Long Basketball game Poems
Long Basketball game Poems. Below are the most popular long Basketball game by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Basketball game poems by poem length and keyword.
'Shorty', they called him from the very first grade in school.
He was seldom chosen for any game as a general rule.
He'd reached his maximum height of five feet six as a teen.
Though small in stature, athletic prowess lay dormant, yet unseen!
He tried out for baseball, football, even the basketball team.
Just to be a member of a team was his fervent dream.
Apprehensive coaches agreed to give the eager lad a chance.
Perhaps he could warm the bench - his ego it might enhance!
He was the third-string running back on the football team.
During the championship game the others ran out of steam
The score was tied - ten seconds remained upon the the clock.
He scored the winning touchdown! That day 'Shorty' became a jock!
The state final basketball game is still talked about today.
All the star players fouled out, much to the coach's dismay!
The score was tied - 'Shorty' was sent in with seconds to go.
He was fouled but with steady nerve, his was the winning throw!
He gave his all when called upon and was accustomed to the jeers,
But accolades were showered upon him by his coaches, fans and peers!
His coaches learned that 'tis best never to judge a feller by his size!
He might just be the winner who brings home the coveted prize!
I can remember a February
away back in nineteen seventy-four
'Twas a first meeting of my family
and my intended whom I'd spoken for.
Two hour ride to Kentucky's western part
with a basketball game planned to follow
home-cooked meal - key to a son-in-law's heart.
The tension on both sides, hard to swallow.
Driving home after the game my sweetheart
suffered an attack, much worse shall we say,
than a mere gastrointestinal fart.
Gas stations, closed; fast food stops, gone astray.
No rhyme nor reason fits distension's distress;
My beloved sensed a connection, right off -
key to dad’s workplace suspended a big mess
as mom wonders, "Was it my rice pilaf?"
written February 9, 2018
When Philadelphians wanted to see a basketball game,
the “Warriors” was their first team’s name.
They had several players achieving great fame.
Familiar names included Joe Fulks and Paul Arizin.
They were joined by Tom Gola and Wilt Chamberlain.
However, it was in the year of 1962
when the NBA franchise packed up and bid adieu.
The only professional team Philadelphia would know,
moved their operations to San Francisco.
Therefore, Philadelphia was without a team for a year.
However, the Syracuse Nationals relocated here.
In the City of Brotherly Love, they took a new name.
The “Seventy-Sixers” were now playing the game.
They traded to bring Wilt Chamberlain back.
The offense sported a formidable attack.
Among the big names that were playing here,
were Chet Walker, Luke Jackson, and Hal Greer.
The city’s basketball fans were in seventh heaven
when their team became world champions in 1967.
I once knew a man who was tall and skinny.
I was 35 at the time with a small family.
If he had a family of his own. I knew not any.
His means was menial and his needs were many.
For this man, we did the best we could.
He knew what we believed in and where we stood.
He was homeless and hungry in our neighborhood.
We showed him God's love and gave him food.
He was gentle, kind, and never rude.
We first met in the winter of 1984 in San Francisco, and Reuben was his name.
We took him to a Golden State Warriors basketball game.
He also sat at our dinner table on Christ m as Day.
We felt privileged to meet him and help him through his pain.
Moreover, because of Reuben
My life was never the same.
alienated and separated has become society
disenfranchised and distant are now the state of families
all of those systems designed to make us feel connected
have fallen short and now we feel rejected
we're just a bunch of numbers and no one even knows our names
we're just a group of digits and that's a darn shame
but we're more than pieces of silver for we do have hearts
for we are the blessed children of the Lord Of Lords, Our God
and it's only in the church where we've kept our sanity
for out in the world it's just total anarchy
we're more than just objects to be used and misused
we're more than just bodies who by our bosses are being abused
dehumanized and desensitized is how we've been treated by the status quo
but we are treasures in the eyes of the God we all love and know
God loves us and it's time we loved ourselves
Jesus loves us and died to give us an eternal wealth
yet people are more concerned with amassing monetary hordes
no compassion for each other and no love for the Lord
we need to seek the word of God with a desire to be changed
for now is the time for our spirits to be rearranged
no longer to take each other for granted but to treat each other with respect
to see ourselves as more than pieces of silver as more than just objects
to be like that woman who lost her coin and diligently searched until it was traced
and then to rejoice upon finding it for her treasure was now fully replaced
to diligently seek the treasure that is the word of God
and then to apply it directly to our hearts
to comprehend the true value of our fellow sisters and brothers
and come to understand that we need to treasure one another
for at some point in life you will need someone's support
for life is like a basketball game you need a team on the court
10 pieces of silver, Stella had a house party
a single coin restored, a parable about rediscovery
for whatever it is in life that you feel that you have lost
just take it to Jesus and lay it on the cross
let Jesus restore it, let your treasure be refound
let God reform you and place you on higher ground
to look high and look low for that which has been misplaced
to seek that treasure of the spirit, God's saving grace
and once it's restored to rejoice and celebrate
Stella had a house party upon the restoration of her faith
Why do I always get the news the day after?
Is somebody up above watching out for me?
I can almost hear what sounds a little like laughter
Every time I find out I escaped misery.
It all started when I was just a little boy,
When, one day, I wanted to go to Danny’s place.
The day after, I found out that his house was destroyed.
I was spared from the tornado by an angel of grace.
Then, in high school, after a basketball game,
I rode home with my brother instead of on the bus.
The day after, I found out the bus went up in flames.
My brother and I were lucky; it could have been us.
Then, one September morning, my meeting was cancelled,
So, I left my cell phone and went to the beach instead.
The day after, I found out the Towers had crumbled.
I should be among the three thousand that are dead.
As I reminisce decades past, it's like a dream with lanes.
One lane takes me down a strange path of years taken.
Childhood years of sadness, empty spaces, broken pieces.
Taken, lost childhood years never again to be recovered.
Taken years that built partitions from all my friends.
Another lane directs me into a curve of religiosity. This
lane took me off-course, and I became short-sighted, self-
righteous, shut-up, shut-in, and shut-out of the real world.
While in this lane, I forgot how to connect, laugh, and play.
There was yet a third lane that arrested me, exposed me to
people with ideas graciously challenging my own. Fortunately,
after some four years in a quiet cave, this lane proved to be an
eye-opener that awakened and gently welcomed me to the real world.
This beautiful real-world experience; this third lane encounter;
compelled me 40 years later to reconnect with my old friend Bobby.
We were close in our elementary years which enabled us to share a memory.
It was a memory of a basketball game in which we played against a school
that beat us, not just handedly but really badly. 40 years removed and
2000 miles apart, we laughed at the horrendous score that was 52 to 12.
081622PS
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
As I shed a nostalgic tear
Part of my childhood gone
Where I spent my sophomore year
It was September of sixty one
Our very first week of class
It was only a short walk from school
To the Church where we attended Mass
Coal region was different then
We smoked on the morning ride
Each town held something special
A sense of purpose, a sense of pride
Saint Ann's dances on a Sunday night
Quarter admission seven to ten
Jesse Belvin "Goodnight My Love"
Hitch a ride home back then
Basketball game downstairs at lunch
Or play horsie against the wall
Sneak a cigarette in the boys room
Passing notes in the hall.
My Place was the local hangout
Jukebox in the back
Sometimes playing match pack football
No one keeping track
Now the stained glass windows are gone
And tears flow like falling rain
Soon they'll raze the building
Only memories will remain
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
Feel a longing in my soul
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
As progress takes its toll.
Here's a tale of a white Chevy Corvair, I car I'll never forget
Repossessed from a gypsy, I'd be willing to bet...
On a cold, snowy winter night, February 1968
This 'bagel' was to drive the gang and me on the interstate
From Chicago, IL to Racine, WI, a basketball game there to play
I groaned to myself: "We'll never get there. No way!"
The tires were bald; both windshields were cracked
I searched in the trunk: neither spare tire nor jack
This junker burned oil something terribly fierce, and the
brakes were suspect, which was probably worse
But we all piled in, eight of us in a car seating five
We were cramped like sardines, more dead than alive
And as soon as we started to pick up some speed
Two floorboards gave way; that's all we didn't need
Gas fumes swirled round our heads, making us light
What with the snow and the cold, the driver couldn't see right
Somehow we piled out at the gym, stumbled onto the court
When our bagel exploded to bits, with lots of smoke and a snort
The game went by in a daze and a haze, as the bagel flamed out
Taking a train home, we cursed that Corvair the whole ride throughout
July 14, 2019
The Old Jalopy Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
It was a day like every other,
In his monotonous life.
He showered and he shaved;
Shared a good-bye kiss with his wife.
Dropped his son off at school,
On his commute into work;
Oblivious to the car radio news report
About a gunman gone berserk.
She called him at his office
For their usual mid-morning chat;
His recorded tones on voice mail said,
“I’ll return your call when I get back.”
He missed his boss’ staff meeting;
They figured he must have called in sick.
His emails went unanswered;
His in-box was growing kind of thick.
His son couldn’t find him
In the stands at his basketball game;
His wife was left wondering all day,
Why the return call never came.
His secretary couldn’t track him down;
His cell phone went straight to voice mail.
To the clients trying to find him,
She didn’t know just what to tell.
The police said there was nothing they could do
Until twenty-four hours had come and passed;
When later in the evening
His wife called them at last.
The wife and son sat by the phone;
Not knowing just what to do.
They both finally went to sleep
When the mantle clock showed half past two.
His car was never found,
His whereabouts never confirmed.
Whatever happened to this average man,
No one ever was to learn.
His wife never forgave him;
His son never forgot;
It was a day like every other,
But for him, that day was not.