The soccer ball rolls through school days
By Phan Tan Hai
The ball rolls across the schoolyard grass,
mesmerizing the boy who chases it—
kicking until the afternoon snags on the hanging moon,
kicking until the morning sun climbs up to watch;
even Pelé comes to gaze from the veranda,
shouting in a jubilant, midnight dream.
The ball bounds wildly in every direction;
clutching it, he roams the streets to challenge others—
any open space becomes a pitch,
kicking until summer sun and spring rain fade away;
even Messi would be astounded
to see a childhood kick soar high in the dead of night.
The ball travels through school days,
rolling past hills, mountains, rivers, lakes, and distant seas;
with a single strike, a rain of blossoms falls—
an offering to the boundless realm of form and void.
Waking at midnight to gaze across the ten directions,
he sees a thousand clouds drifting past the sun’s rosy glow.
Detroit Rolls Royce
Actually a “Cherry Picker”,
A Royce costume,
Disguising Yonah’s rise,
Repairing Balmore’s eruv slicker,
Faster than a Lamborgini volume,
But TA’s Gabbai is wise,
Checking wires needs a “Stickler”,
An observant Jew who doesn’t assume,
Taking pains to apprise,
R’ Ribiat is a George Washington “flicker”,
Both are Fathers, Yonah of the Ribiat Bloom,
Detroit Tiger & Lion prize,
Ty Cobb wore knickers,
R’ Ribiat a “Bekesher” plus reads volumes,
Hears Baila’s sighs & cries,
Eats Kosher, laughs never snickers,
Enjoy to 120! Adar zoom resume!
Chaim & Barbara
I put up a fight:
A daring battle
Of love's delight,
Proud fears, rattle...
But when drum rolls...
Hopeful care consoles
My daring aim unsettled.
A pair still to play,
Warming up for game.
Two paths before us lay:
A path to victory; other to shame.
But when drum rolls...
Courage meets controls,
My anxiety becomes settled.
How should we start?
At a distance together,
Or of just, closely apart
Forever against weather.
But when drum rolls...
Puzzle sets on patrols
To parade memories behind.
Deal yet be accepted,
Fate yet to decide...
Persuasion intercepted,
Where considerations reside.
But when drum rolls...
Regrets set off goals,
Against time long mind.
Sunshine or rain?
Choose one now,
Don't wait in vain...
Before sealed to vow.
But when drum rolls...
Arsenal binds our souls,
Maybe right or wrong choice.
This is a booster,
A common in us.
Though an adjuster,
To keep silent, fuss!
But when drum rolls...
Check my written scrolls
Your eyes evidently rejoice.
We see too much with mortal sight,
Yet truth still hides beyond our light.
Though science builds and minds invent,
With clever tools and wise intent.
Smart farms arise, the waters flow,
But life itself? God makes it grow.
His Hand is veiled, yet ever near,
In every sprout, His touch is clear.
Though hearts are torn by sin and pain,
And bitter fruit is ours to gain,
The Cross stood tall where mercy bled,
And love revived what once was dead.
Because He lives, we plant in trust,
Though soil is dry and tools may rust.
We sow with hope, no fear nor haste,
And leave the rest to Heaven’s grace.
So let us work with steady hands,
For growth and yield are His commands.
In faith we toil, in love we stand
Though harvest rolls in at His command.
A ceaseless exhibition that stings,
Amongst matchless marvels on world screens,
A pleuritic pain to my soft breath it brings,
Subtle slight pulses caught in baleful scenes.
A blooming rushed pseudo sketch,
Like a snap in harsh lights at a clumsy stretch,
False fury flows through spectators’ veins,
With replays, the cloud of claims still rains.
The loud, jarring noise engulfs the lone truth in flight,
The sleeping streets stir at looming blight,
An unfairly tale, in ink it seals—
An art too stubborn for truth to repeal.
Whether the clear lines finally chime,
The intense stormy atmosphere claims the rhyme,
An erosive strong wind whirls the hail falls,
But a wonderful nature it remains, bravely it rolls.
A colleague once gave me, on paper,
A recipe written by hand
For Passover rolls
And one of her goals
Was for choices I’d make to expand.
Though they can’t substitute for a bagel
Or some sourdough or seeded rye,
For the holiday week
When some bread I might seek,
They’re a stand-in on which I rely.
When I make them, I’m thinking of Mildred,
Though I’m certain that she is long gone,
But when I form the dough
Into roll shapes, I know
That her spirit I’m carrying on.
The thunder rolls as the sky flashes bright.
The clouds roll in as the lightning strikes.
The children all tucked in snug in their bed,
as mom walks away, "I'm scared", they all said.
You hear that sound, she says, the thunder rolling,
Do not be afraid, for it's only God and his angels bowling.
But the lightning, they cry, it's just so bright.
Oh that lightning, she says, means God has bowled a strike!
It's a fun game to watch and listen to,
you see God and his angels like to have fun too.
Let's lay here for a while, just listen to the rumble.
I bet when God plays, he is very humble.
Let's count all the strikes when they light up the sky.
Tell me, little ones, who can count that high?
One big rumble, one loud strike,
as rain rolls in and fills the night.
As we lay there counting one strike, two,
the worry passes from each of you.
Slowly they drift off, peacefully rest.
If in your dreams you bowl with God, remember my loves, just give it your best.
Calm castle of cards,
hold that hand close to your chest.
Festooned with clover
a soft wind rolls through the mote,
goosebumps raised by a gamble.
The clapboards of the church pews
are as loud Praise print on a hymnal
collection plate showerless blessing
bell rope dangle art on a dusty floor
prayers of silence hallow the rafters
sunset gifts bits of stained glass life
Faerie man perched on the end of the mermaid’s bowl.
How in the world did you wind up in this horrible hole?
Mermaid swam over and said “It is not so bad.”
They feed me cinnamon rolls, made by the dad.
What are cinnamon rolls? Asked the faerie that day.
After he tasted them, he also decided to stay.
It was a comfortable place, and they were treated well.
What else do you need in the place that you dwell?
On the first day of summer
the sun warms my old bones
as I watch the last rhododendron blossom
give itself to the earth;
time rolls over the woman and the flower.
Hand-made globe
In silver-gold robe
Is it so round?
Perfection profound?
Reflecting on rivers
In winter, shivers.
Like a rough stone
Sometimes, wind blown
Tries to get in homes
Through windows and domes
Though seems flawless
Isn't it, often, callous?
deep thunder rolls loud
sky lights up like christmas tree
from window I watch
"I wish the dark door of yesterday would close."
Quote by _Constance
My dad taught me about nature,
I loved the trees, birds, flora and forest,
and used my words and canvas to capture it.
Then, dad died and I plunged into grief,
but, I found the courage to climb into the sun !
Three eggs roll into a bar
one says: "Hey, this place isn't all it's cracked up to be."
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