'hooping' poems - Hello Poetry

Eric Clark Sep 2011

Hooping to me is bringing everything to the court
Basketball is a passion, not an ordinary sport
I play defense like a soldier, defending his fort
You have to go hard no matter what, if you shooting a lay up or a three
When I'm on the hardwood, I lose my mind and go free
I imagine myself not Eric, but the man who wore the Bull's 23
I won't be in the NBA, but I'll be the backyard Kobe Bryant or The City Park MVP

zebra May 2019

BECAUSE YOUR'E WORTH IT...Manga

zebra May 2019

BECAUSE YOUR'E WORTH IT...Manga

slash, gay, romance, grind house, love, boyxboy, ****, fanfiction, angst, horror, death, ******, fantasy, race play ****** sadist ladies friendship, lesbian, school, fanfic, hate, lgbt, music, sad, adventure, alex, boys, cut, emo, harry, humor, hurt, lgbtq, magic, mental, anorexia, aris, axl, blood, blue, boy, boy love, boyfriend, ******* ******* boy on **** spank me daddy burn, cute, dark, drama, edward, fan fiction, pom pom **** dance, femslash, fiction, fluff, gay ***** fun love, toilet slave, hula hooping hula
Because you're worth it

Silver Hawk Aug 2013

Time

Silver Hawk Aug 2013

Time

There are those that want it
to come to a complete halt,
frozen solid and white,
like an ice sculpture
stuck in a peculiar pose.
This is the only way
to stop that heart-wrenching
moment,
that robs them of their blue skies.

Then there are those that want it
to quicken its footsteps
and flip by, like the pages of
a notepad giving motion
to squiggly drawings,
in order to get the next paycheck
or start that dream job.

Me? Every now and then I want it
to make a stop by the side of the road
and enjoy a leisurely doughnut,
maybe join in on the freckled giggles
of the little girls hula hooping
on the concrete pavements,
and sing nursery rhymes of
broken eggs and fiddles.

But sometimes I just don't care
whether time shoots up the skies
or gets weighed down with iron,
especially when I've got
my favorite chicken goulash
served with fine couscous
on an afternoon such as this one,
where the sky frowns with dark clouds
and spits angry beads of rain.

As far as I'm concerned,
the brown-eyed little boy
on the corner of the street
could be the keeper of time,
making sure it walks on nonchalantly,
with no regard to people's wishes,
leaving in its wake footprints of
sadness, joy and everything in between.

Trinity O Feb 2012

For More Time

Trinity O Feb 2012

For More Time

We will calculate
the weight of your last few months
by measuring the angles
of afternoon sunlight—
fiber-optic puddles with receding shorelines,

and we’ll rain dance every night
for more time.
In my quiet house, I’ll make you
a deep bed with seven layers
of patterned sheets and pink pillows.
Those little bunk beds
that dad built for us,
remember? That we kept
well after our feet dangled over
the edge.

I’ll say to you, remember
hula hooping until our hips bruised.
Remember sneaking out in our pajamas
to the night grass
and calling after constellations
who were not yet born,
who would never be.

Celestina Waters Mar 2015

Tiny Abduction

Celestina Waters Mar 2015

Tiny Abduction

Sitting in my backyard
Soaking up the rays and watching the ants
Suddenly beside me was an ant who could talk
Sure as can be he asked me if I would like to see where he lived
Sadly I said no I needed to practice my cart wheels and hula hooping for the evening circus
So what did the little ant do?
Shouldered me upon his back and marched down a hole that opened before us
Small now I could not believe he had abducted me
Sorry I forgot my hula hoop as perhaps my skill might help set me free
Singing with his ant friends, I was led to the chamber of the queen ant
**** and sleek was this producer of her community
Smile!
She comanded
Silly, I grinned and did a dance
Sigh
Slight of her hand she waved me away
Seems I didn't impress her a bit
Shunned, I was escorted back to the doorway
"Stupid human," an ant squeaked
"Surely with your circus skills we expected much more entertainment."
Softly he put me back on the grass
Some time passed before it sunk in
Stolen by an ant, on a sunny afternoon, was really quite super

I wanted to try writing a cute poem where every line started with an "S"

Quinn Dec 2012

let

Quinn Dec 2012

let

let me love an artist so we can breathe in each other's fumes and get high off of creation and wonder.
let us spill out paints and ink and words and ideas onto a wooden floor and watch as it's corroded and falls away, level by level, until we're so deep that we're reaching into the dirt that surrounds us and slapping it on canvass like cavemen once did.
let you see me fully and not as the crazy girl who can't stop hooping and dancing and moving long enough to see straight, understand that when i run from face to face it's not because i don't want to love you so hard that i'm exploding, it's just that if i don't look into new eyes once in awhile i shrivel up and begin to fade.
let the world look at us and understand nothing, but feel a strange sense of desire to be so unique and drenched in the secrecy of the tiny universe we've created between us to house the wild way we wander over this earth, documenting piece by piece through our hands, eyes, and hearts.

Jeni B123 Nov 2014

Where I am From

Jeni B123 Nov 2014

Where I am From

I am from great grandma Jenny and her distinguished rose.

I am from summers at the beach and heavy winter snows.

I am from a bustling home and a yard bursting with imagination.

I am from a family where “head over heals” is no exaggeration.

I am from “Wait, whatʼs your name again?” on my very first bus ride.

I am from a brain full of secrets and “thatʼs classified.”

I am from the six legged octopus of matching Hello Kitty shoes.

I am from hidden forts at Teusinkʼs made of “rare” bamboos.

I am from cannonballs into the green and blue hut tub.

I am from the old Branch Office that sometimes refused to budge.

I am from soft green grass and sapphire blue skies.

I am from the back of a horse as the world flies by.

I am from cartwheels on old wooden balance beams.

I am from backflips and handsprings on trampolines.

I am from stitches, strained muscles, broken fingers and nose.

I am from insane barn sleepovers where only the glow-stick glows.

I am from dancing, biking, and hula-hooping through Wal-Mart.

I am from B-Town and Profession of Faith that really touched my heart

I am from Tulip Time parades and twirling my baton.

I am from so many things, the list goes on and on.

I am from my remarkable family who loves me in every way,

But mostly I am from God, and Heʼs why I am here today.

#friends #memories #family

Clindballe Jul 2014

Pain

Clindballe Jul 2014

Pain

Pain, scars and lots of flaws
Lying about sharp cat claws
Saying this will be the last
All to forget the hurting past
Hiding it with long sleeves
Hooping no one will leave
Never to feel this alone again
She learns to live with the pain

Written: July 16. - 2014

#pain #alone #leave #flaws #hurt #lying #lie #scars

Cassie Stoddard Jun 2014

An ad for my future lover. for my "if soulmates exist" soulmate

Cassie Stoddard Jun 2014

An ad for my future lover. for my "if soulmates exist" soulmate

I always lose my shoes. I eat a bowl of popcorn every day and never put the bowl in the sink. My hair doesn't always stay in the right side. I told my sister that I wish she killed herself the other day. I have terrible attendence. Deodorant covers up my smell but not my stains. I don't write good enough. I don't like sleeping at night. I'm lonely and I make people leave.

I love deep. I can make kick *** deserts. I tell funny ****** up jokes. I make a mean *** of coffee. I like to swing. I like to dance in the rain. I know every word to the frozen movie. I have good taste in music. I'm impulsive. I like coffee and mini golfing and ice cream and hula hooping in the store.

If you hear me when you are crying wondering if you'll ever meet her. If you need a lover a friend a companion. If too sensitive and slightly child like makes you smile. If your heartstrings play music when you read my words.

Then love me back as much as the moon loves the sun. As much as my galoshes love a puddle. As much as a smoker loves the taste of the inhale. As much as I would love you.

I would love you.

matthew scott harris May 2018

divine heathen lurches philosophical

matthew scott harris May 2018

divine heathen lurches philosophical

index finger of left hand
     (likened to Michelangelo
meticulously chiseling away
     at marble block), this poe
whit attempts to coax (zealously
     tap into his latent indivisible quo
shunt, sans self imposed

     quotidian literary endeavor slow
lee witnessing, an emergent
     reasonably satisfactory, though
hooping unbeknownst readers
     (perchance even a scribe from Yugo
Slav via) will only resort
     to lard out positive unsolicited feedback,

yet this scrivener well aware
bluntness evokes
     fulfillment loud and clear
inflating jowly machismo thru ether
narcissist quintessential rabid glare
     unpretentious vain warbling yakking

     zither plucking boastful demonstrably
     fatuous haughtily immodest luminaire
dismissively smug,
     sans literary endeavor aye share
thus, tis one objective when attempting
     to corral rampant thoughts,

     (that charge hither and yon, to and fro)
     at pace of greased lightening tear
chasing hash-tagged elusive
     Smokey and the Bandit
imp posse sub bull
     back to the future of 1977 year

temporarily abandoning awoke
motive, i.e. initial challenge,
     viz going for broke
to sweat blood and tears
     digging deep within noggin, or choke
myself if merely draw blanks

     versus (beginners blind luck), and evoke
accolades accidentally
     tapping into creative
     (qua literary) mother lode
     joining belle lettres authored folk,
whose metier comprises compendium

     of alphabetized words
     receiving surprising windfall
     asper pig in a poke,
novel idea after nostrils emit smoke
the amazing dragon
     within (sol fully bellows)
     finding me to feign taking a smoke

aware fame and fortune,
     where a written best seller brings renown
can essentially only be verbalized
     as a pipe dream from this clown,
who best **** sitter
     living hard scrapple

     (scrabble playing) hand to mouth shuffling
     along (the littered boulevard
     of rejection slips)
     wearing out one after
     another of me buster brown

shoes, perhaps posthumously
     gleaning raving reviews,
where famous names
     amidst cadre (espousing
     wife fours smiting
     social injustices extant loose

zing potential harmonic convergence,
     whether gentiles or Jews
throughout all foursquare corners
     of the world wide web
an economic eclectic diaspora,
     where underbelly of civilization
     pay heaviest ****** dues!

#hire #height #far #dip #leisure

— The End —