If freshman year was aspirational
and sophomore year was unhinged
junior year was put up or shut up
and senior year is a dash to the finish line
This year’s on fast forward—and it’s for keeps
every to-do list has value-laden questions
things seem sharp edged, single use and intense
it’s all about trajectories and ‘landing spots”
Let’s wax poetic..
Produce now, or spend fury on thyself—all else is untenable
we’re past youth and ignorance—your honour’s at stake
Suitors call you by name, like well-acquainted friends
they took your measure—you’re beyond the mark of others
they seduce with money—the future brings liberty and noble deeds.
So don the the garland and prove thyself—take the field
join the battle—now’s the reward—aidless, perpetual toil
with every motion be right, it’s thy shunless destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Headstart For Happiness by The Style Council
A fiery glow envelops those assembled
A revival meeting, uncannily resembled
The vast amphitheater packed to the gills
Worshipers revel in vulgar thrills
Once the festivities are underway
The skies blacken to an evil gray
Viewed: Prurient pleas for salvation
Heard: Satanic shouts, incantations
As knights of darkness and light take the field
To beer, blood and lust all inhibitions yield
America, in the throes of gluttonous shame
~ forgets that 'Super Sunday' is just a football game
I bravely gird myself again
to do battle
at morning’s first light
Unsheathing my sword
to take the field alone
for I have no allies
A warrior weary of the fight
my armor dented and rusted
having long ago lost its lustre
I will gain no ground
There will be no conquest
no prize
no golden crown or throne to win
Victory is what it has always been
since the moment of my birth
Surviving another day to stand
despite my many wounds
my blood like claret
from a broken bottle
dripping in the dirt
where every flower I’ve
ever planted in my life
has been trampled
before they could bloom
by the enemy rushing upon me
determined to strike a blow
from which I will not rise
No one will tell tales
of my glorious deeds
long after I am dead
When the day is done
I’ll lay this battered body down
to rest in an empty bed
THE SWEET SCENT OF FAILURE
I will speak in praise of failure
Long unrecognised: its worth
But with loss I won’t regale ya
Of its grieving there’s no dearth
For the striving and the yearning
That sweet savour of success
Counts for nothing in our earning
With no challenge and duress
It would be of no avail
All that travail and the vying
With no chance that you could fail
You would triumph without trying
He who walks upon the sea
With no fear of inundation
May surrender to ennui
When he’s performed one more flotation
Picture living out a dream
Goals accomplished - end of track!
Always on the winning team?
You’d tie one arm behind your back!
It’s the chances of defeat
That give each day that added zing
Hold back on that job complete!
If you’ve no new flight to take wing
So next time you take the field
Think: “It’s a game! To lose - no sin”
Then with honour, brace to yield!
And give my side a chance to win
Aye, Mikey, the Banshee's wailin'.
Closer. Ever closer. Spurred by your fears.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do? What to do? The Banshee's drawin' near.
Nay, past deeds are no salvation.
'Tis your fate, Mikey, all but sealed.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do? What to do, when our Sooners take the field?
For this Banshee's clad in Crimson;
And the wailin's that of Sooners fans
And their Sooners that you've sadly failed,
Once among the greatest in the land.
Aye, 'tis Malice the Crimson Banshee's wieldin'
There's naught but darkness in your fate;
And the wailin; oh, the wailin'.
Not long will the Crimson Banshee wait.
So, drink deep from your flagon Mikey;
Ease your confusion; rest your mind
From the wailin'; oh, the wailin'
For the Crimson Banshee's never kind.
And when you hear naught but the wailin'
It means the time for leavin's come.
Meantime, the Crimson Banshee's wailin', wailin'
"Fire the bum! Fire the bum!"
It’s a brand new year.
Time to take the field.
Spring, summer, and fall.
The bats, balls, and gloves
are tools of the trade.
Top of the heap.
That’s what we want.
The other teams
following us.
It’s first place
at all costs.
You do
one thing
Win
!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!
Win
You do
one thing
It’s first place
at all costs.
Top of the heap.
That’s what we want.
The other teams
following us.
It’s a brand new year.
Time to take the field.
Spring, summer, and fall.
The bats, balls, and gloves
are tools of the trade.
The grass is green on the field today.
Another baseball season is under way.
“Play ball” is what the umpires will say.
We all cheer for “THE” team of our choice.
It is a favorite “GAME” throughout the nation.
The stands are composed “OF " many a resounding voice.
We give our “BASEBALL” heroes a standing ovation.
The month of April “IS” the beginning of the season.
Spring training games were “PLAYED” before the start.
The teams are banking “ON " going all the way.
To make it through “A” long season, you’ve got to have heart.
Players, lets take the “FIELD” and play ball today.
I gave this poem nine lines to signify the nine innings in a typical baseball game.
Robert Pettit for the “Middle of the Road” contest
Sponsored by H Garvey Daniel Esq.
Just like football i am..."
sitting in class working my tail off.
Practicing for hours
so, I can wear a letter on my arm.
The day of the game has come.
All my friends wish me luck.
King of the halls is what I've become.
I can hear the fans chanting my name.
Nauseous and scared I take the field.
Praying not to fumble the ball
I'll never live it down.
This is my time to shine for once.
Hands in the grass, ball in the dirt.
Stadium lights shining bright.
Take the field one last time.
As helmets collide and dirt is flung.
The ball is thrown and that’s down one.
With ball in hand I make a break,
running down the field, going all the way.
Touch down!
I won the game.
Football contest
Here in this ballpark, it is the early April spring.
The local boys take the field to do their thing.
A sellout crowd was on hand to cheer the team.
The team had plenty of support, it would seem.
Our boys came up short with the score today,
but there are many more games left to play.
Whenever the team loses, it is a shame.
Please remember, it was only the first game.
There is one great big fact everyone should know,
there’s a hundred and sixty-one games to go.
Two great teams take the field
In the end one must yield
Does destiny not await fate
Two quarterbacks who are great
As giants collide on the line
Receivers catch in perfect time
Backs with power and speed
Rise up to spread their seed
Although, once again in the end
Defense has a message to send
New Orleans can finally grin
As the, “Saints go marching in”
Even though one team had to lose
Every player filled champions shoes
What a game huh, "I reckon,
"who dat," proved who they are.
Written for Brian's contest.
Competative teams take the field.
Tha inspiration the hunger the glory they feel.
For the home team the visitors will not yeild.
The dreams they're living out are all real.
The excitement the game brings when your team wins.
Makes another game worth watching for a chance to feel it again.
what is this field of dreams?
that breaks into us like bad seams?
why does it bond together to form one, like teams?
or cloud our vision like some type of steam?
we must embrace them with our whole self,
and never treat them like an old trophy and put them on a shelf,
keep them in the soft palm of your hand,
if you do they'll warm up your life like the soft touch of beach sand,
so go ahead and take the field in this dream game,
and play it all out,
without any shame.
Dennis Rockholt