Best Sports Poems
Oh Avi, Avi
Sometimes, with my eyes closed
I see you dance
A dervish, whirling, like me
And I wished
Oh how I wished you would
pirouette into my arms
You would hold me
How I would hold you
But my arms and yours
caught girls, alluring and delicate
Oh Avi, Avi
When you laughed
My stomach turned
And multi-coloured butterflies
And small flying kites
danced into the air
Occasionally you glanced at me
the way I did at you
I think you did
Oh Avi, Avi
We were so young
Just boys, small boys
Thinking about you still
makes my day smile
I wheel my chair
With light rhythmic movements
Dreaming about a time
Where I still had dreams
And you were in them
With our tights and muscular
Frames and our *****
Avi, oh Avi.
***
March 7, 2017
© Darren White
Her name was Regret, with a rocket step
She was chestnut flashing, released lightning
In a century past, an age of side saddles and corsets
She was feminism set free, blazing down racetracks
She matched the undefeated wind
Besting the boys, again and again
Her arduous suitors, fools for the chase
Fell, one by one, under her pace
And, left to shade of golden wings flown
Had to settle for escorting her home
She was the first queen to display the red
Of Kentucky Derby roses around her head
Her exploits so adroit, she won her peers
And named American Horse of the Year
Her place in racing legacy, set
Not bad for a filly named Regret.
(in 1915, Regret was the first filly to win the Kentucky Derby)
10/14/21
A Notable Horse Premiere contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguor
Placed 10th
Poem of the Day
10/15/21
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?
Like the sun lights up the sky,
A little girl when she was born,
She snuggled right into our hearts
With heaven's sparkle in
Her eyes stole her papa's heart.
He became her nanny and cradled
Her to sleep, there was no bed
Comfortable enough,
but only in his loving arms
Until it was time for him to leave.
He was "mama" until she was two.
He would try to correct her;
"No, Papa."
She'd say, Mama with a smile.
He nourished her little mind with
Nursery rhymes and songs.
He taught her Math, English, and Spelling.
Taught her to ride her first tricycle,
To hold a baseball bat
And keep her eyes on the ball.
To kick and pass a soccer ball back and forth,
He cheered the loudest when she outran the boys.
Love between both of them unconditional.
She's now thirteen, with a smile that beams like sunshine
And eyes like stardust glistening, our greatest joys;
A garden scent where mums and sunflowers flow.
Having outgrew grandpa, it was grandmas turn;
Grandpa encouraged.
Her extra sunshine, giggles, laughter, and happiness
That come from deep inside when we shop
For party dresses, make-up, and
Once in a while a bookstore.
A photo-shoot on a footbridge or garden,
Lunches at Olive Garden or Gringo's for Mexican food,
And ice cold-fruity slushy drinks before going home.
She would text and still does to say,
You and grandpa or the best grandparents ever.
This little girl that that lights up the sky rules our hearts.
11/11/2019
He threw the dart,
it missed the board,
it hit my foot instead.
The next dart flew.
it hit a wire
then ricocheted t'wards my head.
It's a dangerous thing,
the game of darts.
Not for the faint of heart.
"Cause once they're drunk
they miss the board
and try, your hair, to part.
I can add
and I can subtract
so I don't mind keeping score.
But when those darts
miss the board
they don't always hit the floor.
I have scars
and I have bled
from darts, like missiles, thrown.
But if they don't stop
aiming for me
they can bloody well score their own.
Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests,
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,
Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,
an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,
He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -
J.A.B.
Dare to dream
See beyond the limitation
Of useless legs, fasten them with care.
Join your heroes in Olympic wear.
Nothing beats imagination.
Dare to dream
Dare to dream
See yourself in winning gold,
With your multi-coloured wheelchair.
For once revel in the crowd's stare,
Where surprise in eyes unfold.
Dare to dream.
Dare to dream
I don't see my able self restrained
My future shines perhaps less brighter light
But I never will go down without a fight
I am proud, aware, well-trained
Dare to dream
I close my eyes and let me
Allow myself to see
What might not even be
Because my dreams are free
***
9th place in Olympic Mania contest
The coolness of the morning air, rushing over me,
Silent running, sunrise, peace, tranquility,
Heart is pumping faster, breathing getting deeper,
Stride’s becoming shorter, as the hill grows steeper.
Rain is gently falling, cool upon my face,
Refreshing me all over, quickening my pace,
This therapeutic feeling, flowing through my veins,
It overtakes my tiredness, as I start to feel the strain
Run is almost over, slowly homeward bound,
Silent running through the streets, making not a sound,
Endorphins start to surface, I feel like I can fly,
An energy comes bursting out, must be the runners high :0)
It is not a conversation you overhear,
Like the questions rolling underfoot,
"Who goes there?".
You can see the grass has told
How tall to grow
To the chicory, dandelions and clover.
At the edge of the pitch
Where competition is stiff,
They grow bigger, taller and bolder;
Yet in each new match, every plant,
Agrees to a height and no taller.
Till in the next field over, where it's wild and fallowed,
It's to the death, all bets are off, and no foul.
2,21,2020
The white charger's belly is bloated with hay
The helmet helm's rusted quite shut
The tack room door hinges are tearing away
The leather's un oiled and dry
The lance is still good
It is bracing the fence
but I traded the sword for a pen
I am presently seeking a page
So if you're still waiting
and anticipating
A Lochinvar ending of sorts
I shall purchase wild oats for the horse
I recall how to sow them of course
With hardly a shred of remorse
Only the cold crunching
of the fresh snow bunching,
and the tired leather boots
as I take that first step
Can be heard right here
by no other frozen ear,
for away I rushed off
to find silence instead
And all that is harsh
exists not on this marsh,
where the only prying eyes
belong to birds and deer
The moment I did hesitate
to glide along my skate,
a winter wind whistled
tugging my scarf forward
Been years since I tried
the child in me never died,
and once you learn how
you cannot ever forget
And being scared of a fall
takes the fun from it all,
while on this solemn pond
where all worries flee
Staying sure on these feet
when blade and ice meet,
kept me on my toes as
all went spinning around
Until the colors of sunset
made the trees silhouette,
and brought back to me
a world gone miles away
Leaving not a solitary trace
of my presence at this place,
I untied those tight bindings
and took in a deep breath
A memory etched in my mind
just the figures left behind,
and if the sun erases them
I can always come back....
(January 14th, 2020)
There's a certain somebody out there
i'd rather not name......
showed a little interest , at playing a game ,
she's bold in her talent's ,
say's she'll put me to shame....
such big talk , from such a tiny frame....
smiling inside , being challenged by this dame
a fine lady , no doubt , but game is not lame
you're quite the find " BABY " , I'll give you your fame........
until then , i must warn you , this game won't be tame !!!!!
{ ciao bella }
A fuming, fierce and moving target
On yor species will you place yor bet!
Aiming the blade into shoulder blade or beating heart
all toreadors hope to throw that fatal decisive dart!
This bullyboy to score a bloodied bullseye in bullfight!
O'course not for the fainthearted that gory sight.
Well, that counts timid me out from any bullring
naturally I a bulwark against this lurid thing.
I find in the sport a sort of sadism
Like cockfights it must reek of masochism.
The carmine cape, the only screen between him and the jaws of death
or should I say rather, the sickle horns of death
Oh no, what if the matador ain't ever allowed to catch his breath?
For promoters a thrilling spinechilling
Spanish folk art in arena
For objectors a bloodsport
they wish as dead as the myth of Athena.
The Spanish might be divided about their picadors
on this sporty bloody battle between man and beast
No telling till when spectators will throng to watch those matadors
while I wonder do they on the trophy bull then feast?
Ah ban it to history
or fan it to the future
Call it cruelty or not, oh the thrills of our humankind
Tis fair play or fair game for the raging bull tis half blind?
Yet if any bloodlust instincts be satiated by those stuntmen toreros
matadors maybe far better than murderers and war heroes.
This rink ranks right up there.
My power skates, slice each ring,
the scent of ice assails my nose.
Funny in the absence of air, I breathe.
It must be a dream. I don’t care.
The wind of Saturn blows through my hair.
No wind, you say, but I will believe
what this dream gifts to me. Can’t believe
I’ve made it this far. It’s not Mars -
tired of the heat and the bars.
Brightly lit, I see a disco ball in the mist.
I am young again. Giddy boys showing off.
I’m twirling like a pro until I fall
softly onto my fairytale bed,
the one twenty mattresses tall.
I woke up a bit bruised. Saturn
on Saturday night, had no idea,
a princess performed on her rings.
This rink ranks right up there.
Our heroes roar
There they are
Flags held high
Voices raised too high
Eyes raised so high
Heads up in the sky
The spirit of football so much
They are our heroes
To play it all
All mouths are wide open
Throats always yelling out
Our heroes truly roar
Our hearts stir to the rhythm
While we watch the ball
We widen our souls in the stadium
One world on the pitch
We catch the ball in our eyes
We all kick it
‘****in **** we goin to do it’
The cries of victory make us sane
The laughter for the goal
The red card curse
The yellow fuss
It’s in the news ;’what a hurray’
They win or lose
The heroes kick up the wind
And kick up the sun’s rays
Till the sweat reminds us of the power
We want them to get the cup for us
When they do we promise to hail them
Though not all of us can have it
Those who lose want to kill
But we remember more excitedly
It’s better than the world war three
It’s the world cup
Those who put their lips to it
Will play it and play it
Because our heroes roar! And roar!