Spurred by your fears.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do? What to do? The Banshee's drawin' near.
Nay, past deeds are no salvation.
'Tis your fate, Mikey, all but sealed.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do? What to do, when our Sooners take the field?
For this Banshee's clad in Crimson;
And the wailin's that of Sooners fans
And their Sooners that you've sadly failed,
Once among the greatest in the land.
Aye, 'tis Malice the Crimson Banshee's wieldin'
There's naught but darkness in your fate;
And the wailin; oh, the wailin'.
Not long will the Crimson Banshee wait.
So, drink deep from your flagon Mikey;
Ease your confusion; rest your mind
From the wailin'; oh, the wailin'
For the Crimson Banshee's never kind.
And when you hear naught but the wailin'
It means the time for leavin's come.
Meantime, the Crimson Banshee's wailin', wailin'
"Fire the bum! Fire the bum!"
for Nolan
Morning, I tell my betta, Beau,
how beautiful he is. He fans out sideways
turquoise, crimson and green for my
inspection. It's introspection time for she
who wears a writer's hat, anytime is writing time,
and she sees again through the window where
she works the stately oak, talking to itself,
thanks to the leafy wind from the lake that
clears its throat. It's shaped symmetrically
like the Chinese fan I yearned for, spread out
in Bo Song's parents' laundry window down-
town on Third Street, the one the father I
was named for bought me when I was nine
before the blood clot in his leg found home-
base in his heart, and I was suddenly
twelve, bereft of sire, almost a woman,
alone to fan her way through her
thirteenth summer.
I'm sorry for the Steelers fans
(My sister and her spouse)
For disappointment must now rule
Their beings and their house.
The Packers fans are sad as well,
So close but no cigar,
A pity to be unsuccessful
Having come so far.
I really couldn't care which teams
Are Super Bowl contending,
But I'm delighted that the
Football season will be ending!