Tennis Racket
My old tennis racket loves to
be called
Doctor Racquet and
affects
medical uniforms.
My favorite game has a shuttlecock.
You can hear my shrieks around the block.
People come running looking for detective chalk.
Thinking I was killed by a moron’s Glok.
You see I am not much of a sports jock.
During hopscotch I can barely find my rock.
I noticed today that I ruined my summer frock
Badminton has torn a hole in my new lace sock.
People are standing along the gray sidewalk.
This racquet game they had better not knock.
I watch my cohort give them a quick pickpock.
These Items I will later help her hock.
We’ll take them to swap down by the pirate’s dock.
I enjoy seeing the sneaky way she doth stalk.
Wallets disappearing, oh, what a shock!
They will be stirred up for days, talking the talk.
Sweltering summer temperatures
and warm sultry summer nights
left me scratching my legs red raw
I hate receiving nasty insect bites
I’d slather bare limbs with cream
that the chemist had given me
Bites are an issue that I live with
itchy red legs are quite unsightly
Every beach dress skims the earth
and I ensure I spray all my skin
But these heartless hungry critters
find a gap and they get stuck in!
I’ve spent all my hard earned cash
yet have been unable find a cure
Why can’t these creepy crawlies
abstain, their bites I can’t endure
A friend suggested that I purchase
a new-fangled electric bug racquet
It zaps the pesky bugs with each swat
and E-Bay didn’t charge me a packet!
The package arrived back in May
with my electric zapper I’m smitten
I’ll carry it with me all summer
I am certain I’ll never get bitten!
Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Letter O has been omitted
Rhyme checked with rhymezone
06/17/21
Well, my left sided hand just isn’t my fave,
I don’t let it do anything,
If there’s ever a contest of “Who is the best?”,
My right is the one that will win,
It can’t button, can’t write, can’t hold a cold beer,
Can’t handle a racquet or ball,
It can’t do little tasks in day to day life,
No matter how big or how small,
But my right hand it can, it holds a place in my heart,
My right is right by my side,
My right hand has always helped me along,
Ever since I was the littlest child,
As a matter of fact, I’ve a wonderful plan,
A plan I might start later today,
I’ll go on a holiday, just my right hand and me,
To a beautiful place far away.
Starting with the toss up
I’ve made an unforced error
I’ve only gone and followed through
Squeezed the jissom out the old fella
New balls (and pants) please – love all
I think your ace
With a backhand that’s made for passing
On top of a lovely forehand
With a lovely high toss that’s absolutely smashing
Sure you moan and groan
But I love the racquet you make
Lets have another rally
Are you sure you’re not courting
I’ve a changing room free
If you fancy finishing me off
With a serve and volley after
For anyone who knows me
They know whose shirts I buy
Have you noticed what I’m wearing
That brand is Superdry
Their shirts I have aplenty
And T shirts quite a few
I even have their pants and socks
Oh and a rucksack too!
As you can tell I am a fan
I like them such a lot
So much so that they call me
When they are out of stock
I walked in there last Friday
I was standing by the door
I had chosen a new T shirt
And wanted just one more
I stood there for a moment
Deciding what to do
Should I have that green one?
Or maybe one in blue?
A young assistant then approached saying
“Are You Alright There?”
And I almost did reply
“As opposed to..where?”
In fact I knew for certain
Where exactly I should be
I would have gone to Tesco’s
If I wanted bread or tea.
Maybe perhaps in Sports Direct
To purchase a new racquet
And not in Superdry at all
Whose shirts they cost a packet
Nonetheless I love their stuff
I have money, I can pay
I even have a voucher
That I will use today
So If you’re working in that store
Don’ t use those words again
Please just let me browse in peace
For a shirt that’s check....or plain
Zila 'the killa' chinchilla as he was known
Sat in his villa on his golden throne
He was a marvel a maverick a real joker
A prancer, a chancer, a lifelong nonsmoker
Our boy 'the killa'.
Never mediocre, always bodacious
With girls he was, I say, flirtatious
Feeling alive never monotonous so audacious
Fur so soft they cried "goodness gracious".
That a boy the killa.
He put his looks to use
Cringey styles gave him abuse
On the catwalk flawless a real Zeus
Shuffling on four feet he did enthuse
The little bugger was let loose
Our furry friend the killa!
He did play hardball he made a racquet
His fame put him in a new tax bracket
Shops now selling his slick leather jackets
The naysayers who said he won't hack it
Killa's chirping like a feathery blue tit
Our dear old friend the Killa!
If there's something the Killa can teach us
To profit in this world you gotta have guts
Analyze that minus and change it to a plus
He made no fuss he never cussed
Call him a wus he will go nuts
He's one of us, the Killa!
Start
The great tennis legend Roger!
Watching his game is a pleasure
The first service is a bullet
That hits the court like a mallet
The adversary is confused
Just misses getting bruised!
Challenges the absence of line call
Replay shows the trajectory of the ball
Referee’s verdict, ‘ball is in’
He grumbles and calls it a sin
To use the racquet as a gun
Denying the opportunity to run
His returns are the best in the sport
Ball is directed to the corners of the court
His drop shots are precisely done
Ball just crosses the net heavily spun
If the opponent manages to return it still
He’s crouching at the net ready to kill
There are times when it’s not his day
All his game plans go astray
He struggles to turn the game his way
That is when pretty Mirka starts to pray
Seated in her box she closes her eyes
Appeals to God with her silent cries
Lo behold! The game turns around
Everyone in the court is astound
The final score board says it all
Liebling Roger no longer with his back to the wall
He acknowledges cheers for his guile
With a clenched fist and triumphant smile.
End
I play my life like my kind of sport
I face opponents in badminton court
Racquet and shuttlecock on hand
Just flick the birdie to the other end
In high clear the quilled rubber flew
A sure defensive stance I often threw
Preventing a smash, parrying a score
Thus, the shuttle lands on the floor
The green court is wide and long
Knees must be fast and strong
Calculated serves oddly placed
Unreturned, I can score an ace
I seldom position myself at the back
Mostly in front to deflect all attacks
Drop shots to elude sharp drives
A kill will deflate opponents’ pride
In the middle, when the rally starts
That instant where I need to be smart
Flicked, pushed and dropped a net shot
The umpire called fault, although I was not
I may lose today, I might be in pain
But I’ll be back tomorrow to play again
I live my life like a badminton game
I play for fun and not for fame
I met the buddha today sitting under a tree
told him violence was the only cure
that no bald hippie
would ever set the world free
like a tension spring he jump to his feet
his face on fire
no trance of that sublime meditative state
without a word of comprise
or a attempt at a debate
he kick me in the balls
battered me black and blue
shoved a tennis racquet up my ass
as i laid there in tremendous pain
how i wish i kept my mouth shut
and just walked on past
as he rolled my aching body to nearest ditch
he whispered in my ear
karma can be a evil *****
Many tennis teams, come to our valley
It is rumored they "volley" with Sally
All those balls in one court
She will have to resort
To a scorekeeper's card to keep tally !!
____________________________
For Roy's Contest: Bawdy No. II 6/16/14
Winders protection racquet?
DODGE COOKIES USE CNTRL SHIFT N....INCOGNITO BROWSING
Yes winders bloody winders,
The bastard’s bogging up today,
And the cookies bloody cookies ,
Are a loaded, loaded hey,
So you clear out the cookies
Keep the passwords dumble dumb,
Or programs will krapp about all over,
Wheres me password, grumble bum???
And they are selling you protection,
From the vicious scum sucking scum,
Written by the virus protector,
A protection racket mum,
Lots of money in it some?
Should we go get-um friggin Linux,
Not much virus work for some,
Is it any less frustrating chuckle dux,
For the idiot my chum ….
Add to it hey
Don Johnson
Guide and guard that mandate
Using all gadgets like a racquet
within the bracket.
Against all bandits and pirates.
Tho' it's after the similitude
of the mantle on Elisha from Elijah
which made the former to sell all his cattle.
Unknown to him, it was a miracle
Luv, retire from that racket
All because you aspire to acquire a rocket.
It may end like a cricket
or lack a backdate to lactate a rebate.
It's beyond a debate amongst your classmate,
roommate or age mate.
It's carrying an expiry date not minding your data base.
Man-date says you are a man with dates.
You said you wanted to play tennis.
This is a great morning for playing.
It’s nice and warm and the sun is shining.
I bought a brand new racquet.
Now you say you’ve changed your mind.
Where are your balls?
AYE RIGHT
Written 6 May 2008
So the guy
In the Right Guard advert
Has "had a bad day"?
Excuse me if I don't
Shed any tears
On this jumped-up eejit's behalf
A dressing down from the boss
When his powerpoint presentation
Doesn't go down well?
Try drawing the Nat King
With hungry kids to feed
A real living hell
A rogue tennis racquet
Sends a dummy's head spinning
In an embarrassing incident at the mall?
Try security guards
Turfing your gin-soaked carcass
Out in the rain
When you try to kip in their hall
A key breaking in the door
So his night of passion
With a beautiful bird is put on hold?
Still much better than
A sherman over the Daily Star
And the worst imagineable paper cut
On one of the folds
I wonder how this idiot
Would deal with genuine grief
And despair?
He'd need more than
A can of Right Guard
To stop the sweat from
Flooding everywhere
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.