Best Slider Poems
I was born in a time
When the thrills of a thriller
Did move the bricks
Of the thickest of walls.
I grew in an era
When the dynasty of an empire
Did expand to farthest of lands.
I adapted to a phenomenon
When the existence of a legend
Did drown the fame of mortals.
A fame in immortality
Bearing the impenetrability
Of Achilles himself,
Destined to march
Through the walls of Troy.
I twisted to the strings
Of a guitar, twanging
Spontaneously in my head,
In moves of invisibility.
I was opportune to appear
In a time, when the conquest
Of one king, did crest
Long lasting tattoos
In the hearts of many.
I was fascinated in a time
When the life within a man
Did blossom young,
As he lived unaffected
By the fading of time.
I lingered in an era
When the voice of one man
Could unify the sections
In a complex world.
I flowed in his guidance,
Dined in his glory
As though I existed
In his peak of enthronement,
His conferment of Grammies.
Bedazzled by his flexibility,
I was blessed by his power
To rein in anointed glory,
Unending immortality.
I was born in an empire
Governed by a king;
The king of pop,
A king in the world,
Father of offspring
As multiple as stars.
Electrified by a star,
There shall never be another;
Another motion slider,
Another shining star.
And though he passes on,
I shall live to declare
That I was born in a time
Ruled by a legend,
Guided by an immortal,
A world of Michael Jackson.
I slid the slider to my art studio with cautious optimism,
Hoping to find my brushes and glitter and paint and glue
Somewhere close to where I had left them last night.
The bright pink paint I had specifically placed front and center was missing.
Let us not jump to conclusions, my socialized mind said. Maybe it was not last night.
Maybe you put it there the night before last night.
We were not out here the night before, my dendrites argued after they had connected last night’s thinking.
My paint water was in its usual place. My brushes were where I had left them.
I usually use thirty to forty brushes a day, so there is no way to tell if they had been moved or were missing.
Everything else appeared to be exactly as it was yesterday.
I immediately began convincing myself that I must have moved that neon leather paint at the last second before turning and shutting the slider.
Faeries and elves do not paint in here I argued.
That is absurd and realistically unsound. Right?
But what if they do move the paint, dancing and twirling through it? Creating new magic with their little ballerina shoes?
What if they come in here and slide across the canvases, dropping glitter and enhancing my stuff?
What if they are like the shoemaker elves, fixing my mistakes in the middle of the night?
Thinking I had heard a tiny little patter of a faerie foot, I turned and looked at my art table.
Whereby sat the hot pink neon paint that was not there a moment before.
What if?
Written 10-3-2018 Poetry Contest: The Paint Movers
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Lines, Launch Angles and Curve Balls
The boys of summer
Set up for a season of lines, launch angles and curve balls
With straight chalky lines leading to a field of dreams
Where line-ups keep the line moving
On frozen ropes to climb the ladder into the catbird seat
Above the Mendoza line when outlines of a waving pennant envision
Crooked numbers and dusty home plates where grand salamis
Foil curves balls in flying angle launch lines – not lined out,
Not out of line
To make power lines for a hitter’s line of sight
And for bases lines, nicknamed the 45’ line,
That call for calls of fair ball down the line
Or foul across the foul line
To guide the line – fair or foul -
And lines of music for the seventh inning stretch, or the chin,
Sung in lusty lines of fans in seat lines
Or in line for nachos, popcorn, brats and beer –
To cheer the back door slider, can of corn or Uncle Charlie –
A Bronx cheer or line of boos –
A summer lineup card of seeing-eye doubles down the line,
Balls climbing up the ladder lines
Nestled in a flat curve
For lines creating perfect diamond angles
Ringing with famous lines
“Batter up!”
For “There’s no crying in baseball.” –
A nervous breakdown in nine innings” -
Because “It’s outta here!”
“Adios Pelota!” “Good bye Mr. Spaulding!”
“Holy Cow!” “Long gone!”
“Put it on the board” “Hey! Hey!”
“Oh Doctor!” “Bye, bye baby!”
And “It ain’t over till it’s over!”
Because “It’s getting late early.”
And “The impossible just happened.” “Forget it!”
“Hello again everybody! It’s a bee-yoo-tiful day for baseball.”
“How about that?”
“If it wasn’t for baseball I’d be in either the penitentiary or cemetery.”
“Remember these two things – play hard and have fun.”
With lines, launch angles and curve balls.
Opening Day April 1, 2021
Come in my little furry friend
And meet me face to face.
Someone will open up the door
While I step back a pace.
I feel my mouth all watery:
My face a grimaced frown,
And wonder how you’ll taste my friend,
While you are going down?
“It’s never going to happen;
My person laughs at me.
You can run them round the yard,
Or chase them up a tree.”
But, biting them and hurting them?
Oh no -- it’s not to be!
A squirrel is God’s creature too:
And meant to scamper free.”
So now I watch through slider pane:
It’s all that I’m allowed.
But just one squirrel at my door
Is one more than a crowd!
Such is the stuff of history,
butterfly wings and mystery
when the act of observation
affects the observee.
If Schrödinger's cat
comes up to bat
imagine that
fastball, curve or slider?
Kilroy was here
or maybe not
if you know the speed
you can't fix the spot.
Throw it, roll it,
Bounce it, pass it
Dribble it, bobble it
Kick it, toss it, miss it
Pitch it, hurl it
Heave it, sling it
Fastball, slider
Sinker, knuckler, curve
Underhand, sidearm
Overhand, 3/4 arm
Whiffle ball, tennis ball
Forehand, backhand, serve
Baseball, basketball
Football, volleyball
Golf ball, tennis ball
Hardball, softball, swerve
Matters not what sport you do
Or what result's deserved
Just go out and do your best
And play the game with verve
To the lust of wine, he has been judiciously celibate
exactly the mark of four decades is a reason to go gaga
taking the road of this pleasure, even if it is once in a lifetime
he sees five percent on a bottle so attractive but it’s actually twenty five
walloping in the mood he asks for number two but it’s already four
on his way to heaven he thinks but under the street light he walks
on his doorstep he sees an energetic Miss Minaj
not at all knowing it is tired, sweaty grandma
takes the nearby perfume for an unusual spray
loh and behold it is an insecticide
searches with the slider, for frequency on the stereo
Lord, it’s the gas turner he operates
sounds of no signal he converts from the aggressive fleeing gas
impossibility embraces his mind
from the observation of his non-living room
is that the cat on a miniskirt? Or his wife oiled around her body with ketchup?
he speaks of tasting a dog’s breast milk
and inscribing a permanent tattoo on his tongue
right in his front, Rihanna twerks
he grabs with all pleasure but with arms around the TV
on his way back to the kitchen with a cigarette
party screams he hears but are disturbing panics
just half a minute ago, smelly diffusion hints on a fishy joke
lights the match stick in a room full of gas
or consciousness to come back with nothing to remember
lies in the midst of standing angels
as the nurses care with so much anxiety and pity
wrapped all round by white sheets of healing
he blames others for not undoing his carelessness.
Tim made his way to play home plate,
a smile now brightened wide his face,
good blow and he would be on base.
His team now trailed, the innings late,
a home run might help tie the game,
and pay him wee degree of fame.
Ball came across fast low and straight,
It made him move away from zone,
the slider hitting plate well thrown.
With new grin he took time to wait,
bat made dirt fly away from spikes,
took second strike the pitcher likes.
Tim needed chew his bite was great,
wad gave his teeth some jawing time,
with chew, Tim gave ball distant climb.
7-12-18
Tim made his way to play home plate,
his team now trailed, the inning late.
Ball came across fast, low and straight,
with new grin he took time to wait.
Tim needed chew, his bite was great.
THE SOUTHPAW
By Roy Merritt
This kid has a helluva arm
The coach he told the scout
And if we could get him
to get it over the plate
He'd strike all the batters out
He can throw it really fast
Over a hundred and twenty per
You might not believe what I'm saying
But that's the truth dear sir
He doesn't have a curve ball
No slider or a change up
But if you're standing at the plate
You better be wearin' a cup
That's our biggest problem with him
This kid is really wild
And all those who have to face him
Turn into a little child
And if one comes whistlin' in
And goes anywhere near their head
They start swingin' at anything
Facin' him they dread
Now the scout he was a cynic
The story was always the same
We gotta a pitcher you should see
He'll make it to the Hall of Fame
And so the southpaw he took the mound
And started to loosen up a bit
And then he saw the batter in the box
And this kid was biting his lip
Why is that he wondered
Why does he look this way
Why is he hesitant to take his cuts
And put the ball in play
And then the scout he found out why
And came to believe what the coach had said
Cause the southpaw threw one wild and
By God knocked off his head
Yes indeed his head came off
Right there at the plate
I know it's hard to believe
But that's the truth for goodness sake
And so the ump he followed it
As it rolled all over the ground
The stadium stood deadly silent
You couldn't hear a sound
And finally at last the head stop rolling
And the ump picked it up you know
And so held it aloft
He really was a pro
He held it there eye to eye
Lookin' it square in the face
And shouted aloud “You been walked
Now batter take your base!”
Dedicated to the Officers and crew of
USS Columbia (SSN 771)
Goodbye Sun
We are welcomed by men in
immaculate whites
Through a hatch
we descend a steep ladder
into "The Last Slider"
From a narrow corridor we enter
into the brain and nerves
of this vessel-
To my untrained eye the confusion
of cables overhead is bewildering
This black ship of stealth
tracks the world outside,
silently invisible itself
Rows of monitors, sonar devices
high powered periscopes
all with a myriad of buttons to push-
A marvel of technology -
yet men are the heart and soul
of this great ship
They are Submariners
They say goodbye to the sun
for months on end
Week after harrowing week they spend
day after day on grinding drills
where the only thrill is their daily meals
Systematic, methodical
They are human- in a ship of war
but a ship that exists for freedom
The Officers guide us through each section
The ship at rest has released them
from an endless commitment but
with a practiced eye
they are still attuned to every detail
Commanders almost prescient
so in step with every procedure
they can sense malfunction in their sleep
I notice the commitment to excellence
I note the pride behind the
preparations for our inspection
Blue curtains with the ships insignia
are drawn on bunk beds
Shiny copper engine parts, clean bright paint
reflects the values of those who
keep their vessel, ship-shape
Now I stand in the nose where the
weapons rest
The metal tubes look benign
for all the power they contain
Ironically in rows, directly above,
the crew's bunks are located-
in tiers of three -even sleep
is regimented
Photos of family are the only
human touch in
this dark, black, whale
of a vessel
The sense of duty for each individual
seems overwhelming
There is a spirit of complete trust
between them
This is a world for honorable men
"Victory is Silence"
I try to imagine daily living
the self-containment
the steely discipline
the choosing to go forward in the face of
uncertainty
Precision and man - morphing
The pact between Submariners is
absolute.
They move as one.
BRIAN'S CHOICE K,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 5/19/2020 12:08:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
3rd Place
This is interesting
We are bombarded by constant stimulation
Some internal
Most external
The processing center is in over-drive
I like driving because it's one of only situations where
People completely ice each other out of existence
This weird amalgamation of people sitting at a stop light
And nobody wants to acknowledge anybody else
Our little constructs of metal and rubber
Keep us just a bit more isolated (protected)
Turn up the stereo
Call that long lost friend
Watch **** on the dash mounted flat screen
Eat a fruit salad from a slider cup
Pluck your eybrows
Take a healthy swig from the liter of glacier water
Just don't look to either side
Or at a 45* angle
Nor straight into someone's rearview
Because if eye contact is accidentally accomplished
Some kind of psychic melt-down might occur
I've watched people staring straight ahead without moving
For minutes at a time
I get mesmerized just observing how still they are
The stone people
Then I'll spot an inkling of a head shift
Once traffic has resumed its peristalsis
Damn
Thought I was witnessing some type of carved rock effigy
Moving and driving
Among us
Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His curveball’s so tight
Yankee Fan
Be it Clemens, Mussina or Meyers
Pettitte, Rivera, Villone
He’s willing to bet on his pitcher
Especially if pitching at home
Jeater – now he’s really something
And A Rod – no equal is found
They cover the left in the infield
And Boy! How they cover that ground
Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His fastball is so out of sight
Yankee Fan
Pin stripes are high fashion to him
Even fat guys look kind of slim
With the pants ending just at shin
In fashion they always win
He’s been in the House that Ruth Built
He’d sit there though heat made him wilt
He’s loyal without any guilt
He’s Yankee clean up to the hilt
Team roster? He knows every man
The batboy? He’ll name him – he can
This isn’t some fair weather fan
George Steinbrenner – yea – He’s da man
Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His slider is simply a fright
Yankee Fan
Sure there’s work to be done by this evening
There are papers to read and to write
And it’s early but still he is leaving
The Yankees are playing tonight!
Who’s pitching today?
Doesn’t matter – no way
Yanks are playing hooray!
Yankee Fan!
Slither Slider Sludge
from the quagmire to the dust
we stand to face the mountain
with the rage of shadows past
I am anger I am pain
I heard the shadows
felt the rain
caste the feelings out in vain
Listen to the words I say
feel the warmth of summers day
we fight again a waste of time
why should it be this way
Slither Slider Sludge
perhaps we leave the dust
a ray of light a slight decay
perhaps I see the light of day
We took unto this home of ours
a child of the night
a child caste in shadows past
his light of slivers plight
His cry within the wilderness
I could not turn away
and yet with money speaking
we could not have him stay
Begone the the thoughts of money
I could not turn away
I could hear, the child heart crying
I had to let him stay
my heart reached out to cover him
in mantels of my soul
together we must shoulder then
the defects of our gaols
And yet we see the start of light
the growth of wisdoms road
as school results begin to shake
the devil from the toad
Written March 21, 2013
Feel the slim slow slider
The leather seat behind her
Where the innocent crack
And the kids keep coming back
For flashing lights and heart attacks
Feel the slim slow slider
In the midnight rider
Where the loveless greet with fleeting feet
Say come on down and take a seat
Beside the boy who smells so sweet
Oh slim slow slider
Hear the echo of the fire
That forever burns inside her
Cracklin' songs as embers fall
You would have thought they had it all
Feel the slim slow slider
Remove material attire
Smooth hands caress what I possess
Ain't no better way to de-stress
Than in the bucket under duress
Two outs
Bottom of the ninth
Two balls
Two strikes
Wendy up at bat
Coy and demure
Peter on the mound
Anxious and determined
Stares down the batter
Looking for a sign
Wendy winks
Peter winds up
A slider down the middle