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Carlo C Gomez Apr 20
~
Love is the painting
every heart hopes to achieve,
sifting through seldom
looked upon pictures,
we came upon this masterpiece:

The little boy pensive
just to hold the hand
of his darling,
and skipping along
we played to this game,
giggling in each other's ear,
yet, with only sweet innocent thoughts.

The daytime summer sun
meant a twirl in the air,
a ride on the swing,
and an ice cream to share.

As children love
was an amusement ride,
just leisure fun we never took seriously,
as adults love achieved art,
developing a magnum opus
rich in its own poetry.

The young man proud
just to hold the hand of his darling,
and strolling along their game matures,
they whisper in each other's ear,
yet, with each word the balance
of their intimate thoughts so rest.

The dazzled moonlight of evening
means an aura in the air,
the anticipated kiss it will bring,
and maybe an ice cream to share.

We were never good at every sport,
but somehow this one
came so natural for us,
and so we too were an art
unto ourselves.

~
Written June 28, 1989 in Williams, Arizona.
Star soldier with the rocket arm,
you bleed silver, gold,
and product placement.

Smile big for the camera,
the media will sell its soul
for a new bankable face.

Party hardy, Heisman candidate,
******* your semi-steady's
sorority sister,
then ask to see her again
sometime after the **** kit.

It's quite alright,
so long as you have talent
beyond this hemisphere.
Why even the fatherland, ESPN,
will gladly call you "son."
sophie Jan 19
10.
she plays soccer
it’s
ok?

her coach is flamboyant
and loud
and nice
and she feels

so so very small
even though she is goalie
and has big feet
and spidery hands

she faces a lot of doubt
in goal
at home
on the court where she practices

is she valued?
is she liked?
do people think she’s ok?
does it matter?
social anxiety.
If you score it like baseball,
It’s nothing,
A perfect game
For both parties,
A marathon
With no ribbon at the end.
I’ll push that rock up the mountain,
But it always rolls away.
Playing tennis with a wall
Often ends in self defeat,
But I get lost in the heat
Of competition.
I have a premonition
That I’ll break it down,
Chip by chip,
Brick by brick,
But rubber’s got nothing
On masonry.
A poem about the grind of trying out life, testing yourself against yourself, and the futility of measuring up to anyone else.
Shreya Aug 2020
I miss the days I used to go to school,
I miss the blue uniform,
The oversized hoodies
And the black uniform shoes.

I miss the days I used to go to school,
I miss sneaking in snacks in the bus,
And the food fights with my friends.

I miss the days I used to go to school,
I miss the sports classes,
When we ran rounds together as punishments,
And made excuses to sit back.

I miss the days I used to go to school,
I miss classes where we passed chits,
The times when we did last minute homeworks,
And covering up for your absence.

I miss the days I used to go to school,
I miss you, my friend,
I miss your presence,
And all our times together.
I really miss school a lot :/

PS: this is a poem my friends and I worked on (online) for a class project. Hope you like it :)
David P Carroll Aug 2020
Football is here
And we're all going to cheer
The happiness and joy
They bring I can't deny

Football always on my mind
Apart from my beautiful wife
So let's put our feet up because
We all love the beautiful game
Because it's simply the best

No other sport is as exciting
No other comes anywhere near
Football we all love to cheer
And lots of atmosphere
Lots of drunks so come
Along and lets sing a happy song

The beautiful game
Is back let's get together
And all cheer
All the children playing ball
Even my granny kicks along

And the goals they score
And thousands cheer
Action all the way
And the fans come and pay

Football is so beautiful
Football is so true
And while she's watching love Island
I'll be watching football all day long
So come along and lets all cheer
Together all day long..
Football love 😍
haley Jul 2020
you are
sitting there,
watching me
from the sidelines,
sipping on your lemonade,
telling me that
I can make it through

the blood
the sweat
&
the tears

however
when the timer runs out
you say
"maybe next time"
'cause the goal still wasn't made
Mike Velve May 2020
Within my hand I held it strong
Notwithstanding its weight prolonged
The burden carried, the weight parried
I wish I had but just some clarity

It was precious, precarious, and persuasive
My yearning for it was but invasive
Like the ring its presence grasped my mind
Was it really the type to be kind

Many have sought and called it mine
But only for a mere instance in time
Joyous contempt filled the others
Who were not blessed by Olympus’s mothers

Intangible yet it could still be held
Was it the fire which had really meld
The fortitude of its past successors
The pain incurred by its predecessors

If it’s Ares who carries, it’s very scary
Bide, the burden is deeply buried
Through thoughtful triumph will prevail
The victor who holds the true avail

by Mike V.
Any Advice?
Lily May 2020
red
i. a mother stomping through the house
her feet like a herd of elephants
smoke out of her ears, whips out of her mouth,
love out of her heart

ii. lights flash like a dream
cold surface of the stage lit up
with moving hip hop souls
music reverberates and then

stops

iii. shower flowing as a waterfall,
fists against wall, tears across face,
hair in mouth as the demon takes hold
and the surrender to sobbing begins

iv. the whole town is shut down,
stores closed, championship signs,
sweat in the eye, rainbow bruises
and frozen cheers are captured in time,
in the reflection of the trophies on the shelf
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Locker
by Michael R. Burch

All the dull hollow clamor has died
and what was contained,
removed,

reproved
adulation or sentiment,
left with the pungent darkness

as remembered as the sudden light.

Originally published by The Raintown Review

Keywords/Tags: Sports, locker, lockerroom, clamor, adulation, acclaim, applause, sentiment, darkness, light, retirement, athlete, team, trophy, award, acclamation



Tremble
by Michael R. Burch

Her predatory eye,
the single feral iris,
scans.

Her raptor beak,
all jagged sharp-edged ******,
juts.

Her hard talon,
clenched in pinched expectation,
waits.

Her clipped wings,
preened against reality,
tremble.

Published by The Lyric, Verses Magazine, Romantics Quarterly, Journeys, The Raintown Review, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, The Fabric of a Vision, NPAC—Net Poetry and Art Competition, Poet’s Haven, Listening To The Birth Of Crystals (Anthology), Poetry Renewal, Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (Iranian/Farsi), The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Tremble, predator, raptor, hawk, eagle, falcon, talon, beak, wing, preen, preened, preening



Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
"I love you," in the ordinary way

and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering, white ...
indescribably in love. Or so we say.

Your hair's blonde thicket now is tangle-gray;
you turn your back; you murmur to the night,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Beneath the sheets our hands and feet would stray
to warm ourselves. We do not touch despite
a love so indescribable. We say

we're older now, that "love" has had its day.
But that which Love once countenanced, delight,
still makes you indescribable. I say,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne poetry contest; published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal and Poetry Life & Times
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