Best Tennis Poems
PINK TENNIS SHOES
I mother always pride galore
until the words from daughter abhor.
Her gentle heart and loving embrace
smashing to pieces. She fell from grace.
Her untied tenny shoe, wrapped and tight
around her bike, could free no might.
Mommy checking faithful each half hour
found her daughter helpless, no power.
Down the hill mommy went
no time was wasting nor was spent.
The wind passed threw my long hair locks
when shock took over from what I got.
Not what I thought from bike I bought
but cruelest words, my life distraught.
From those lips kissed each night to bed
not once, nor twice, but thrice to head.
“Hurry up old lady” from my daughter
how my heart bleed of tears and water.
For no words crueler ever sere spoke.
My shame, the horror on face neighborhood folk.
My tail between my legs indeed
got there, put there by my third bore seed.
And mothers day and birthday too
three days from now turn 45, BOO-HOO!
Never knew my aging beauty fade
would be this hard for the lies I’ve made.
Lies I’ve told to self each day
that children’s love fulfillment may.
So on this very special mothers day
this “old lady” family f--- off say.
>Playing games with tennis balls?
Men, playing games with tennis balls!
Earn far too much dough.
In the game of tennis you know.
Some male players are now acting tough.
Saying they aren’t paid enough.
For playing games with balls not too rough.
Now they say they want more pay.
Than women, who with their balls do play.
Dragon, that last line sounds not right.
Might be read wrong, on first sight.
Guess someone will soon complain tonight.
We’ll blame it on AI, that’s right.
I’m glad they’ve all got the same dough.
When winning Wimbledon you know.
I still feel sorry for all them balls.
When served so fast into the air.
That’s the thing, I don’t think’s fair.
Why is it when men play ball games?
They insult women so.
Them that play tennis, with those tennis balls.
Some men really do you know.
If women should with those tennis balls play.
Men should never complain anyway.
For when women serve those balls so.
Men can volley them back you know.
Women may not be as strong as men.
In all sport games they play.
But neither do they throw tantrums.
If match points, don’t go their way.
I’m not a keen tennis viewer, that I must declare.
As I watch those poor tennis balls, whizzing through the air.
I had a job explaining that, to my friend Planet Nine.
He thought they were small planets, being hit for fore.
I said that was another sport, best we do ignore.
I wish all sports ball game prizes, were at least the same.
Played on a fair smooth plain
Not on a plane that flies so high.
You can’t play those ball games, in the sky.
So come on you men, do play fair.
Pay all prize money equally so there.
When women play, ball games with you.
They can be on equal pay too.
What else can I really say?
As I play with balls every day.
But as a poet, I don’t play swell.
Nor am I paid as blinking well.
Well done Dragon and you Spellchecker, sorry but we will have to divide the royalties with Planet Nine. Why? That simple he is bigger than us. Bye everybody. Stanley (The mad Author)<
Why am I running round this table
Getting sweaty and looking a sight
Someone said it would enable
Me to lose some weight, I hope they’re right
A tiny bat an even smaller ball
Goes flying past my head
Didn’t even see it, ref makes a call
Think I lost is what he said
Table tennis sounds so simple a game
I am hot and sweaty, plus ashamed to lose
Not gentile at all, should change its name
Rapido tennis is the name I would choose
Penned 17/5/2017
Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.
In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.
Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.
They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.
Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.
But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.
Most balls people pitch, roll, or fling.
They kick them or strike them with zing.
But for lazy old me
I like tirelessly. . .
to stand, flick my wrist and go “ping!”
For Joseph Soper's the Sports Shorts Poetry Contest
The head of a racket has many holes
Hit one just right, and a target is scored
Not every shot can accomplish your goals
Practice is needed, it can’t be ignored!
Connect with the wrong shot, you miss the win
Disappointment will come you can be sure
Regret in your bad choice will now set in
Slow down and think, don’t let haste be a lure!
Life’s like that racket, believe it or not
It takes practice and patience to choose well
Haste and poor choices bring failure a lot
Rise up and rebound ‘fore you hear the bell!
Aim for the sweet spot, as each day is new
Just make the right choice, and then follow thru!
During one game
The umpire noisily cried
"Deuce!"
So I politely replied
"Orange please!"
To tennis
What a cracking sport
To play, to lose all worldly cares.
Returning
To the tennis court –
That small rectangle, out of time;
Win or lose
It doesn’t matter,
I’ll keep my focus on the game,
Satisfy
My ruthless nature
With tuneful thwack of gut on rubber.
One set all,
It’s forty-thirty:
A sizzling ace secures the game.
Up above
In beech tree grandstand,
A crowd of rooks croak their applause.
With topspin,
Drop-shot, forehand smash,
Exhausting rally,……. gasp for breath,
All too soon,
Game, set and match, then
It’s back to work, my lunchtime spent.
Watching tennis is a treat
When those who are elite compete
With lunges, leaps and smashing serves
That rise above mere mortals' nerves.
Such slicing shots, such smashing drops,
Near-misses when the heart just stops;
They race around the court so fast
As if each point might be the last.
We sit at home, on couch or chair
And catch the action on the air.
To me, no sport is quite as sweet
As watching tennis pros compete.
Limerick : Once a Tennis Woman named Sue Baule
Once a Tennis Woman named Sue Baule
Tried to avoid being called : « Screw Ball ! »
So she got her haïr cut
In the shape of a snout
Since at French Open gets dubbed : « Screwed Doll ! »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
I love playing table tennis, Glen and I arranged a match,
We decided to get some balls, so he ordered a batch.
I open a box and in it, one ball was a funny smoky blue,
All the others were white, oh; I forgot to tell you, this story is true.
The ball was heavier than the others so I thought open it and have a look,
I rested it on my mothers “don’t touch or your ass is grass” recipe book.
Under a shady tree I gave the ball a whack and it did break
The ground under our feet shook like as if it were an earth quake
Glen ( my imaginary friend) said “this must be a magical ball,”
“What have you done Sidney Hall?”
I ran in the house after that experience to changed my pants
Came back shaking to take a glance
There in the ball,
In the ball,
What looked like a small house, a beautiful garden and in the corner something under a tree,
So I took my magnifying glass and peered in, under the tree, it’s……….me.
The hair raised on the back of my neck,
I slowly looked up to check.
Lucky I had brown trousers, my knees shook at the bends,
For looking down at me was a gigantic eye full magnifying lens.
And behind it was me doing the same,
And behind again and again and again.
We were doing the same thing and were identical, we all could not comprehend
The detail was amazing even down to Glen our imaginary friend.
So if you see a smoky blues table tennis ball
Don’t shake it for inside could be Glen and Sidney Hall.
*Fantasy Contest*
Playing tennis? Whack that ball!
Must at least be four feet tall!
Better at least know how to play
Or else it's a real tough day!
Help me
He won't wake up these weekends
I came back home
I help him get unsick
Mom runs her usual parade
Dad just watches TV and escapes
He wants to change
But can't make himself rearrange
Disk problems in the back
Ironically im schooled in physical therapy...
he doesnt want to listen to me
So time putters on indefinitely
Thirty years since Mrs Meckin
Said "Sian, who are y' markin'?"
on the hockey field
Wind chillin'
Legs freezin'
Knuckles reddenin'
Clutchin' the rubber handle of my Mum's
old hockey stick
Always third from last to be chosen for The Team
"No, not again, please don't let it happen again"
So humiliatin'
Bro always gets in
"Don't worry, Sian. Music's your thing"
So, moving house again with three kids
Out of London, away from the smog,
the stress, the jumbled up head
To the house with the gate.
A gate at the end of the garden
Through
To the Tennis Club
Narnia
The Secret Garden
A Whole New World
Of Head Space, blue sky, breeze and humour
Leave the worry of how the kids are doin'
The washin'
The cookin'
The state the house's in
The husband not returnin'
Til gone midnight on the cancelled train
Standin' in a huddle by the club house
Nervous laugh and a "How do you do?"
No wimbledon tennis whites
Just the baggy top to cover the downward sag of
Three labours, excess Chardonnary and taramosolata dip
Ball straight up to endless blue
Oh coach, "how DO you DO?!"
Ladies swooning
Chopper grip ready
Backhand, volley, rally, smash
Dash
For the ball
Which is just in
A new beginnin'
I’ve developed tennis elbow; it really is quite sore
It’s a medical condition that I’ve never had before
So I went down to the doctor and knocked upon his door
It’s a common ailment, he’s seen it many times I’m sure
He wrote me a prescription; oh boy he’s really funny
Told me to watch the Olympics – not pretend I’m Andy Murray!
I’ve got some painkilling gel, which really does seem to help
And a tubigrip bandage, so constrictive it made me yelp
I struggled to get this ‘tube’ on but it restricted the flow of blood
So I’ve ditched it in the bin - it was causing more harm than good
Now I’ve put on an old crepe bandage, which seems to do the trick
I’ve now come to the sad conclusion… I’m becoming a geriatric!
08~16~16