Best Volleys Poems

Poetry Thoughts

I write my poems in a deep thought
with the pain my life dearly bought
Lost, listening to my vanishing muse
this world's whispers I often use!

Words given by ancient gnarly trees
echoes embraced from tumbling seas
Sounds of silence in forested glen
far away from greed and wiles of...

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CRAZE DURING FOOTBALL GAME

Up yellows; greens; reds and blue,
tell me! Tell me, who is through?
Passes. Crosses. Headers. Shots.
Volleys, blasters, more scissor kicks
tell me! Tell me, whose on the spot!

Ninety minutes with some overtime
eleven players playing in the field
each one targets to be World Champ!
The strikers...

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A young man carrying a green duffel bag
over his shoulder shifts when he walks.
Off to war for our country and flag.
No military knowledge with little talk.

Enemy troops marched across the bridge, 
with tanks, and hundreds of machine guns led.
As he sat dug in along and...

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Predator Antiqua Multis Versus Respiciens Tempus


I Watched Midnight Sun Fall Into Dark Shades Of Oblivion

Part I

I watched midnight sun fall into dark shades of oblivion
with its dying light screaming in agonizing moans
upon bloody battlefields of massive bloated carrion
as weeping echoes surged up from its low...

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...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.

He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon...

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...It also left their powder pretty wet,
but their was something command had foreseen,
and they brought extra artillery guns,
less vulnerable to the moisture’s sheen.

Washington hoped they’d make it by midnight,
but they weather slowed down the whole affair,
it was near three AM when all unloaded,
the commander felt...

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Alone I arrive, walking from Frederick
over the gaps, across gentle hills
out onto a knoll
overlooking this burnished landscape.
Before me I see countless writhing rows
of indiscernible shapes gathered
in terrible rituals mid fire and smoke
darkening the sun.
From distant corners I hear
the rhythmic thud of cannon,
and from fields astir...

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Pitcher deals.
Center snaps. 
Forward volleys.
Captain kneels.
Wing traps.
Road team rallies.
Runner steals.
Driver laps.
Bookies watch at O'Malleys.
Coach jaws.
Goalie paws.
Mothers pray.
Midfielder moans.
Winners eat macaroons.
Fathers look less gray.

Refs tally the time left
'Til the moon rises.
Fans leave, bereft,
Searching for further surprises....

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A cacophony of cheers
Sand sprays like fireworks
From feet, hands, ball, hair.
Four women, two-a-side,
In a battle for the ages.

A motion of fluidity and a
Knowledge brought forth
From years in the fray.
Sun, rain, the elements,
Just more adversaries

In a long procession of
Combatants put asunder
By their clear dominance
Of a gritty...

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Score's zip to zilch, last inning's near halfway through
at Gettysburg Commons' baseball league playoff.
Champion Graycoats at their posts hitherto -
Blue Jackets hear the pitcher's husky cough -

a clue to the catcher - this batter's toast.
Pickett lobs the pitch from high on his perch,
Meade smacks it...

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As I look outside I see,
the setting sun behind the trees
This summer day is ending now
The season too will soon be gone.

Summer days again have passed
But the memories will last 
Until again the solstice comes
And brings with it the summer sun.

Till then we can but...

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Poetry Thoughts

I write my poems in a deep thought
with the pain my life dearly bought
Lost, listening to a vanishing muse
this world's whispers I often use!

Words given by ancient gnarly trees
echoes embraced from tumbling seas
Sounds of silence in forested glen
far away from greed and wiles of...

Continue reading...

Historically accurate, narrative poem

25 June, 1876 - Valley of the Little Bighorn

Nothing stirs this June night, not a summer’s breeze or a breath of life.  All is eerily quiet, and on yonder hillside, shroud of darkness and death descended, lay ten score men and...

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Sobbing of Mother

Who would be more knower definition of love?
When mother’s son sleeps untimely on the pool of blood
Timid when fires bullet triggering gun
Nozzle remains to outlet without cause

There, price of tear of mother’s 
Crazy estimates fumbling fun
Alas!  Right track would have been there
Ah!...

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Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale


-Across the Atlantic, 1793-

And as days tumbled away, we staggered
Along, knock-kneed, dead beat and haggard.
Our bodies singing to the tune of the whip
Whizzing on morsels of flesh, so the flip.

Fed like dogs, fed from pity, we kept alive
Trudging...

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