Long Stadiums Poems
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During the time before television came to our home, My dad sat there in his car on many a dark Southern night. And I was somewhere close by, enjoying a wonderful
game of Major League Baseball on the radio.
O, there were several teams in the majors like The Pirates,
The White Socks and The Red Socks were popular
teams. But in my town in Northern Mississippi, baseball was all about the Cardinals, the Dodgers, and the Yankees.
There were many sights and sounds of baseball beaming from radios and television sets. I must say that I mean no disrespect to other good and decent sportscasters,
but Harry Carry and Pee Wee Reese made us feel like we
were there in the stands.
My dad had lots of friends, but two were rivals in the game.
There was his friend, the Yankee man name Mr. Baines;
And then, Mr. Mon, his other friend, was a Dodger fan.
But my dad’s heart was in St. Louis with Stan the Man.
In the memory of my mind, I can hear those games now on the radio.
Those nights were dark and hot, but the baseball captured and calmed me.
Reading newspapers and enjoying a baseball game on the radio were two
things my dad and I shared together. But also, later on, we obtained a television. With the snapshots tucked away in the frames of my mind, after 50-plus years, I can still see the Baseball Game of the Week.
I'm rather certain that neither my dad nor his two friends ever graced the stadiums of their teams. I'm proud to say that it was through them that I developed a deep love for the game. So, in a way, when I saw two games at Wrigley Field in Chicago, they were there also; or when I enjoyed two games of the Giants at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, they sat right next to me.
They say that baseball is America’s great past time experience;
but for me, baseball was always about ‘now and then’, ‘today, and
‘tomorrow’ too. It was about a little country boy fantasizing
and dreaming today about what could be tomorrow.
Written 042010; Entry122422PS Contest, Matt Caliri, Poetry in Motion
The National Pastime, Phillip Garcia
also: (Screwed XV11 Contest, Rod Carmack; 10th Pl)
I Dont Give A Fig About The Brouhaha...
of new year's eve,
yet yours truly does consider
at least one singular plum me facet by Jeeve
er...Robert (or Rabbie) Burns,
a profoundly poignant poem, he did conceive.
Anyway, this wordsmith fascinated
by historical lyricist whose unbelieve
hub bull lee brief life, nonetheless
made a lasting contribution,
a psalm burr tune folks across webbed
wide world sing to grieve
of recent sorrows past, plus pay
homage to joys summoned from
deep within core of soul bellowed
forth with an exultant heave
perhaps unbeknownst to most Robert Burns
(25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) did leave
his lasting legacy, sans (as national poet
of Scotland celebrated worldwide)
particularly the classic traditional chestnut
auld lang syne rendered in many versions
waving white capping
New Year's eve celebration proud
accomplishments one did achieve.
Coincidentally, "Auld Lang Syne"
and "America the Beautiful"
at which juncture, I interject
a historical grace note to mull
how latter named above patriotic
song in the United States,
(lyrics written by Katharine Lee
Bates saw many occasions
after music composed by church organist
and choirmaster Samuel
A. Ward at Grace Episcopal Church
in Newark, New Jersey) dull
lighting oomph and pizazz, extant
since early 1900s, origin gin null
intent format arranged as poem,
"Pikes Peak first published
Fourth of July full
edition of the church periodical
The Congregationalist in 1895,
now sung by mull teat hoods at Super Bowl
every year since 2009, and appeared pull
say ting stadiums at some sports events
after the 9/11 terror attack hull
lob bell loo in 2001.
The song comprises four verses,
one of isung before kick-off
in NFL's showpiece game.
Just by giving cerebral activity free rein,
this inquisitive mind of mine
learned how twenty first century New Year's
celebration include auld lang syne
linkedin with feted mid eighteenth poet
laureate, whose death at thirty seven, his spine
tingling spirit issues forth to give
him immortality almost divine
everlasting longevity within the pantheon
of August artists who humanity did assign
an eternal place future generations will
revere such metrical design.
I grew up in Bath in the nineteen nineties
wearing short shorts over tighty whities,
while Bath were champions of English Rugby,
a beautiful city farfetched from ugly.
We played on Stilts and had Yo-Yo's,
skateboards with logo's,
Tamagotchi's, Slinkys and Pogo Sticks,
a string tied to sticks for Diablo tricks.
A lot wobbled, we played Wall Ball,
Smarties packets caused trouble.
Political Correctness didn't exist yet,
we wore Reebok, Fila or Hi-Tec.
We had Roller Skates, later Roller Blades,
out on the concrete in the streets we played,
as there were always lots of parking spaces,
space we used for running races.
We played Bulldogs Charge on repeat,
never stopping for the rain or sleet.
We played Wembley, or Heads, Volleys and Beats,
playing in the street our daily treat.
We played Kirby because kirbs were free,
40 40 in, also called Alien,
front gardens were a great WWF ring,
or we'd hit tennis balls tied to string.
Jumpers for goalposts,
or one and a lamppost,
cheated as we'd peek
playing Hide And Seek.
We played Knock Knock Ginger with its hiding,
or we'd get out our bikes and go riding.
We went Garden Hopping, never stopping,
played in the dark after the suns dropping.
We had Master Systems, Mega Drives or Nintendo's,
but were not reliant on technology inside,
we built Lego stadiums, played Subbuteo,
we collected sticker books, Pog's and trading cards with pride.
There was a fuzziness to Radio and TV,
we'd always sneak a peek at Page 3,
we watched films on VHS, played Cassettes or CD's,
or Conkers when they dropped from trees.
We only had four television channels to be flicking,
Saturday mornings were for Live and Kicking.
Bodger and Badger, The Chuckle Brothers, Rosie and Jim,
but you couldn't beata, bit of Blue Peter,
to Neighbours and Home and Away we tuned in.
When home alone emptied living rooms,
played football inside, 2-a-side,
cleaned up damage with brooms,
when parents got home we lied.
I'm proud I grew up in the nineties in Bath,
we had so much fun, so many laughs.
From no other time and place I'd rather be,
so here's to the nineties in the West Country.
Afghan Afghan wearing an Afghan
leg lifted high
a pissious 88 salute
and drenching thirsty
cactus masses
with needle arms
these masses
drooling acids
crass bands
of bandit masses
and the temperature over 140 degrees
erect hands
linger longingly
pining for more
opiated oblivion
opinions like onions
like reefer smoke weaving
inhalation-pant-breathing
half assed flags
and children try on roles
like play clothes
orphan, mourner,
time traveller
instant age
in the era of youth
exfoliators for sporeous pores
-swapping wives instead of recipes now
-foot taps not door raps in bathrooms now
-teachers teach sex ed with homework now
a world strong enough
to school us weekly
as we are fed weakly
we murder it
by not living Taliban-tech levels
but being regurgitated
Romans we
eating to excess
drinking more
sexing children
losing mores
we will circle coriolis
bring enemies in among us
and embrace
this pieceful islam of Religion
and die
one by one
as a people
who refused a Good God
will never take a violent god
and obssessed
with libertine dash liberty
will die
one
by
one
stoned, jaw dropping walldrops,
like head drops
in soccer stadiums
smile
this is your life
(but try not to get any turf in your teeth)
Once upon a time there were two families,
In which the husbands were confronted with choices,
The consequences of which could be condemning their wives
To a lifetime of pill popping and labelling,
Although neither were told that in such stark terms.
Both wives freaked out with one of their babies,
Both husbands were asked if they wanted their wives to be hospitalised,
One said yes and one said no.
One wife is now a permanently depressed and not fit for much,
At home mostly by herself,
Relying on copious supplies of pills,
And visits from the other wife who is from the same ethnic group.
And she never stops ringing the wife not on pills all hours of the day.
Her husband has never come out of denial and ovoids his responsibility,
Their daughter now in her twenties had barely coped throughout,
And may or may not escape her Mothers fate.
For a start the Mother not on pills was paid by Barnardoes,
To help and support the child and Mother,
But that was only temporary,
And pretty soon the family was unsupported and the pill popping increased.
Now the other Husband made a different decision,
The family had three children,
All got a high education and have jobs or about to.
Admittedly the husbands were of a different nature,
The one who said no was an early childcare teacher,
Who could take up the slack,
Including taking two of the children to work with him for a year,
During the rough times.
I don't regret my decision,
Even though our marriage is far from perfect,
Especially as we see the consequences of a a different decision most weeks.
My wife is now studying
And has friends and not alone to overthink and reach for her pills.
But I do find it hard not to be angry with the other husband and his decision.
We used to be friends but now he is too proud to even talk to me,
You just can't help some people.
But never mind we can can spend $50 million on a children's playground,
Hundreds more on sports stadiums that most will never enter.
And next to nothing on reducing pill popping as a solution to all our problems.
Know
something you don't know.
If you hear about Nyamuhunda Namusabwa
Who was married to Muhaila
Kahumbuluka
one of the princesses of Bavila
in the nineteenth century,
Sister of Prince Luhongeka Ngengethe Musabwa
and Lutambwe Kibaya Nyangamba Musabwa
you may ask
why did princess Namusabwa call her son,
"Baruti Musabwa Nalibwine?"
Who was Musabwa?
In 1956, when Kahumbuluka junior
Called his first son "Baruti Musabwa"
Some people were surprised
hearing that name again,
Because they wanted to erase it.
Calling the name "Musabwa" it was
disturbing the peace of many opponents
who were behind the murder of family members
of the late supreme king of Bavila
Musabwa Kamango.
Now
you know
who Musabwa was,
you understand why some roads
in southern Kivu are named
under "Musabwa"
You won't be surprised
to see some museums ,
Universities,
Stadiums
and monuments
under the name of celebratiled
bavila King "Musabwa Kamango."
If you hear the news about master prophet
Alfonso II Warally Ngengethe Musabwa Chris
Who prophesied more than a thousand
and prophecies more than five hundred fulfilled.
Don't be surprised
Yes...
At the beginning of the twentieth century
one of his great grandfathers died,
Fire came out of his grave
Many people were surprised.
This royal family was chosen
by Tata Leza to rule people.
Don't be surprised
Yes... In September 1960,
When one of his ancestors died,
There was an earthquake in Uvila
Which confused many folks.
There are some powers and authories
that are in some members
of this royal house.
Don't be surprised
Yes... In the nineteenth century
one of his ancestors was killed
Many strange things were heard in Uvila
which confused many colonists.
Don't be surprised
Yes... One of his ancestors
"Musabwa Ngengethe Mundi"
he prophecied and many of his
prophecies happened.
Don't be surprised
many miracles continue to happen
in the family of King Musabwa Kamango
as Yahweh God is with them.
fine isn't a road traffic fine....it is a fine of a finest fin favour flashing feverishly
FINE
Fine?
Fine is a shrine,
Not a mortified prawn,
Fine is a tail,
Of a cloud wisp at dawn,
But a fortified wine could build a fortress tunnel,
With undergrowth measuring the radius of ten thousand American stadiums,
The ocean dimension span of the world,
And space itself,
Wise to swim and not to dim as the only thing to remove is the undergrowth,
Like underwear,
Or a patio that has grown tall weeds,
Nevertheless it is wise not to sink or sail around aimlessly,
When the simple carrying of a plain shopping basket will bring home the eggs, bacon and squashed pudding ingredients,
Wow
Yawning on legs wins awards for dogs and guinea pigs,
But not for cats as they are too busy saying "chicken" and running around,
So that is that and that is this and this is that,
A hat on a seal is looking through the windows of many a coastal cottage,
And peering properly is bound to give the correct annunciation to excite even the towel rails, bowls, and cups of lemon carbonated tea with milk,
Oh looming looking leering liking leaping laughing lemurs,
Amazing aren't they?
They certainly think so!
But an automated switch of an automated atomic cake combustible could halt the proceedings in a flash of circling clouds,
And that would be very hazardous for the fishes as they are all dressed up and walking down the roads to the celebrations and beats of the finest fin,
Fine is a nine,
A numeral,
Fine is an emotional of innumerable activities of synchronous sliding shapes,
Fine is an archived peel of a fruit from an Astronaughts claps,
Drapes driving down daring dramatic drives,
Diving,
Delivering dreams,
Fare not a fork of flame that enjoys plunging into a cross crystalized chrysalis,
And take no tail from a beast in a tube of chamber in rubber casing,
Now all dress appropriately and sing la la la to the carpet cleaners
Z Astronomically Z at 3 fine bees passing 10 finesse of fin flash.
X
Form:
Modern Consternations of Lament
Contradictions and formulations of thought that bridge the edges of time
Benedictions and combinations that evolve into the refined
Jurisdictions and innovations that are galvanised by crime
Crucifixions in the courtyards of those who draw the cursed lines
A damsel in distress crying for all the loss that cannot be expressed
A shadow of progress dying while the youth look unimpressed
A moment of redress that’s logic-defying as it leaves me thinking I’m depressed
An ancient cultural head dress with colours electrifying a people that cannot be suppressed
Curious children at the gates of a billionaire peering out among the harems door
Spurious wills then hate the artist lying dead upon the floor
Furious villains berate the terrifying dread then perpetuate the horrors but what for?
Injurious killers negate the life defying leads that impact as they infiltrate the peace of the broken and poor
Acrimonious alimony for the wife and children while the fathers left to bleed
Sanctimonious sermons in the alley and stadiums of evangelical greed
Ceremonious services in the galleys of a political theorist bought down to his academic knees
Non-harmonious melodies causing sonic felony’s as they try to control what you see
Commodification of the spiritual as they sell toxic positivity
Solidification of the chemical as they try to buy more than just market productivity
Transfiguration of the polemical as the mood broods for civility
Modification of the heretical as we kneel down before the Nativity
Fastidious retention of a fact to prove a point that needs verification
Insidious inventions that detract from the joint venture of innovation
Mysterious momentum of a contract the won’t endure the effusive commendation
Odysseus intentions redact as the mention of epics make me cry out in lamentation
Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
How can I mingle with the poor, I’m a millionaire,
My intellect superior,
And the masses inferior.
I am a street sweeper, my name is Jane,
Passers by think I’m insane,
I am the sole earner in a family of five.
I have been voted in as a president,
Those idiots out there, who stand for hours,
Just to wave to me in heat, snow or showers.
I am an un-qualified plumber, I fix toilets and drains,
The hoi polloi insinuate I have no brains,
But it pays a doctor, and feeds us our daily bread.
I sing at concerts, I fill halls and sport stadiums,
Fans love me and know I’m a treat,
Four thousand dollars for a front seat.
I am a train driver and get home very late,
Dinner always on the table prepared by my mate,
My salary is meager but my heart full of faith.
I am a film producer and bring starlets to fame,
Nothing’s changed, they climb ladders as yesteryear,
Come here and do as I say, good girl, what a dear.
I live on this block and get paid for my tricks,
My mom died of drugs, and my dad from drink,
I was left holding the proverbial baby.
I am a porter and carry bags for the rich and famous
My work environment is a 5 Star hotel,
My digs in the back yard of a dump, with a bad smell.
MY INSPIRATION FOR THIS POEM
Did you watch the film ‘Don’t look up’
Where the rich ruled the roost,
And a comet hits and destroys planet earth,
Well, the film ends with the elite on a plane,
Anyone with wealth, power, or fame,
Flying to a destination unknown to the world,
Far from earth, a paradise they thought,
As they came down the plane stairs,
Filthy rich, all billionaires
Met by prehistoric dinosaurs
Who devour them, tearing all to pieces,
All life that descends from that plane, ceases.
Karma it seems does exist,
As depicted in this film script.
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree