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We were teammates
We suited up
We showed up

We weren't stars
But we rolled in the dirt
With the best of them

Our blood ran red
Like the rest of them

Our sweat tasted salty
As the most athletic of them

Wounds and bruises
Ached like the most
Stalwart of them

We were Bulldogs!
We anted up our
Gifts and talents to
Forge a winning season

A flair for humor
Wry observation,
Encouragement, fortitude
And intelligence were as
Valuable as speed,
Agility and strength

We all pined for the
Affection of cheerleaders,
Bandmembers and the
Adoration of fans

We equally joined
In the chorus of
locker room banter
And honored the
Confidence of camaraderie
Such intimacy bares

We endured thankless
Adversity, while wending
through anonymous toil

As brothers
We grudgingly drank
From the vile cup of defeat

And passed the chalice
Of victory among us
To share the savory
Taste of triumph
As champions

The Duke of Wellington
Said “the battle of Waterloo
Was won on the fields of Eton”

I trust my teammates and
Not forgotten friends
Tasted sweet victories of
Happiness and success
As they coursed through
Their prodigious fields of life

And at games end
I hope their heart swelled
With pride to know they were
A beloved and Valiant Bulldog

David Irving Korsh #75
BCSL Champion 1973
Rutherford Bulldogs

Well done Valiant Bulldog

God bless and Godspeed

Music Selection:
Bruce Springsteen
Thunder Road

5/5/18
Puyallup
jbm
the passing of a former teammate
Dan Filcek  Apr 2015
Guardian
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
observe the reader,
this semi-mythical figure
watch a blank white wall slowly turn into a mural,
a tapestry of vivid vignettes
captured by a team of illustrators.
stimulating and fiercely polite.
sandal-wearing earnestness,
curious, questioning, quick to laugh.
Bite the hand that feeds, but not too hard.
pull for the powerful and the talented,
the wittiest and best-designed,
the strongest for features,
the one most likely to reflect modern life.
disclosing its own sardonic wit.
This is where its culture has changed.
a farrago of power, corruption and lies,
The story erupted across all the media.
shining a fitful light on the mucky machinations of power.
the trail of dirt led all the way to the desk.
speaking truth to power
a defining moment in history.
a nice obit without going to the trouble of dying.
abiding belief in the free market
the seeds of its demise.
millions graze on it for nothing
This is not boom or bust, but both at once:
these millions of hits won’t pay our salaries.
The web giveth, and the web taketh away.
the knife had come close to the patient’s vital organs.
a chance to sculpt as well as to slash.
twiddling the knobs on digital.
glimmerings of light
you can learn new tricks.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source - https://www.1843magazine.com/content/ideas/tim-de-lisle/can-guardian-survive
van Young  Oct 2018
When I Died
van Young Oct 2018
When I died
No one cried
A few sensitive souls surely tried
But never showed their shallow fallow feelings from
the visceral side

The Rent-A-Rev Chuck did his job
Even though he had no idea who I was
He delivered the obit with adequate wit
Which was worth half a bucket of warm spit
The printed program carried only one of my semi suspect
social grass roots cause

I was not a bad man
Never a sad man
Super lucky by comparison said
A smart *** brain in a medium sized head

Generous though
With a slightly bent bellowing sick humorous flow
Just like butter meeting a warm knife
Unconditional Love presented itself and was enjoyed
three or four times in my life
Yet no one was left to give a good *******
Not that it mattered for just another man

All known relations had gone before
Now the end of a short line in time
Had breathed the last reasonably fast
And took the long slow brightly lit walk toward
North Shore

When I died
No one cried
Travis Dixon  Feb 21
wound
Travis Dixon Feb 21
the white race, paunched,
couched in lazy righteousness
steeped in knee-**** fright of us--
terrified by the sight of
our history of shamefulness
in every passing headline
and obit crossing the line
that makes the deadline,
day by deadly day
due to the arrogance of men
who refuse to even listen
to the obvious injustice
pouring since i don't know when--

our nation's deepest wound
forever reopened to bleed again
and again
and again
and again

— The End —