Best Hoops Poems
finally my team
comes to life and goes . .
to sudden death l . .
. |___ .
\#/ .
. .
O .
\ @/
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nothing but net
skins over the shirts
are we playing again?
Love all you ladies here on the Soup
Irrespective of age, whatta sweet group
Daughters are like some
To all I succumb
If I could, I'd surely jump through hoops
© Jack Ellison 2015
Hula hoops and pedal pushers
Baseball cards and Slinkies
Penny loafers and bobby sox
Pony tails and a dime jukebox
Where are all the fads today --
But for video games we play --
Electronic devices all the rage
Hi-tech gadgets, center stage
Jumping Through Hoops
Systematic nervous breakdown, head filled full of lies
Walking around uncertain looking up towards the skies
The reality of life in question, running short on supplies
Looking for this person who chooses to wear a disguise
Susceptible to any reason, boy how the time just flies
Searching for a greeting but receiving unwanted goodbyes
The sincerity of this treason, inside my life slowly dies
Running from the reasons the beginning of my demise
Separation must have meaning, continually each eye cries
Hiding from the story that I already read within your eyes
The mentality goes on slipping, last word to the wise
Talking with confusion, getting nothing back in replies
Deception achieved in cruelty, no approval only denies
Jumping through the hoops of your apocalyptic surprise...
bmdavey@05/06/17
Now I’m not a guy likes to dunk,
But this overseas backboard is junk.
For the costs I’ve incurred,
I should beat Larry Byrd,
Or hit a three-pointer, I’d thunk.
See, the front of the rim always droops,
And that makes it hard to play hoops.
Plus, the pole is too short;
it provides little sport
unless you’re a dwarf with the stoops.
But take heart and don’t ever fear!
Add hops to your hoops to bring cheer.
The more Hefeweizen,
The more you will wisen;
I’m a genius this time of year.
It’s not like you’re better; you’re not.
Just be happy that you forgot.
It’s bold and it’s yeasty,
so drink up your Wheaties.
Stop trying those darned three point shots!
—————
FIRST PLACE WINNER
For the Sad Backboards And German Hefeweizens Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
Written on 04/17/2022
Sir Patrick Henry
Saw America in a quandary
Shook the house by its boots
After ten years of jumping hoops
~*~
I jump through hoops for my girl
She's so hard to love and cherish
Can’t seem to find the precious words
To make her see I love her so
I touch her gently ever careful
She thrust me away every time
What can I say to make it right?
To make her see our love is tight
I pray before I speak to her
Hoping to help her see I'm right
What she thinks is not the truth
I only want the best for her
I show her sympathy mix with love
She takes offense and runs away
The pain she feels is much too deep
She’s hard to appease when feeling hurt
I see her heart breaking down
From the pressures of her stress
I see her dying here before me
She binds my hands behind my back
She is so beautiful, soft, and sweet
I wish she knew the true I share
Behind those eyes, I see she's broken
Nothing I do can fix her now
I jump through hoops to calm her heart
Getting burned by her fire
In the end I test the waters, and
Love was sweet just like always
For all of my life, one thing’s remained clear,
“Corona” meant lime juice, and Mexican beer!
Or jewel studded crowns, worn for mere show,
By Royals of pedigree--a priceless Chapeau.
But one thing’s escaped me, at least until now,
“Corona” the VIRUS, threatens survival somehow;
Spread by the touch, a cough, or a sneeze,
Causing sickness and death, in varying degrees.
So how did it start, and who is to blame,
Matter far less as innocent lives are now claimed;
The shredded economies, and fears of unknown,
Falling markets in panic, as life is postponed.
And yet through it all, the faithful remain,
Prayerfully seeking His protection by name;
For the world has known worse, than Corona--it’s true,
Overcomers prevail, held together like glue.
No blame games or politics, or death by the sword,
So long as my baseball and hoops are restored;
And my 401K plan recovers real fast,
So I can retire, off the grid--SAFE, at last!
Distortion of self-made reality
Creation of un-lived memories
Sanctifying of painless fantasy
One day the truth may come out
Till then the snakes are about
They will schmooze you
They might placate you
They probably will instil hope in you
All in all they will manipulate you
What will become of you?
A new you?
It is likely to be a different man in the mirror
Who recognizes not who you may be
Faith and belief can prove to be
So disastrous to ones psyche
Eyes that see need ears that hear
Consciences that ask why
Need feet that will stand firm
Mouths that utter dismay
Need hands that will fight
Come what may
At the end of it all
Reality might get disowned
On that grey blood drenched day
When saints become sinners
And all is extinct
Faith is a challenge
Right is disappointing
Love is indifferent
Living it seems not to be
What we make of it
What is it you need:
A job?
A loan?
A doctor’s visit?
An—ugh—insurance claim?
Here’s seventeen forms
And a roll of red tape
We need your picture
Your fingerprints
Eight forms of identification
And a letter of recommendation
What’s your income?
Are you married?
Do you have kids?
What color is your skin?
Sign the dotted line
And initial eighty times
Only to hear
Maybe
Your case is under review
We’ll get back to you (“soon”)
Sixty days or six to eight weeks
Number thirty-something on the waiting list
Oh so very glad
It’s not the same with God
No hoops to jump
No red tape
(Just red Blood—
already spilled)
All you have to do:
Simply believe
—You’re pre-approved
Bridge requires a square table
With a player on each side.
Exchange your greenback dollars
For slot machine quarters to provide.
A basketball team that hoops it up well
May make March Madness semis for a spell.
Pro golfers hit the greens in two pairs
Driving and putting to crowds gaping stares.
Mom and pop and two wee tots
All enjoying fresh pop tarts.
Brilliant fireworks adorn the sky
On Independence Day in July.
Football games divide in fifteen-minute parts
Broken up by uneven stops and starts.
By now you need read no more
Count the quatrains to sum the title score.
Reading contest requirements
which make me jump over hoops,
shakes my head until it droops,
discourages me from submitting ,
rather than writing I end up spitting,
it is a game of utter frustration
as my psyche goes through deflation,
and my muse hits a ten-foot tall brick wall,
screaming all the way because of the fall.
1/31/18
Whatta bunch of friends I have here on the Soup
You guys are the best, you make me happy as poop
A day without poetry
Is a day wasted totally
Feel like skipping like a fairy through hoops
Yo-yo's and hula hoops
We all ate our Campbell Soup
Down our stairs went Mr. Slinky
For dessert, Hostess Twinkies
Lucky guys rode ten-speed racers
Drank Seven-up with Kool-Aid Chasers
After school, the Mickey Mouse Club
With TV dinners for our grub
The '50's seem so innocent now
Can we get them back somehow?