Best Tennis Ball Poems
Our dog is relaxing for the first time in almost eighteen hours.
The interloper is finally gone.
She is so relieved; I have never heard her sigh this deeply and we have had her for seven years.
Yes, I am referring to the bulldog-pit bull mix puppy that has held us hostage and consumed
Our every waking thought for almost two days.
A heartless person kicked this puppy out onto our road on Thursday.
On Friday animal control said they would come and get her; but they did not come.
This dog, through no fault of her own, was dumped in the evening on a dark, desolate country road.
My road.
Featured once in a Kansas City magazine with this caption:
Donohoo Road, the most desolate road in Kansas City.
Nice huh?
Our porch is a war zone. This poor puppy that we tried to bring inside, but
Could not due to its adverse behavior toward our dog, and our dog’s incessant barking
Had to be outside for two nights.
Last night it rained all night.
Luckily, this strange little puppy commandeered the outside cat’s cozy bed.
Shark, the displaced cat slept in the garage’s first bay on a hard concreted floor, and was mad all night.
Did I say the porch is a war zone? Everything we left out there is in shreds – snow scraper, shoe,
Boot, gardening glove. This puppy somehow managed to chew an entire tennis ball down to a little
Pink center.
We are all so relieved it is gone.
My husband took it to the Humane Shelter and gave them a large donation for keeping it as they
Originally said they did not have room. When he told them the amount of our donation, they made room.
He said a lady picked up the puppy, and the puppy snuggled into her neck, and she will be warm tonight.
I hate animal-dumpers.
He stares at me with big brown eyes,
Causing me to think of stars in the skies.
He touches my hand with a cold nose,
Reminding me of how gently he goes.
He licks his chops whenever I eat,
Letting me know he’s there at my feet.
He always gets a few tidbits of my meal,
A little gift that lets him know how I feel.
He waits at the front door for me to pull up,
Always excited beyond any other pup.
He jumps up and down, pouncing for joy,
Showing his love as I smile, “that a boy”.
He runs like wildfire after a tennis ball,
Bringing it back to me at an indifferent crawl.
He barks at the tv and howls at the vet,
Giving me pleasure unlike any other pet.
He is a canine who has become a best friend.
There isn’t a doubt he’ll be with me til’ the end.
He creates a powerful pleasure within me,
Something no one or nothing else can free.
He may be a dog, but I think of him so dearly,
There is nothing to describe him very clearly.
He is a blessing, a wonder and a true prize,
Where would I be without the love in his eyes?
The tennis ball
Whacked over the net
Is whacked back again
Sometimes.
It is a tough leather that ball.
But this respiratory thing
That sucks the air from our lung
Teams against the self to win.
Now you are whacked
Over the line by it,
And to the cotton farm of Carolina,
And none can whack you back
Match point is for it
The ball is gone.
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*
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
They are like night and day
Always there,
Even when not seen, I know they’ll be here
Treat me like a brother, oh how much they care
How many are they?
Who do stick around when we try and fail?
To help us through the day
Looking beyond the veil
And not shun us, to betray or turn their back in the face of dismay
What can I say? God bless and a million thanks!
I feel like I owe them a hundred favors
But they say that they owe me a hundred favors instead
Often when the rainy days come
To them I run as I would to nine one, one.
When I have nothing but problems and empty pockets
Unlike some, they don’t cough up
Nor act like there are crocodiles in their pockets
Again I say thanks, but even more kind is the reply I get
“It’s nothing but a mere drop in the bucket”
For real, my heart gets filled with joy
Coz honestly it was more than just a mere drop
My great homey told me
Real friends don’t count favors
But even if I tried I’d fail, I couldn’t keep count
Which doesn’t mean I forgot
Though they did for me and forgot about it
Expecting no rewards, no refunds
Simply expressing brotherly love
A reason valid enough for me to value our friendship beyond any price
So we roll together, don’t be surprised
We get along like we’re from the same tribe,
Sharing the same blood, creatures of the same God
With or without, we don’t judge
Like a tennis ball against the wall;
In two ways we let the love bounce
I know one who stood for me to take a punch
Exceedingly grateful for every bit of love
Because little is much and much is just little multiplied
Never feel like you haven’t done enough
Because to me every little bit counts
Women Bartender Parties
Their eyes watched
the bartender,
like a tennis ball,
volleying to each side,
bouncing, soft like
from side to side
of the bar, filling drinks
and old men's hearts
with wet dreams,
prompting the men
on gathering closer
to the campfire.
She was hot.
Their necks stretched,
minds made pseudo
claims, and mouths watered
of her effect.
She was young and new,
and too studious.
A librarian by day,
layers of academia,
flowing through her veins-
you could see that
she was smart, yet sassy.
There was no hiding, though,
the biker girl behind
those glasses, hair
in a bun, and brass demeanor.
She made sashay look
pedestrian.
She could compete with
a New York model
with her providence,
long arms and legs,
and a longer neck,
that likely sprung
a gasket in her admirers.
Would she lie?
When she gained wind
of whispering old men,
poking the shortness
of her denim shorts
she tickled their fancies.
"Is my vagina sticking out,"
as she checked her shorts,
innocence oozing from her
and sending old men's
watering hole to rise.
She was a frolicking horse
that put all the other
bar's bartenders to pasture.
She continued pouring
drinks, like how pouring rain-
rescues drought stricken
crops. She had that effect.
When she saddled next
to an old man, lucky one
at that, her gray eyes
boring into his browns,
as they split the night air
into little gifts,
exchanging presents
of knowledge of each other,
you could see his horses
neighing, too, nudging
to get out of the stables.
Did she say she was writing
a book?
He doesn't remember.
He remembers
seeing a moon flower.
She continued serving rain,
while the jukebox played
and the patrons swayed,
exchanging banter with each.
Moments later she did
the unthinkable-no
it wasn't a red scarlet.
Or connotative.
She drank, which is taboo,
matching shots of Royal,
three, with the old man,
while not missing a beat,
holding her liquor well,
and turning back his hands
............. of time.
connie pachecho
4/20/17
>Why I don’t I play tennis.
Tennis, want to know why don’t I play?
Because I cannot hit those balls back.
Those that fly fast down my way.
I mean a tiny sphere like that.
Travelling faster than my car at that!
How can I expect to hit, a tennis ball as fast as that?
When we played tennis long ago!
On the vicar’s lawn, it was just so.
The service was so nice and slow.
Then when the ball was hit back.
That’s when the game started at that.
Back and forth those balls went.
Until at last one went out, or in the net.
Game would last quite a while.
We would talk, even smile.
And the best bit at the end of play.
Was vicar’s wife, coming out with a tray.
Of cold orange squash, you know.
And that’s how tennis ought to go.
It was on my local radio this morning. The question why people were dropping out from playing tennis. Well I could tell them. There is no room at the top with all those speed servers. Its no longer a game just a I can hit the ball at breakneck speed. I am off soon fund raising for Help for Heroes so the day is all yours. Have a nice one. (The mad Author)
Form:
words thrown in the wind
love is not a tennis ball
she's a leaf blower
Our four-legged furry daughter Reva bid us a farewell
She went on her new journey wagging her tail
God came to take her during her sleep
Took her to his magnificent land to run around and leap
She came to say goodbye to us before she left
Showing a sign of a joyful dog through another adoring pet
She brought us a tennis ball just like Reva always did
Assuring us to be happy for Reva while she is on her next trip
Although our eyes are misty and our hearts are tender,
Our minds are grateful to her for the blessed years
Her love was unconditional, her bliss was so pure,
The evergreen energy she radiated sparkled everywhere
Tirelessly she would run around, jump and swim,
Use her sporty physique to fetch balls and wooden sticks
Family games of hide-seek, cricket, basketball, and hiking
Enthusiastically she would participate in each with great liking
We needed help of words to communicate with her
She would simply respond through her doting eyes of brown color
We miss those eyes, the presence, the energy, the snugs
The house seems very quiet without her irresistible innocence
Each moment we thank him for bringing her in our lives
And taking her back without any bodily pain and anguish.
Just like the car cannot do without it,
So also I yearn for it with great desire,
Lack of it send cold shivers down my spine,
Imagine walking like a ghost in deserted land.
Ribs visibly pronounced and counted,
Eye balls rolling inside the socket like tennis ball,
Tiny legs shaking and vibrating like a spring,
Oh, malnutrition! I fear and honor thee!,
I wish not to dine with thee ,forever!.
A friend to the rich, elusive to the poor,
But, the two strive to claim it,
When captured, endoparasites rejoice for a feast,
Energy and immunity against diseases provided
by this wanted elusive fellow.
Do without him ,then you invite starvation ,
Which encompasses malnutrition and even death!,
I crave to have a healthy skin not a sag body,
So, I struggle within ,to be his friend,
Oh!,”mother nature give me my daily bread”.
Mothers stay up late when
Their kids can’t sleep..
A mother’s affection
Will always run deep.
A mother silently watches
Her child asleep in their bed.
She looks back on her life before she
Was a mother and her soul was dead.
How could she have been so lucky
To get this precious angel?
Knowing that if anyone hurts her baby
They are sure to be mangled.
A mother’s heart swells with pride
As her baby takes her first step.
When a child says “ I love you Mommy”,"
It was so emotional she wept.
To know that she is a parent
Is her greatest title.
Hoping that her child will be
Someone that others will idol.
A mother caresses her child’s
Face when she has been crying.
A mother comforts her child
When her grandmother is dying.
A mother hopes she’ll be
As great as her own mother.
She hopes she won’t fail
And be like the others.
A mother protects her child when she
Caught a tennis ball with her face.
And beating her step-son
Was definitely not a waste.
A mother sneaks down a phone when
Her child is unjustly grounded.
A mother makes damn sure when her
Husband insults her daughter he is fiercely pounded.
A mother looks over her mom
Perming her child’s hair late at night.
She pretends she doesn’t see her
Hiding so there won’t be a fight.
A mother comes to her child’s aid in her
Time of need when her own child is sick.
A mother cries when her father dies at the
Same time and she is forced to pick.
Does she go home and bury her father?
Or does she stay and comfort her child?
The fact that she’s put in this position
Is nothing short of wild.
A mother lets her child and her best friend
Plus their kids move back home.
Living eight hours away while her grandson
Is sick, she might as well have lived in Rome.
A mother comes to visit her sick
Grandson after a hard day’s work.
A mother comforts her daughter
When stress and chaos lurks.
A mother loves her children
No matter what the future holds.
Whether it’s life or death or
Runny noses from their colds.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of all the troubles and tattoos.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of their difference in views.
A mother loves her child
No matter what they do.
The feeling is mutual and
Mother, I really do love you.
An old tennis ball
near your resting head
waits patiently for a sign, biding its time.
Sunday’s sleek playground rocket
is Monday's slumbering sentry
dog-tired from yesterday’s triumphs.
Rescue dogs rummaged
Trade Center rubble undaunted by danger
Nine-Eleven just another reason to please,
and a pound's little penitent
cramped in a Salt Lake City kennelbox
waited patiently for a sign, biding her time
to save a family,
to be our unsuspecting guide,
a seeing eye through which we see life anew:
We taught you to sit
and obey our commands; you teach us
the secrets of dog-grace,
to judge not,
and how you would lay down your life
without first having to find your inner dog.
We filled your bowl
with tapwater to lap, and in turn
you pour out your undying loyalty.
We gave you a mat
in the corner, and for that
you ask for no greater privilege than
to guard our house
with your own precious life,
shark-eyed friend.
They say Dogwood
takes seven years to bloom.
You would have waited that long for us
wouldn’t you, our floppy-eared pal?
Go get the ball, girl! Time to play!
I love being bouncy, being green, being fun!
I jump and I hop, and I dance all around.
Being chased by children from two to a hundred and one.
I am the happiest tennis ball, easily found.
I have a sweet squeak when I hit the concrete.
There are squeals of laughter as I am being chased.
A dog has me in her mouth, so I give a quick squeak.
Hoping she will spare me, giving a lot of grace.
I am bouncing now, and excited. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
I am enthusiastic about being me in rain, wind, black ice and snow.
I would like a little drink of water, but I do not whine or flounce.
This is the best life I have ever had, for sure. I love it so!
Flock of Golfing Geese Haiku
I have heard noise
Of traffic that annoys
Was it meant to be?
Peace should be instead
As in many poems I read
Just like yours and mine.
So what I suppose
Water flowers with my hose
Soon shall start to bloom.
Make more room for me
Whose golfing game seems to be
Worst one in this world.
Made golfers feel good
I was only one who could
Take whole day to play.
They were mesmerized
When all of them realized
Had hit tennis ball.
Now I cannot miss
And each drive I hit would hiss
Like flock of golfing geese.
My neighbor was feeding fish
in pond in her back yard when
some swimming geese hissed
at her. Wow!!!
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet