Long Racquetball Poems
Long Racquetball Poems. Below are the most popular long Racquetball by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Racquetball poems by poem length and keyword.
My crushes are so numerable, it is crazy to try to remember them all.
When I love you it’s in a full blown puppy way, in your lap with Tarzan’s call.
Sky King, Mighty Mouse, Bugs Bunny, The Pink Panther, Howdy Doody.
Yes, I know it is dating me. I also crush on things sweet and fruity.
Cobbler, filled donuts, eclairs, turnovers, any kind of pie especially cherry.
I loved being outside picking fruit, peas, beans, and all kinds of berry.
I crushed on mushrooms fresh from the woods full of tiny ants.
When I got a bit older I crushed on bell bottoms, the hippy pants.
Crush on Elvis, Johnny Cash, John Wayne, Maureen Sullivan and others.
Cannot get enough of Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, and Agatha Christie.
Love all things shiny dazzling – rhinestones, aluminum foil, names like Trixie.
Attracted beyond belief to Tina Turner, Cher, Bette Midler and Adam Lambert.
A hippie throwback with a green thumb; I love to wear a three tiered skirt.
TV is not my thing at all, but I love to paint, swim, dance, play racquetball.
I love what I love, and I mean for the rest of my life, flat out in a puppy way.
So if you want to be my friend, make sure it’s forever because I don’t play.
Some people find comfort in living the same day
Every day doing what they did yesterday in the same way.
I know a man who ate a ham sandwich with cheese plain
No condiments every day and cut exactly the same
I thrive on change. Daily seek out something new.
Learning racquetball kept me entertained in 1982.
As soon as we had the tournament all interest was gone.
I dropped racquetball never going back. For tournament I’d won.
Some women wear the same exact haircut for twenty years
To change it up would instigate and initiate such fears
I know a woman whose hair looks like 1960’s Loretta Lynn
A different style is suggested every decade by her kin.
My hair has been black and blue, beige and turquoise too.
If I had to keep it the same way twice it would make me blue.
Some teachers can print their worksheets a month in advance.
Given a choice, I would rather have gigantic wood-ticks in my pants.
Some people live the same year every single year.
That would be my absolute biggest baddest fear.
Being stuck is how I learned I am a cartoonist,
A poet, a writer, a painter.
Being stuck is what makes me
Seek something new that will interest me.
I know when my brain needs something new.
Her dendrites are crying for another language,
vocabulary words, new methods of painting.
I know I must feed her, so she can be the most
creative happy fun-loving dancing self she can be.
This is when I begin learning something new.
I do not care what it is - racquetball, paintball, Harry Potter,
something I did not know about yesterday. To loosen her and
allow her to be the best she can be. I either pick up a book
about something I have never learned or I pick up a hobby. If I have a broken ankle, I click on the History Channel to feed my dendrite highway and retain enthusiasm.
Someone told me that all Smythes are crazy, and I believed them
At first, until I met one
Who was delightful, and kind, and did not generalize people
He gave me a chance, which was a marvelous thing.
For I had not been willing to give him one.
Another told me that old women are dried up.
Not knowing any, I believed it.
Until I became an old woman
And realized I am more excited about life than I have ever been.
I paint, cartoon, dance, play racquetball, and write poetry.
So I am not dried up.
They told me that all white people are stuck up.
I looked at my skin. It is peach not white.
I was relieved, for when they tell me, I usually believe it
Until I meet one.
And realize when we are talking about people
ALL never makes sense.
I should have known this right away.
I am an identical twin, and we agree on practically nothing.
My uncle told me that the Scottish are stingy; I believed him
Because I was young, and I had never met one.
I did not even know what they were.
But then I grew up and had a DNA test.
And guess what? I am Scottish.
And I am not stingy, so I guess that one is out the window too.
My uncle is still smirking about this one.
Our burdens are lifted—it’s spring break, after all.
Though ocean breezes, surf sounds, the smell of sunblock,
fresh tans and bottomless margaritas at the beach can be healing,
we decided to vacation on campus and find joy in small, everyday things.
Yesterday, we went to the farmer’s market, where one coffee vendor was making real cappuccinos and another was baking fresh breakfast pizzas. The combination reminded me of the 'Antico Forno Roscioli' cafe, near Campo de' Fiori, in Rome.
Then we hit the gym pool, climbed a rock wall (slowly) and played racquetball (rather poorly). We tried a dance & fitness class too—I thought I was in shape but ugg, it was hard to keep up. Peter (my 27-year-old bf) practically collapsed, but maybe he was angling for mouth-2-mouth.
Straight brag: Peter and I are getting new laptops today—MacBook Air M4s—mine’s baby blue, his is silver. So today seems like Christmas.
I don’t know if you people have computers, or use the Internet, but if you do, you’ll get it. I don’t know exactly when it’ll arrive, of course, so I’m pacing our suite.
I’ve always loved tech. My brother started teaching me about computers when I was 10—you know—hard drives, logic boards, power supplies, all of it. I remember it taking about two days to set one up and move all of the data. Today all I’ll have to do is set the new computer next to the old one and click migrate.
You gotta doff your hat to the tech wizards that came up with that, but the hours spent doing it the old way were fun.
“Something’s lost yet something's gained” - I think Joni Mitchell sang that.
.
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Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
Mountain or a Molehill by Kris Berry
I used to dance until I could dance no more, said Matt.
a knee injury and arthritis in both ankles has stopped that
I used to play racquetball, jumping all around for two hours.
Now I can barely walk outside if there is ice, snow or showers.
Both of these people used to marathon run and skate.
This was done before they both turned seventy-eight.
now they are slower, and use walkers or a cane.
And neither are delighted to go outside in the rain.
Age has changed them, slowed them down you see.
I am right behind them, heading toward seventy-three.
Enjoy life while you are young, they both say to me.
Young? Did they not hear me? I am seventy-three!
Apricot skin
Apricot face
Apricot hands
Apricot knees
Apricot apricots
Apricot cat
Apricot paint
Apricot baby's bottom
In my world I always think
Of a pricey apricot dress
My husband's pal paid way too much for it
Wanting to impress a girl who modeled it at a table for us.
Wanting to show off that he had three hundred dollars,
He gave them three hundred dollars for that dress
To surprise his girlfriend, Kathy.
Kathy was surprised.
She would have never chosen this dress.
It was so expensive, he pouted until she wore it to
Every dinner, supper, lunch, and finally to play racquetball in.
Apricot always reminds me of poor Kathy and her irritation.
They gave me a new cornea, and I saw clearly for the first time.
I saw color, which I had never seen with my old eye.
I was amazed and excited, but then the eye began to talk.
What are you doing? The eye asked.
I was dancing, in a happy, joyful, excited, thrilled mood.
I kicked up my legs for joy.
Stop that! The eye commanded, in an angry way.
A really mean, annoying “mind me” now voice.
I loved knowing for the first time ever
The difference between red and green
But my joy was overshadowed
For this eye is nasty, and never stops commanding
This eye does not like to dance, sing or whistle.
She does not want to run, hike, or play racquetball.
I finally realized when I am swimming she is silent.
I have been swimming for two hours now.
Oh, my, how excited, elated, I would be
to receive sudden financial prosperity.
The true appeal would not be the tangible
but the freedom I have longed to handle.
It is so easy and fun to imagine
the idyllic dream-cottage I would fashion.
If my pen and intent have successful flair,
Perhaps I can transport us all there.
One super, great thing about my new home
is the location in a unique, universal zone,
where society, by law, must leave me alone
and never again cause me or mine to groan.
First, I’d hand my home dreams to Thomas Kinkade
whose involvement my enthusiasm would persuade.
He would build my perfect cottage in a glade;
quaint goose bump appeal with each modern update.
Country, antique and Quaker furnishings throughout
would be joyously bought using my new clout.
I would slowly decorate within and without -
extend the thrill, I would without a doubt.
A Walt-Disney-mind will fashion green grounds
over which perfect billowing clouds will abound.
Cute, gleeful birds will provide uplifting sounds
and precious flowers will pop color all around.
Somewhere on my lush, beautiful property
will be awesome fun for others and me;
ATVs, a bowling alley and bumper cars;
a racquetball court where everyone stars;
a baseball field where rivalry will spar;
an inviting lake twinkling beneath the stars
where fishing and swimming are never barred;
and, a babbling brook playing nature’s guitar.
Every morning will wondrously begin.
Before any voice has even spoken,
a gorgeous song will be piped in,
Cat Steven’s singing, “Morning Has Broken.”
I used to be able to outrun my puppy, not anymore, not anymore
Moving with arthritis in both ankles is a drag; I am kind of a bore
I am seventy-two, but some days I feel ninety-four, and I’m not kidding
The devil will probably come by to see if I will do his bidding
I am closer to death than life these days, but I remember the past
When I was limber, cute, sexy, sassy, some might say a bit fast
Those memories keep me going, I like to dream, so I am great at naps
I am not playing racquetball or pickle ball, and I no longer run laps
Many things I used to do daily I have given up on completely
My house used to be tidy, nowadays it is barely a tiny bit neatly
I would love to get back to the good life, when I had the energy of six
But here I sit, in a recliner, out in the country, in a yard full of sticks
My teeth are cracking, for I grind them and I don’t mean a little bit.
At the drop of a Kleenex, I might scream or throw a tantrum fit
My frustration is high, for I remember when life was gloriously grand.
Now I sit here, pining for my old life, eyes traveling from TV set to land.