You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.

2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)

3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)

4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.

5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.

6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.

7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.

8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.

9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.

10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.

11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.

12. You write  Peyton Manning farewell poem.

13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.

14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.

15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.

I never fell for you.
I jumped!
I wore springy shoes.
That night we ******!

I wanted more.
You gave a smile.
It got serious.
You ran a mile!

Another lost love.
A memory lingers.
The thing I miss most...
Your healing fingers!

I reemphasized myself again
this time straightening my back
to become as tall as possible
to intimidate and deliver the
words like heat seeking missiles
aimed for earth’s ever-beating
heart and before I could begin
I heard a baby giggle
this made me giggle
and the whole bowlful of crowd
laughed along with us as I let
the doves flutter out of
my hat

For us,
The Super Bowl
Is poetry
In legal motion.

What's a simple man like me
Doing in this part of town
Especially at a time like this
When the sun is going down

I crank my Barry Manilow
Up on my cassette deck radio
Letting all the boys round here know
That I'm down with the sound and flow

That's when this old rusty Ford
Creaks up to the light
His girlfriend turns and gives a wink
And a great big green teeth smile

I get the notion then and there
That he's the jealous type
As he spits a wade of tobacco juice
All over my Pintos driver side

Steps down from his conglomerate
Lumbers over to me
The kids in school are sure to hear of this
As I'll soon be history

Roughly pulls me out the window
Shaking me off like a bad habit
Saw my life flash before my eyes
Luckily I had enough sense to reach out and grab it

Just then he catches the music
That's now playing loud and clear
Turns with a look plastered to his face
Asking who is that he hears

I tell him Barry Manilow
He's the one who writes the songs
Just then he starts a-humming
If he knew the words he'd sing along

His girlfriend calls up all their friends
Who quickly show up to the scene
Looks like we got us a Copacabana
With the lights flashing from red to yellow to green

It all came to a ******
As Barry, Mandy sang
There wasn't a dry eye on the street that night
As I quickly saddled my Pinto and drove away

I let out a huge sigh of relief
As I sped through all the lights
With "Looks Like We Made It" blasting through the stereo
Thanking Barry Manilow, once again for saving my life

I am trying to make the book see my name in print in the next edition
for the most reads of a poem on Hp with no hearts, shares , or collection reposts , sans comments, just ignored so well it breaks the records, if
Guinness has such a thing. Or possibly the most poems wroten bad
and worst punctuations, mark, my, word!

I am now so old
I only remember things,
Whenever possible,
That please me
From days “back then”,
When my **** was where
It was supposed to be
Now it walks along behind me
Like a lady in waiting.

My **** is like bunting
And my hair is hunting
For new territory
Up my back and shoulders;
It happens when men get older.
The hair on top thins
The stuff below begins
To reupholster my anatomy.
It’s so irritating to me
This whole aging thing,
This “being a senior” stuff.

It’s really rough on someone like me
An eternal teen, new to the scene.
But now I have become
That eccentric old fellow
In plaid pants that looked dumb
In the seventies and before
And forever after.
But I can’t join the laughter.

Because it’s me, you see.
All I need now is to pull them up,
My pants, my belt
Right under my man *****
And I’ll be the guys on YouTube
In the video gag reels.
That’s how it feels.
But, it’s not funny to me.
It is, however, reality.
I will just have to make the best
Of the good and bad, the rest

There was a girl from Dunoon
With thighs like a barrage balloon
When a man did her wrong
Her grip was so strong
He quickly met his doom

Ahhhh

          ----------------------

This kind of has me worried
As it's sort of getting late
When am I supposed to grow up
Once again has crossed my plate

Quickly pushing at the 60's
Quite the unfamiliar scene
Still stuck in adolescence
Those that know me, know what I mean

You would think that at some point in time
I would have had enough
And somewhere down this age old line
I would have found time to grow up

But as the game is played so far
So far with what I've found
Maturity may not be for me
In the cards this time around

Guess I'll leave be with the degree handed me
And the cards I have been dealt
Handing this growing up business over
To everybody else

i'm going to tell it like it is
you're a despicable little imp
telling me to chill and mellow
when i should bloom and fly
but i now know better than cry
and i won't wilt because you're sly
it's time for me to branch out without you