Best Lacrosse Poems
Taken from an oak tree
Carved into a perfect circle
The first time ever thrown into the air
Caught, Cradled, Dropped
Scooped, Cradled, Passed, Caught, Dropped,
Scooped, Dropped
Scooped, Passed, Caught, Shot
An arrow pierces me
My fur stuffed into a spherical pelt of my skin
Stitched up and continuing flying through the air
Closer to my target
Past his stick, his head...
Tapped and harvested from the trees
My white goo solidified into a rounder shape
The final product
Soaring, coasting? gliding?
Just missing the orange metal pole
Flying into the woods
The voices fading away
Hitting the ground of the woods
Sitting, waiting to be scooped again
I am lost
Forever
The day’s hot-the wind like a convection oven
Blows hot air in our faces.
My cap and gown insulates me
Baking me like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil
I desperately fan myself and look around
My eyes search for my peers and see;
The bros that survived school with me;
The others who shouldn't have;
The girls with memories already wet in their eyes;
The people I never met and will never know;
All desperately fanning themselves
In silence and in waiting.
We all are waiting for the same thing-
What's next to come.
For some it will be their names
For another a trip to boot camp
For many including myself- college
A couple can't wait to forget the tortures of high school
And a few will already be planning our high school reunion
because it was the best years of their life.
As I bow my head, not out of sadness,
but out of sheer defeat by the sun,
I scuff up my dress shoes in the clumpy grass of the field-
that just finished another infamous drawn out lacrosse season,
I'll be thinking about the 4 plus years, 8 seasons,
worth of drilling and conditioning I did in that very field and on the surrounding track,
With a flash of ivory across my sweating face
I'll be thinking about
All the nooks and crannies
that I sanctioned for the intimate meetings of my girlfriends
The times caught and not,
All the heartbreaks and rejections,
The friends made, the best friends kept, and the many lost.
The drama, stupidity, and immaturity,
Everything that was and used to be.
And, all this time spent waiting-preparing
for this one moment
You can't help but remember it all
And with one, final sweet goodby-
"NICHOLAS BELLO!"
LORE OF LACROSSE
he plucks the eagle’s feathers
tucks them in his patient’s hair
cayuga’s legs and arms take flight
his eyes behold the heaven’s bright
a powerful bolt of lightening never rests
tossed to and fro with kindred brothers
seven men honor their thunder gods
serious and strong in their athletic prowess
as the game shines a final kiss, an honor
each man attentive, like an army with spears
they bury beloved cayuga with his game stick
a gifted man will continue play in the underworld
3/4/2017
Frank Herrera’s Native American Lore contest
Here is my next sports rap poem. Jim
Round of Applause
Already now I must admit
What is it we have to hit?
How about homer with baseball
Not strike three they did call.
Why fool around and always fret
Should kick a goal into the net
Don't continue to turn and toss
Should go at and play Lacrosse.
How about football you will boot
Run and produce a lot of loot
Or hear those in high society
Prefer polo and love rugby.
No matter where chips may fall
God's life in you will be a ball
And who if in always do believe
Round of applause will receive.
WOW. Double WOW, and Triple WOW.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
You may feel about the planet what
you feel about a great baseball team or band:
that once there was a moment when, unknown
to us at the time, we convened
and lost and found ourselves in what we created.
Who should I thank for this day?
A fresh-mown lawn is a robin's repast.
A bear a black bear a rolling delicately dancing
graceful as silence sailing through the ferns and understory
unafraid and in no hurry.
My musician referral service, vacation rental business,
nonprofit management system, plant identification database,
great American songbook and anthology of poems. Coach says
in a thousand years back and forth games like lacrosse and soccer
will be played against genetically engineered primates
but baseball will be played solely by humans.
In a thousand years, amen.
It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.
Mason
Crazy, funny, energetic, strong.
Son of Mother, brother of Sister, grandson of Nann and Granpa.
Lover of Lacrosse, School, and Animals.
Who feels confidence, responsibility and is muscular.
Who needs hats, sunglasses, and an Under Armour shirt.
Who gives to the needy, Animals, and Mother Earth.
Who fears Tigers, Bears and Unicorns.
Who would like to see the Grand Canyon and England.
Resident of America.
Masmann.
( thoughts from the mind of an 11 year old )
Ode to Chores
By Brenda Kahn
When the Good Lord
In his wisdom, Hark!
Said “Separate
the light from dark.”
He surely didn’t
See that time
Would be a scarce
Resource to find
I throw my clothes-wash
In by person
Lest my crazed
Schedule worsen
If I did dark
Then later light
Lord knows I’d be
Doing wash all night
Now let’s take a
Look at dishes
Yes! I want to
Save the fishes
But if the washer
Doesn’t run
Each night the mornings
Won’t be fun
There will be no
Little spoons I trust
And everyone
Will miss the bus
And who is it
Who said that,
If we bought
A tabby cat
They would surely
Clean the litter
A chore which leaves me
Slightly bitter
Now babies
While they make a mess
Their culinary
In-ter-ests
Are simple
Older kids not so
They complicate things
As they grow
Till no meal happens
By the book
Less dinner – more
Short order cook
One says too sweet
One says no crust
One spits it out
With disgust
And if you find
A way to wrangle
Your whole brood
To the table
One eats fast
The other slow
Everyone answers
“I dunno”
Lordy what’s a mom to do
With such a cantankerous crew?
But I digress
Our topic here
Is what to do
With soccer gear
Piles of cleats
Sticks lacrosse
And other sporty
Stuff to toss
But instead
I make a bin
Label it
And throw stuff in
So take a cue
From my girl Eve
If you feel a sudden
Pull to leave
You’re not at all
The only one
Chores are simply
Not that fun.
My Profound Thousandth Poem
Dedicated to England and also
world renown poet Terry Cooper.
England is exciting place to be
Will enjoy it in every opportunity
People of pageantry are such a site
Forty in Round Table and were a knight.
There was Marlowe and Shakespeare
And Gainsborough to see far and near
Cathedrals, mighty castles with a moot
To see does require much time to devote.
In England is Rugby, Lacrosse and Soccer
Manchester being beaten is a real shocker
Weather will be cool and then end up warm
May need to be prepared for a mighty storm.
When you leave will want to return again
Which is exactly what we both intend
Was it mole in hole or pied piper in wall
Whatever it was old me just can't recall.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
and one of top 40 Poetry Soup Producers.
I remember you kissed me inside and out
Against he confines of a foreign couch
Drag your finger along my jaw line here
I love you so much. I feel like i'm going to get sick
I look around and see through a haze of lights
The windows of your car are fogged and lusty
Your lips are so soft and sweet and harsh
Lacrosse and football that’s all you talked
I ache! I ache! Lets loose ourselves
We snuck traces of each others skin
While spinning stories about the 49’ers
A campfire around me, I smell smoke.
Baby you wont, burn, oh baby.
You worked at a prison
Dirty little waterfowl, hear that gun pop
Watch the sky turn red
Lingering in the store front openings, smiling in boots
A dimple to close to your illegal mouth
I’m so Cold, I’m so cold
Little tokens, food and gifts
Your skin, your eyes like sweat and dirt
Near you I smell blood and exhaust
I never wanted to tell you I loved you for someone else
Pitter-patter scrapping huff
Touch my lips and tell no one
Hear that pretty baby purr
My best friend liked you so it never happened
I think you had grayish hazel eyes
I thank you for punching the love of my life in the face
Goodnight beautiful, goodnight, goodnight
Watch the sky bloom and burn with lights
Acrid fuming burning smoke
In a bed, in an RV, please don’t make me go in the water
Don’t yell at me! Don’t you sit there and yell at me!
Goodnight Handsome, goodnight, goodnight
I like the way you turn red
Like a sun kissed glory, like a broken bleeding mouth candy
Keep running, keep running, tell we outrun temporary.
Lets fool around in this Christian school
Lets be honest I don’t love you
I never will
You’re a smart boy, wheat colored hair
Glide across that water, I smell smoke and I am burning
You brush my lips and ask what’s wrong.
I cry I cry
I don’t love you
Hollow, hollow empty soul
I call you crying my love eternal
The phone rings, it rings twice
You pick up and you’re all alone
“ I can’t talk because I love you.”
All alone, broken scrambled.
Call me back…
Heaven doesnt let you call collect
In the depths of a New York winter
I am waiting for the baseball season to start
My old man was a New York Giants fan
Even though he lived in Brooklyn
The Mets didn't exactly do well last year
But the cry "Wait till Next Year"
Rang out!!
With Al Jackson, Ron Hunt, Casey Stengel and the great Tom Seaver
The Mets battled on through the years
Hope to make it to some games next season
Only went to one by myself last year
Met a babe from San Diego
And told someone
"Maybe I'll go see a lacrosse game next
He said "I didn't hear that"
Let's go Mets!!
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
Decision making is an art
To make the right choice at the start
But now the robots have become the one
To find the truth begun and won
ChatGPT will write a student’s essay
Or a rousing speech to be your way
Just give it the facts to start
And in no time it’ll sound straight from the heart
They tried to make an online friend
TayTweet to converse and for relationships to defend
But they found the algorithm went bad
Being a racist sexist and homophobic cad
Some companies use AI to read CVs for culling
But one company found its decisions not inviting
Being skewed to Jared who played High School lacrosse
Such decisions made were at a loss
When gathering data it will reflect what society thinks
With research being found that past data has a wink
To what they are calling the pale male syndrome
Being for white males mainly shown
So we are slowly reaching a place
When computer says no is in the race
And Artificial Intelligence is part
Of the decision making art.
© Paul Warren Poetry
RITUAL
The anthropology professor
said Iroquois ways were a fading reflection,
a cultural trace of a poetic narrative of indigenous
wisdom, tribal traditions that marry the spirit of
a primitive people to enduring kinship with the
earth and the sky
The anthropology professor called the delicate
touch the definitive expression of intimate knowledge,
giving meaning and myth to mystical caprice in the
cardinal winds, to sustaining abundance in the deep gray
lakes of a primeval forest beneath the cyclical rhythms
of a lunar calendar that is daily affirmed
by the rising sun
The anthropology professor said the bloated
ambitions of mercantile man, the rapacious imperatives
of voracious desire, the arrogant corrective technology
of guilt which acknowledges nature as interchangeable
scenery for the story of our lives, should become like the
methods and modes of harmony, that the way of
Six Nations be the simple foundation for symbiotic
behavior in the millennium to come
And the anthropology student was twenty
and tough, a perpetual hunter, a perennial warrior,
attuned to the season of bounty and challenge, alert to
nuance of movement and sound, knew the intricate ways
of the Haudenosaunee and the signature rites that
prepared them for war
To honor the creator
he came through the mists of a cold spring morning
like wind in the trees without source or destination,
embodied the essence of some terrible presence –
an unexplained whisper in an isolated place, the feather of
a wing beyond peripheral vision, perhaps the shadow of
a serpent beyond the edge of the nerves, something too
close, something suddenly striking in the ghostly
memories of ritual violence of “the danse lacrosse”,
“dehuntshigawa’es”, baaga’adowe, a game called
begadwe, little brother of war!
A weapon based affiliation is neither a cat cavern or a divided field. Marshals could be described as marshmallows as they are often rounded mush balls. Often a cape is found staring at a calender in a midday glaze. But guidance from sandstorms glow in minds. Entering like breadsticks. Forcibly correcting wrongs in specifies locations globally. Wisdom is not held in a button or a shoe lace. And lacrosse is an extremely busy explosive experiment when attempted by nine foot rabbits. How wonderful it is to sit by a plumage which is radiating. Undirected individual skylights of assorted colours and hue. Adjusting with the many lights. Across all regions but where to put a sparrow is the question for a branch. Perched placed pecking. And one must always admire the flowing of elephant steps. How quite quickly they assemble and move. Latter day layers then. No hahahaha actually for the fractions of house us segmented. Jalapeño halogen bulbs. Xxxx terminology xxxx tripods. *** gravitational gravitation xxxx