Sport Memory Poems

Some of you, will in memory, may fondly recall.
Enchanting, colored dance floors, you all had a ball!
When women still wore stunning, gorgeous dresses, 
Unafraid to...

Read More

Why this inhumane suffering
A constant tale of slaughtering
Innocents who die
Forever in the earth to lie.

Do we need to see far more
All that suffering and gore
Lives...

Read More

My memory endures a tourniquet
as it tries to forget, while holding blood.
It used to sport a bouquet
as it tried so hard to boast.

Bouquet becomes tourniquet.
A...

Read More

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the house
My grandpa's fast at work carving a wooden mouse
In the spirit of St. Nick he bloomed...

Read More

A sport that holds a special place in my heart, 
A memory that will live with me from the start. 
The day I hit my...

Read More

I knew a place down by the brook 
where, in the breeze, the willows shook
and wary hare's in summers haze
would leap and sport among the...

Read More

The discomfort of dear soul
Wants elation and manic goal
Intoxication's sport on smokers' spot
Fascinating aromas and Jack Daniels' blot

Strolling out by getting drunk
In your charm I...

Read More

To snatch away those halcyon days
Under false pretenses of defense
To shatter your own convictions
Or to be so deluded by them

Recreate the world as you always...

Read More

NFL - National Football League

Football allows the world and fans to witness historical moments in time.
I am from New Orleans, home of the New Orleans...

Read More

When it comes to sport
Memory is notoriously short

Tennis great Jimmy Connors was 'the brat' when teen-aged
By his late thirties, his star ascended, he was all...

Read More

By Robert (Bob) Moore (©2015)

The gun shearer has gone now, like many other things
the shearing sheds are empty, and wools no longer king
gone now like...

Read More

by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015

I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20...

Read More

grandma's potato pancakes
reminds me of my wooden tennis racket
along with my three wheeler big wheel
drench however many with butter and some warm, 
equally buttery grits...

Read More

They walk with their sticks
some an ungainly gait
scarves around their necks
caps upon their heads
Heading for the same place
to sit and chew the facts
talking of the...

Read More

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my...

Read More