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Kellea Tibbs Apr 1
They might as well have said
that March was canceled
Because that's what I heard
When they announced
There would be no basketball
No basketball
Those were the words that echoed through the college campuses, the dorm rooms, the high school gyms, living rooms, and sports bars
around the world.
So no sweet sixteen
No final four
no watch parties
Or wagers being placed on
Your favorite teams
March always comes in like a lion
But this time
It came in
Like a giant rhinoceros
With social distancing
And excess hand washing
This virus
This 100 year plague
Has turned our every day lives
Upside down
And forced us all
into a new world order
A new world
Where sports is
No longer king
No longer a priority
And no longer important
And I don't even
Like basketball
Really not many sports
To begin with
But I'm very much
A fan of tradition
And giving kids
A chance
At a last hurrah
A final dance
A final prom
If you will
But no basketball in March
Is like
Telling everyone
With a birthday in the month
That they were never born
Its as if all the scores,
All the stats, all the records broken
Never existed
When you tell us
There will be no
March Madness
Faith Hull Mar 23
Mamba
impossibly human
the bite, the strike, the temperament
When threatened, the mamba comes out
Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike
The mamba is relentless
His venom coursing through the veins
Of his foolish challengers
His coal black eyes, hungry
Defeating, intimidating, vicious
The mamba bite is always fatal
For he has no antivenin to defeat him
No mortal power can wither him
To the dust
Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike
The common name of the snake
Is given to no common man
Only the name of the fastest, most protective, most aggressive,
Tallest, biggest, lethal-est snake
Belongs to the man with the biggest, lethal-est presence
Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike
Formidable anywhere he is placed
Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike
The crown of the kingdom sits
Comfortably atop his temples
Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike
How fitting
The world’s deadliest player
Be called after
The world’s deadliest snake
In loving memory of Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gigi
Carlo C Gomez Feb 12
Ever since I moved to a different time period, I get the strangest mail.

Letters commissioning Michelangelo
to paint the Sistine Chapel.

Elizabeth Bennet's missive to her aunt
promising pony cart rides at Pemberley.

Long lost IRS tax forms belonging to Abbott and Costello.

Leonardo Da Vinci’s Job Application to the Duke of Milan.

Even Grace Bedell's charming correspondence to Abraham Lincoln, suggesting he grow a beard.

I should have known something was up once I discovered Karl Malone was my mailman.
One of these letter writers is fictional. Know which one?
Antino Art Feb 1
Dear Basketball,

Why am I not six foot six.

If I could reach just a little higher,
I would score you with ease.

We’d make a winning team.

You’d be my world
spinning on the tip of my finger.
We’d shoot for the moon
night-in and night-out,
with no fear of falling
because your gravity
is the force that
grounds me.

We’d have a bounce to our step:
you striking the pavement
like a war drum and me
walking on air
with my head in the clouds
of Southern California.

We'd turn soaring
over expectations
into a high art.

Imagine this: the first
sub-six-foot Asian minority
in the NBA
wins the MVP!

And they would pay us!  
Never mind the money.
We'll earn a wealth of respect.
We'll command conundrums.
Coaches across the league would
call us a problem and
scratch their heads drawing
up defensive formulas on white boards
named after us.

I realize that’s a long shot.
I'm taking it.

You won’t even see me flinch

even if you did hit me
between the eyes
and broke my nose
on that inbound play,
I’d grin
in the face of the opponent

like how my four-year-old girl
handled pneumonia in a hospital bed,
I will emerge from any cold spell
with child-like hope
and a Gigi-like game face,
jaws jutting out

Because adversity
is what brings out greatness
and struggle
is what proves you
are still alive.

I could be trailing
by 20 for an entire game

I could have zero points,
but no doubts
that the next shot is going in.

I'm taking it.

Even if it means
fading away
into the darkness
over multiple hands
outstretched with
our goal that is the basket
nowhere to be seen

I'd throw my hopes and fears
into the wind for you,
regardless of what the defense throws back.

If basketball is a religion,
then I am a devout practitioner,
putting up prayers from behind the arc

And when things don't bounce our way,
I won't blame you.

Defeat reveals what you're
fundamentally made of,
so I will work on my form:
fingers along your grooves,
toes pointed ahead,
follow through.

I will work on my endurance:
hustle beats skill any day

I will work on passing you
and the wisdom you bring
to the next generation,
so they can score whatever it is
they dream

I will work to give my daughter
the best possible shot

I will lead by example.

Championships come and go:
what we are working towards
will last forever

And guess what, Basketball?
I will still be far from six foot six,
making it very hard to play you well.

That’s no excuse.
That just means I will practice dribbling low
to the ground and moving
like a shadow beneath their feet.

No one can guard
what they can't see coming:
we'll fly under the radar.

I'd give you the best of me
to let you bring out
the beast in me:
an apex predator
with a forked tongue
through bared fangs
and black skin thick as
battle armor

No amount of hisses and boos
can block our shot.

We'd go the distance,
crossing over
into the unknown and
through whatever
physical and emotional
contact comes next

I will hit the floor for you,
rise up
and sink my free throws
on a limp.

If I needed 81 points
to win you over,
I’d bring back each one
in an autographed bucket,
even if it takes 82 games to do it.

We could spend a long,
loosing season together,
and I would still wake up at 4 a.m.
to see you
in an empty gym,
while dawn turns the sky
from purple into gold.  

I’d savor every drop
of sweat the comes from
running back and forth
for miles in your shoes
between your two bottomless baskets.

I don't care how tall I am.
We are chasing the footsteps of
immortal giants,
if only to write our own legends
that will never die.

Even if I had just 24 seconds
to do it,
I’d spend every last one
believing in miracles.

It’s a long shot,
but together,
we can’t miss.

Long Live You,
Your Number One Fan
Lily Jan 31
I was bleak
Dying upon the floor
I wished I had sought
The lost
The rare and radiant, the angels

Here
In the recent wake of Kobe Bryant's death, we should all be reminded that we shouldn't take people for granted.  Say what you feel while you still have the chance; you never know when those people will not be with you anymore.
Defied gravity,changed the game’s formalities and all you have to say is mentality. For the lord of the rings mastery to appear images of 81, a man who shots ended so many suns and trailblazers. Your impact was nothing short of a Big Bang crater, a creator to so many future hoop legends that’s why I’m writing “Dear heaven” cause he did more for us than any lakers possession. A father even in the end, I salute as your jersey ascends there will never be another bean Bryant again.
shogunzoe Nov 2019
Rally back like troops.
Blaze courts with awes, that's worth two.
For the love of hoops.
Original:
Over the top like
alley-oops. It's worth two. We
back like rallied troops.
Megan Hammer Aug 2019
Swinging in a hammock under palm trees, I’m taken away;
into a swing on a playground where we used to live.
Pine trees work together with the heat waves that bathe us.
My sister is playing the boys while they play basketball.
She doesn’t see that they are planning a move, but I do,
and I hope she’s got a trick up her sleeve.
At fifteen, she sneaks out every night,
out of the window with no screen.
She goes to see Michael who I don’t like.
I think he’s up to no good, but what would I know?
I’m just a five-year-old.

Swinging in a hammock, I’m taken away;
into a swing on a playground where we live.
My brother rides his bike with his friends,
and they talk about baseball cards and the next game.
And the grass is always greener when he’s around –
my mom and dad grab the camera and make the most out of today.
But my dad is not his dad, which bothers no one,
though my brother is always a little mad.

Swinging in a hammock, I wish I could be taken away;
into a swing on a playground where they lived.
I sit in dazed exhaustion from a long day –
there are no sounds of running feet nor voices chanting names.
There are no baseball cards nor boys nor basketball games here.
I don’t know where Michael is, and my sister doesn’t go out anymore.
My brother doesn’t ride his bike anymore, and his next game ended up being his last.

Swinging in a hammock, I stare with strange, confused longing
at the branches above me;
the branches that bend into each other against a clear blue sky
I have not known for a very, very long time.
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