Bazball fall.. still so livid
Nightmare is so so vivid
Like the day of the Triffid
In OZ were just so timid
On the ropes so so vapid
Dopes burnt hopes acrid
Defeat tropes so so rapid
Prime time to be candid
Cool fools just so flaccid
No bans ECB plans placid
Our also-rans.. so insipid
Pans Fans who are so avid
Fancy Dans woe so rancid
Badgers crow so so rabid
First it made me curious
Then it turned to furious
That men disguised as women
Could claim they were victorious
For in our youth the teams we chose
Did not measure length of hose
Some girls were chosen, often first
Cuz we picked from best to worst
There were no signs, no chanting fans
No up and coming also rans
Cardboard bases, tarmac field
No one to make the traffic yield
We became who we were not
In that tarmac parking lot
We became who we were not
And none of us were ever caught
John G. Lawless
©4/27/2023
The sky was filled with starlight,
clear as transparent glass.
Yet everyone seemed uptight -
the judges who ruled en masse,
earthly stars who shone over-bright.
A winner would be chosen tonight -
one whose talent could not pass,
one whose speaking would ignite,
one whose manner boasted crass
one whose dress was way-too-tight,
Miss Nomer true, would have no might.
yet she’d become the favored lass
who'd speak out for her city's spite -
in a state of civil impasse,
with its past of assault outright.
The sky transparent filled the night
the starlight was but broken glass.
The also-rans who rued their plight
attacked Miss Nomer's verbal sass
who stood her ground with sharp backbite.
September 5, 2021
The great white North can relax now,
The raptors lost their seventh game
And like the other also rans…
Go play some golf out on some greens.
They gave it all a real good try
But, Boston was the better team.
Maybe next year they’ll better do
After the trades they make are done.
High game intensity they lacked…
Needed a level much higher.
While some like Lowry gave us that
Some others could have given more.
The great white north can relax now,
The Raptors season’s disappeared.
Now, we, like they, can take a break…
Watch hockey games or watch baseball.
W.C.Hull © 2020-I53-K54-19-L63-19
Every day is a gift from God
in His providence, He has a plan
for in His love, He seeks us out
making sure we'll not be also-rans
This is God who made all that's made
from before eternity, God has always been
He's set His heart on lost mankind
showing His love on this was very keen
God calls His people to repentance
even willing to help them find this
in His power to turn from their sin
mighty love proves never to miss
Jesus came down with a purpose
showing sacrificial love upon a cross
dying for sinners who He loved
shedding His blood at His cost
God has shown His love so perfect
shown by Jesus love at Calvary
His steadfast love endures forever
this dear divine love will never sever
(Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever!
Psalm 118: 1)
Rans nets, which bind and trap.
Ensnare and incapacitate all who swim in the oceans of life
I tangle thy golden skeins.
Your pearlescent webs that move in the voids between the 9 dimensions.
Your webs of final fate that float and dance between the worlds.
Ensnaring everybody in the 9 planes and all existences
may your golden Webs ensnare the wrongs
done to me and right them.
If you’re Buttons, the Prince or the house servant Cinders’, When life closes doors it then opens up windows, and when faced with life choices only you can decide, if a Princess or Prince hides in you deep inside. It’s not contacts or money or courses you take, that make you the person who you yourself make. You can blame old boys networks, your colour or gender, but decisions still separate ‘also-rans’ from contenders. So before you start whining that life isn’t fair, or pinning your future on astrology or prayer, remember the world will not meet your demands, and what you will achieve is in only your hands.
At the beach in your bikini
blowing off those also-rans
you posture in your playful way
with Gucci sunshades and
the latest Grisham novel.
At the gala you're exquisite
in your slinky cocktail dress.
Simple, black, short and sexy,
you shimmer like a morning mist,
the chandeliers are dancing in your eyes.
At the condo in your nightgown,
(the antithesis of sex),
tucking in the kids
and softly singing them to sleep,
you're Wonder Woman in your plastic curlers.
I know I have the best,
without a doubt, it's true,
whatever outfit you put on,
my 'winner' still is you!
These Are Mountains
Trying, failing,
second best,
In front, behind,
betwixt, beyond
The also-rans
and hard pressed,
Are destinations
of which I'm fond.
In love, out of love,
left behind
Somewhere, nowhere
and inbetween,
Where pity mongers
and unkind
Crowd the places
I have been.
Happy, sad,
ambivalent,
Up, down,
on level ground,
Incommunicado
and vigilant
Are the hideaways
I have found.
Reaching high,
laying low,
A puppeteer
with costume torn,
Bold as brass
and incognito
Are all the faces
I have worn.
Doubting feelings,
holding back,
Weeping, laughing,
feeling sorry,
Black is white
and white is black
This is my fate
my life, a folly.
Peace, happiness
and finding love,
Seeking, keeping
and embracing time
To escape the gloom,
to rise above,
But these are mountains
too high to climb.
© RJVHorton2015
He hand-hefted garbage cans,
Dumping the debris onto a truck.
He was one of life's "also rans"—
A boozer, a loser, absent of luck.
His name was George, some say.
But "Wino" was his "given" name.
Gulped a gallon-plus every day,
Yet he seemed reasonably sane.
Years without protein did him in—
Bones were as brittle as glass.
He fell one day when drunk as sin
And collapsed into a mangled mass.
I wonder who picked up the pieces
Of a life that had gone all askew.
No brothers, no aunts, no nieces
No one to claim George's residue.
That fact should not come as news.
While he lived, none came to his aid.
It wasn't for the absence of clues;
They marched in the "me" parade.
The losses tug at my heart,
With a force never congruent with materialistic entities.
Even as two replaced two,
Comparison vestigial and always untrue.
The crease created below the essence of survival,
And his continued sustenance of effort to that maintenance,
Never can be begot by penance.
Inducing such short-lived moments, since only possible by also-rans,
Resolute sustenance rendered him unmatched yet tainted glory,
In my world-windows.
Was he adept at calm and storm and blunders galore!
Alas! Revisits remain mired in lore.
When first married,
I could not cook. There
was no complaint
from my young groom
saint. Because of me,
he endured Chef Boy-
ArDi, and also-rans from
lots of cans. Never
prone to expansive
praise, save a mild retort
if his bride fell short
of grooming perfection
that went by the book,
a simple retort, "I KNOW
how you can look."
That was his worst, all
the while becoming a first-
class cook-- I, his kitchen
scrub nurse. And,
after years of leaven
as good bread
must rise, we honed
a marriage forged
in heaven.
At the beach in your bikini
blowing off those also-rans
you posture in your playful way
with Gucci sunshades and
the latest Grisham novel.
At the gala you're exquisite
in your slinky cocktail dress.
Simple, black, short and sexy,
you shimmer like a morning mist,
the chandeliers are dancing in your eyes.
At the condo in your nightgown,
(the antithesis of sex),
tucking in the kids
and softly singing them to sleep,
you're Wonder Woman in your plastic curlers.
I know I have the best,
without a doubt, it's true,
whatever outfit you put on,
my 'winner' still is you!
Since spring forgot to come and winter stayed,
My garden is untilled, seeding delayed.
A sodden March ran damply through each day.
I hope for April to remove the gray.
Each April is reserved for tulip tours.
The brilliant colors are delightful lures.
The tulips are attracting avid fans,
While other crops fill in as also rans.
Our valley is a beauty in the spring,
But spring is not here yet and that’s the thing.
We pray the sun comes out and is on time
For merchants to attract the tourist’s dime.
So now it’s up to April to perform
To give us days that are spring like and warm.
So tourists can find beauty and some fun
And I at last can get my yard work done.
At the beach in your bikini
blowing off those also-rans
you posture in your playful way
with Gucci shades,
the latest Grisham novel.
At the gala you're exquisite
in your tiny cocktail dress.
Simple, black, short and sexy,
you shimmer like a morning mist,
the chandeliers are dancing in your eyes.
Home in your flannel night dress,
(the antithesis of sex),
tucking in the kids
and softly singing them to sleep,
you're Wonder Woman,
let me make you dinner!
I want to scream:
"The competition's done,
we have a winner!"
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