Best High Jump Poems
When athletics have no consequence,
The long jump and high jump make no sense,
You can still leap ten feet,
Even hurdle a street,
If you lean on an electric fence.
Jump up high, jump, don't come down
Fear nothing, smile, twirl and turn
Jump higher still, feel the sun burn
Don't come down, don't drown, don't drown
Lift your head, your eyes, see inside
See colours, fractals, see melody
Dance to music, hear deep, set free
Don't come down, don't drown, don't hide
Let it spread your growing unknown wings
Fly tornado, torrent, split the sky
Trample rainbows, close your eyes
Don't come down, don't hide, just zing
Just zing and zest, be wonderful and wild
Dance who you are, man, woman, child
***
February 14, 2017
I know he’s too small to reach but Popeye did it.
He has some friends you know, Peaches and Bandit.
You don’t know them because they just moved here,
but I heard them downstairs when I was nowhere near.
Peaches is a big Great Dane like our old dog Patton.
Bandit is a friend from our old house in Manhattan.
Popeye knew he needed Peaches to give him and Bandit a prop;
so he climbed the back of his friend and onto the counter top.
How did he get to the top of the fridge? That’s a cinch.
He’s been practicing his high jump to get every inch.
A small running start and Bandit was there to spring off his back.
Like a superhero Popeye soared and knocked down a snack.
I came down as soon as I heard the shatter of the cookie urn.
And don’t worry, I told his two friends they could never return!
5/5/2016
Tall Tales Contest - judged on 5/17/2016
I remember all the humorous things we did
Peering into windows lit by lamps
Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog
Walking down from Redcar,sea so still
After Saltburn Pier, the cliffs high jump
I remember all the funny things we did
Wandering Whitby in a sea grey smog
Eating a pork pie cut into lumps
Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog
Old Hunstanton ,white sands where we’d sit
The wild spikes of the gorse spread out unclamped
I remember all the colours,scents and that
I feel the joy inside my heart is lit
Woe is leavened by old nature’s stamp
Climbing high then chased through mud by dogs
We see in shadows shades are not so stark
In Studland Bay astonished by skylarks
I remember all the humour and the love
Climbing cliffs then caught by geese and God
Tall as they come, this man is 1 metre 85,
A basketball player inspired by the 2012s,
To compete in disability sport so to thrive,
At the high jump, his practice bookshelves.
Loughborough students encouraged him,
To work on his basketball leaps by trying,
To high jump. He was so taken, no whim,
With the London Paras, he was pertaining,
That he became a T44 athlete for team GB,
To qualify with PB of 2.06 at Bedford in May;
2013 also saw him in the IPC, Lyon to see,
Where he took silver, loosing to Poland, ok.
2014 IPC Europeans in Swansea, Wales,
And he got another PB with 2.15m, a WR,
Which would’ve won gold in London sails,
But he had to accept silver, Poland did bar.
Jonathan lives in Reading at the age of 28,
But was born in Colchester well fine, fair,
With a clubbed foot, a week right knee fate,
And muscular imbalance thru his body, lair.
The hottest sun hid under the dense cloud
A harbinger of mercy with tiny droplets of rain
All my worries are ploughed
and i am relieved of pain
The road to happiness has many bends
and some times i need a high jump
I am bestowed with the best of friends
To worries together we clump
The Darkness that scare me alot
and the danger that sometimes i pretend
With friends i make the best of plot
And i see the light in the end
Satin white lily pads
cushion the high jump
performed by the three-legged frog.
Heated blaze bakes his fading green coat.
He leaps into his hot tub paradise.
Life is floating by.
A big grin and loud croak announce his pleasure.
What appears to be boredom for one set of eyes ,
is bliss for another.
my curiosity coaxes me into sneaking in
to this cubbyhole built under an old robust tree
a rumor I heard, there’s a clandestine
so, I peep through its small and dusty window pane
I widely open my eyes as I could
while I’m surreptitiously gazing inside this empty room
the only thing I see is a barricade of wood
Oh, I think, playing hide and sick in there is still good
as I go around to find if there’s a small door
to my dismay, it’s locked with a rusty knob
then, I find another small window on the other wall
on big branch of the tree, I clamber to view the whole
watching all over again the void inside
shadows begin to appear behind the wooden bar
as they accrue, my braided hair rise up on both sides
for a high jump, I prepare my legs while thinking where to hide
their ears likely found on top of their nose in shape of cone
so creepy things they are, I’m so scared but I must know
are they giants or dwarfs who’ll give me their magic stones
or a black lady to transform to white and lurks me with her bones
while my whole body is reverberated with numbness
I hold on to the small branch of a tree with a glued grip
suddenly, a mother cat with her five lovely kittens
coming out buffing their fur softly with tenderness
March 31, 2013
Note to the contest sponsor:
My dear friend Seren, I’ve seen your blog before but I’m so sorry if I was not able to leave a comment because of time constraint. However, I vividly remember the picture because it was truly beautiful. I’m pretty sure it was one of your awesome paintings. You’re a very talented artist/painter and I was inspired to write a poem today for that beautiful paintings of yours. Thank you so much for sharing!
Fourth Place
Contest: What Lurks Within
Judged: 4/7/2013
Sponsor: Poet Seren Roberts
I wish i had been a child fifty years ago
They had such wonderful games to play
Which their siblings used to know
But not played much in my day.
First with a skipping rope
Besides the normal skip
You could use it as a high jump
Jumping with a high backflip
Then comes spinning top and whip
Would chalk it with colours anew
As the top spun around
A pretty picture you could view
How about marbles
In the gutter you would play
Couldn't do that in my day
So many cars in the way.
Then there is mob,
What a strange name
For hiding til your found
Such a silly game
Then we get the naughty ones
Rat tat ginger is for sure
Cos you would knock and run away
Making some person answer the door
The list is endless
Bet some of you could name a few
How about card games
Stamp collecting too
But the best part were the streets
They were relatively secure
Children could go out to play
Parents didn't have continual fear.
Off to the park no adult in tow
Kids could be kids, use the swings
Slides, see saws and roundabouts,
Play rounders, football and other things.
Now they have playstations
Wii and X box too
What they lose is being in fresh air
With their pals, and being you.
the high Jump
Over the bay, I saw a rainbow dripping colours
into the turquoise water.
Nothing can be that beautiful I have seen it all
Jumped from the balcony but the terrace underneath
ours was bigger.
Nothing was broken the flat was empty except
for a Picasso painting and one by a man called Larsen,
concluded the people who lived there were Norwegian
I walked up the steps to my flat, let myself in
the rainbow was gone but on the surface of the water
I saw spilt diesel oil that often has a rainbow
colour but lacks beauty.
Where have you been, she said.
Nowhere really just jumping about a bit.
Oh wow a mystic meaning manifesting majestic majorities. In a purple eclipse. In a towel hung geometrically on a towel rail. Hum then. Queues upon queues of geometricians on hoops. Linguistic lingering then. Leaping. 1 2 3 static clothes horse jump. And a sanctimonious tissue paper lovingly caressing a bottle of detergent. At once a wish a washing machine rises up and leaves a building for to wash is to wipe and to wipe is to wait and wonder. And how remarkable that the pin in a drawer can magnify a strip of wood. Glowering in a wonderful way. And appeasing the western void. Of a characterful carrot and clam dinner singing harmonically on a plate. In a cousin related dramatic arai. But no whish of whiskey in a dropped out ball gown. Rusting in a charity shop. Smiling and smirking at a coherent cigarette from a dusty lip. And its two three four then. Formational freeing fraternity. And still the wide mouth of a citronella candle corpse should stay the same until an opulent petulant money gram steals the floor in a televised and videoed event. Yet to arrive is here and yet to come is a dramatic drum kit to attain gold medal status at the high jump and the javelin and the synchronized swim from a swarm of swords. Echo not a pattern of viola or cello. And chomping is a dawn chorus of worm digging wading birds. Data derisive design. Hahaha put a skirt on a mind and sip not strip. Hahaha put on a suit and shift around a floor in a bobble hat. Hahahaha mystified snowman. Xxxxxx pie of picture. Xxxxx drawling draw lines. Xxxxxxx Neruda Herodotus z xxxxx amplitudes z this is the p y q reporting live from a tent carrying a wisk, a cattle grid and a plain arched waltzing walnut. Pickle that at 89.0 *** s y what z z z z z z z z.z-zz!
Cat attack is always cat
Claw with their paw claw
Hissing with there hissing
Meowing a little meowing
Purring when purring
Jump and high jump
Fur every were is fur
Sneaking with quiet sneaking
Eyes that glow eyes
Ears that they move ears
Staring always looking staring
Pouncing to just pouncing
Eating food always eating
Growling when nearing growling
Sitting always every were sitting
Lying just to be lying
SOW
Sow he was an athlete good,
and an Murray so dark too.
He cleared 7 feet where the high jump stood,
yes at school he had a clue.
A teacher jammed poor Sowboy's head,
right through a glass paned door.
His only crime was as he said,
you will not talk no more.
He delivered mail around the town,
till the boss gave him the sack.
He lingered at the school was found,
some dobber knifed his back.
Sow tried to die he took the pills,
sucked OP rum as well.
They pumped his gut some of those dills,
as yet he lived to tell.
He told me mate yes he was sad,
he hated being black.
Old Jimmy Doble was his dad,
they lived in a tin walled shack.
Big brother Podge often flogged poor Sow,
it really wasn`t cricket.
When he turned on Podge and flogged the cow,
he used a steel star picket .
Big Podge had gone a bit too far,
he`d bottled some old cheese.
She`d gone off in the ambulance car,
Sow took revenge with ease.
Just seven fractures of the skull,
big Podge was surely dead.
poor Podge he`d left this world so dull,
Dancy`s paddock made his bed.
Of Jimmy Doble`s death I`ll tell,
The undertaker put him a coffin short.
When he broke his legs to fit real well,
said tall Jimmy was a sport.
At State Prison Sow time did spend,
and when they sent him home .
No mates he had not one good friend,
he wandered so alone.
Sow he`d done his fifteen years,
now he planned a funeral pyre.
His spirit gone so choked with tears,
he killed himself with fire.
Of my mate Sow.... by D H Johnson.
FALl FLAVORS
Free fall of leaves on Fall.
Yellow dry leaves leave deciduous trees.
Fall flavors ! Abloom flowers.
Auburn Autumn to glow and blaze
Maple tree showing satin glaze erasing dryness.
Glossy leaf lamina on shimmering patina.
Breeze blowing to scatter leaves at random.
Pair of rabbits jumping in a pile of leaves.
Me lying supine on non mowed meadow
White cotton clouds floating slow above.
Collage of Sun and shadow playing
on furrow and on me.
Pair of reckless restless rabbits rushing, running,
jumping in a pile of leaves.
Me watching with lazy eyes:
Crazy rabbits are busy
to enjoy the game of long jump and high jump!
Me indolent to lie down enjoying Autumn environ.
09/21/22
Fall Flavors
I saw him standing on the limb and I wondered about his sanity.
The last time I had seen Green Bat Clock Man was on my vanity.
I’ll jump! He yelled to the crowd of robins gathered around to stare.
I watched him do an entirely crazy summersault high jump in the air.
He’s chained! Ted yelled; He’ll break his neck; fall in the inner cove!
The chain unraveled as if by magic as the Green Bat Clock man dove.
He’s a wizard one screamed as he landed on his well-endowed feet.
He’s a mystical clock, yelled my cousin Jeb, love child of Uncle Pete.
Green Bat Clock Man flew up to the limb and did it again and again.
What do you think of him? I asked my not-easy-to-please identical twin.
She sniffed. I think he’s still a show off, and not to my taste at all.
She was still angry that he had left her broken hearted in the fall.