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#superbowl
It’s a chill and rainy Saturday night in New Haven - it’s Superbowl eve! My roommates Leong, Anna and Lisa and I were playing a game of Upwards - it’s a scrabble-like word game and we’re all strangely super competitive. My phone went “dunk!” A happy ‘Water jug’ sound messages make when they're from one of my favorites. The message was from Charles. He was at the front gate with a package that came to the house where Charles and Mrs. Charles live (about 600 yards from the dorm). He passed me the package through the bars at the main gate, “Thanks,” I said, “ga-night,” and he was gone. Back in my room, I ripped the box open like Christmas morning. The word game could wait - this package was from Paris. The light beige, Jacquemus, ‘Les Ballerines mary-jane pumps’ I’d ordered (forever ago) had arrived and they fit like soft leather gloves. “Ooo! Glampse!” Lisa pronounced. “Aren’t they?” I agreed, swiveling my hooves to show them off in the full length mirror. When I rejoined the Upwards game, talk had shifted to tomorrow's Superbowl. “I read yesterday that Taylor’s on her way (to the Superbowl)!” Leong declared. “I like that she likes the NFL now,” I said. “A lot of people hate her for it,” Anna countered. “She was on camera twice, for 11 seconds total, in a 3-1/2 hour long game. If that upsets you, you’re bringing a lot of your own baggage to the plot.” I updogged. Leong wants to order vegan “wings” for the SuperBowl. “What, exactly, are those?” I asked, apprehensively. “You’re the girl who talked me into trying buffalo-frog-legs in Paris - ney?” Leong enquired, sarcastically. “Yeah,” I admitted, guiltily, “but they were delicious,” I said in self defense. I’m picking the Chiefs 30-20 over the niners.
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Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 11:48 PM UTC
superbowl
It’s a chill and rainy Saturday night in New Haven - it’s Superbowl eve! My roommates Leong, Anna and Lisa and I were playing a game of Upwards - it’s a scrabble-like word game and we’re all strangely super competitive. My phone went “dunk!” A happy ‘Water jug’ sound messages make when they're from one of my favorites. The message was from Charles. He was at the front gate with a package that came to the house where Charles and Mrs. Charles live (about 600 yards from the dorm). He passed me the package through the bars at the main gate, “Thanks,” I said, “ga-night,” and he was gone. Back in my room, I ripped the box open like Christmas morning. The word game could wait - this package was from Paris. The light beige, Jacquemus, ‘Les Ballerines mary-jane pumps’ I’d ordered (forever ago) had arrived and they fit like soft leather gloves. “Ooo! Glampse!” Lisa pronounced. “Aren’t they?” I agreed, swiveling my hooves to show them off in the full length mirror. When I rejoined the Upwards game, talk had shifted to tomorrow's Superbowl. “I read yesterday that Taylor’s on her way (to the Superbowl)!” Leong declared. “I like that she likes the NFL now,” I said. “A lot of people hate her for it,” Anna countered. “She was on camera twice, for 11 seconds total, in a 3-1/2 hour long game. If that upsets you, you’re bringing a lot of your own baggage to the plot.” I updogged. Leong wants to order vegan “wings” for the SuperBowl. “What, exactly, are those?” I asked, apprehensively. “You’re the girl who talked me into trying buffalo-frog-legs in Paris - ney?” Leong enquired, sarcastically. “Yeah,” I admitted, guiltily, “but they were delicious,” I said in self defense. I’m picking the Chiefs 30-20 over the niners.
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15
Please Pogo music, wake me up. The night, now reduced to warm laptop light, is inching toward dawn. I pray to the patron saints of writers - is it Neri or Ávila? Whichever is on call I suppose. “I’ve indulged in reprobation,” I confess, openly to the fuzzy, waxing, crescent moon. “I need that alchemy that turns coffee and a rough outline into an actual paper.” I yank off my hoodie, fling my window open wide and hang myself out like wet laundry. Have you ever tasted ***** Vile stuff really. The forty degree breeze feels like heaven and my eyes begin to focus. I peel off my leggings to let my entire skin tingle with cold. My Keurig beeps confidently. I found a couple of peanut energy bars in my bookbag and rip them open like a ****** who’s discovered a forgotten stash. I devour them so quickly it’s like a magic trick - then I brush my teeth. I take several slow deep breaths. I can DO this, I assure myself, but my outline looks adequate at best. I need this done so I can relax with a super bowl party pizza Sunday. The song “Data & Picard,” sets me to dancing, “It’s better to have loved and lost..” Patrick Stewart as Jean-Luc Picard pronounces, perfectly auto-tuned to the music. I love this song. I love the night. I love the challenge. I set myself to the task and finish, three hours later, as the sun breaks into morning.
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Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 7:28 AM UTC
***** plus essays
I re-post this most every year on Super Servile Sunday: Super Servile Sunday O sink not down to that corrosive couch, Docile before the Orwellian screen That regulates the lives of the servile, Dictating dress and drink, demeanor, dreams Declare your independence from the sludge Of vague obedientiaries who fling Away their empty lives in submission To harsh, diagonal inches of rule Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped While costumed in their masters’ liveries And feeling little while thinking even less The very model of the State’s non-men Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts Crowded, herded through cosmic cattle chutes Reflected in dim, noisy nothingness. But you… But you, O you, be not of them, but be A wanderer in the moonlight, one known To God and to His holy solitude.
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Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
Super Servile Sunday
Minding my own business Hanging out with Irène I heard “you’re perfect”! What does this mean? Don’t think much of myself Bumpy hard skin, scars a plenty Someone thinks I’m awesome Fine with me just let em I had to be cut open and gutted To see my true beauty Had to say goodbye to Brad Been there for me, it was his duty Look how beautiful we are Irène! Creamy, soft, luscious to the taste I’m so happy we are in the bowl Did I just hear many yells of praise Grown men with helmets on Throwing around a ball Everyone wants some of us Yelling at their screens over a call Who’s that Irène? He’s something! That’s Chip! He’s handsome I say Strong perfectly salty and built I hope I can meet him today Now it’s me and Chip forever Irène set her own sights At this Super Bowl party Crunchy smooth love at first of  many bites
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 12:38 AM UTC
Me, Irene, Brad and Chip
O sink not down in that corrosive couch, Docile before the Orwellian screen That regulates the lives of the servile, Dictating dress and drink, demeanor, dreams; Declare your independence from the sludge Of vague obedientiaries who drowse Away their empty lives in submission To harsh, diagonal inches of rule Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped, While costumed in their masters’ liveries, And feeling little while thinking even less The very model of the State’s non-men, Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts Crowded, herded in cosmic cattle chutes, Reflected in dim, noisy nothingness But you, O you, be not of them, but be A wanderer in the moonlight, one known To God, there in His holy solitude
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Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
Super-Servile Sunday
It's that time of the Patriot's year Postseason playoff games are in full gear The road to the Superbowl, I cheer But not for the big, bad grissly bear That takes every opponent's fate without fear That's right the big bad bear without peer I'm snickering the Patriot's to cry a tear Nothing would make me so happier, I swear Fricken, dicken, bitchen Patriots beware To see another Bostonian tea party, I glare I do show respect at the Patriot's lair Brady and Belicheck what a podded pair Steady, stoic and simulcast, condescending I declare You see a Patriots playoff loss is so rare Their team profile is beyond compare A well oiled machine that wear Goliath close over David with regular fare The road to this year's Superbowl Sunday, I say a prayer That the other teams flag is flying patriotically in the air Logan Robertson 1/11/2019
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Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
No To The Patriots Road To The Superbowl
The miasma and the spectacle come, and yet, now gone another year of football dreams another winner, drawn Home to ol Liberty, the bell having hit the super high note apex of every football dream contracts to negotiate, and quote as is, with every team Sleep well, Dallas cowboys sweet dreams to Viking kings another year, football dreams of trophies, and the glories and not just, another ring
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Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Eagle Feathers
It's football night America no one, took a knee the day is done, we know who won Eagles, flying free It's football night, America no known controversies the game is set, never fret Patriots found, the key We'll know, when the dust settles just what, and who, will be living in America on football night we'll see
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
Patriots VS Eagles SB LII
Eagle's flew out of the night something, too observe stretching, straining, every flight requiring, every, nerve The Vikings came, and went unable, to procure a win, a victory, tonight unable, too, endure We'll see, two weeks hence which symbol will surpass Eagles or the Patriots who is first, and who is last
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Eagles fly true
It's Amendola not Motorola not Penszola or Pepsi-cola Pat's on a roll-a to Super Bowl-a It's Gronkowski not a Jetski not a concuss-ski he'll be back, see Pat's on a win-ski to Super Bowl-ski It's Tom Brady no way is shady not like a lady history made-y Pat's not afraid-y Super Brady It's Belichick'ed no defects not a speck stuck out his neck Kraft, Pat's exec what the heck Yes I've said it I'll take credit SB LII Pat's live not die..
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
And, I'm not a Pat's fan, go figure
Superb Owl sat in front of his TV. The more he ate, the more touchdowns he'd see. The more he drank, the better did his team. Let's all share Superb Owl's superb scheme!
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Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
Superb Owl
The broncos won And I'm still at a dead end job Didn't even watch the game, I was too busy washing trash cans. Heard about it through some magic rectangle. The kids call "social media" about all the different things Lady Gaga looked like when she sang the national anthem. Heatmiser, pizza rolls, Dolly Parton Because one time Dolly Parton wore a red suit, Which I thought was kind of a stretch. I saw a commercial saying that more than 400,000 babies are born 9 months after the super bowl. You know what else is right around that time in February? Valentine's day I don't think I've ever been less **** than during the super bowl. Nobody looks at their man Half covered in Beer and nacho grease stains And goes "oh baby, that buffalo sauce gets me so wet" "I just wanna grab a fist full of your hair bend you over these pizza boxes an~" "No" "No" "N~I mean, I'd be into it" "No" My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now. They have her doing laundry in a musty basement with middle aged Mexican woman. It's apparently awful. "Ruins the magic" she says. Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked doing her make up Wig cap and undergarments. Snow white with her nose up asking for kombucha Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets Let alone my intern girlfriend. Who says these princesses would sooner **** a man covered in nacho grease. Then show her any respect. I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that. After watching the play hairspray when they yell "CUT! " and the actors go back to their miserable lives,  I figured it out pretty young. This middle class manifesto Where making a livable wage is our life term goal. But she is the faithful type. Loves her a good miracle. Like when she found out she was pregnant. Was She had already lost him. Or her I was over 3,000 miles away With another man she was drinking herself to sleep Praying to some porcelain god for me to stop I'm sure the morning sickness didn't help Her depression Or hangovers. Or the will to tell me, The man already greiving over one lost daughter we had lost another. Before we even knew she was there. I only tell her I love her. She says she needs me around because I’m a taurus. I have no idea what she means by that. But I love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets. And her still believing in magic. She gives me something to dream about while I wash these trash cans. Like watching hairspray together Her bending me over some chicken wings. Our little Princess.
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Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
Princesses
The broncos won And I'm still at a dead end job Didn't even watch the game, I was too busy washing trash cans. Heard about it through some magic rectangle. The kids call "social media" about all the different things Lady Gaga looked like when she sang the national anthem. Heatmiser, pizza rolls, Dolly Parton Because one time Dolly Parton wore a red suit, Which I thought was kind of a stretch. I saw a commercial saying that more than 400,000 babies are born 9 months after the super bowl. You know what else is right around that time in February? Valentine's day I don't think I've ever been less **** than during the super bowl. Nobody looks at their man Half covered in Beer and nacho grease stains And goes "oh baby, that buffalo sauce gets me so wet" "I just wanna grab a fist full of your hair bend you over these pizza boxes an~" "No" "No" "N~I mean, I'd be into it" "No" My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now. They have her doing laundry in a musty basement with middle aged Mexican woman. It's apparently awful. "Ruins the magic" she says. Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked doing her make up Wig cap and undergarments. Snow white with her nose up asking for kombucha Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets Let alone my intern girlfriend. Who says these princesses would sooner **** a man covered in nacho grease. Then show her any respect. I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that. After watching the play hairspray when they yell "CUT! " and the actors go back to their miserable lives,  I figured it out pretty young. This middle class manifesto Where making a livable wage is our life term goal. But she is the faithful type. Loves her a good miracle. Like when she found out she was pregnant. Was She had already lost him. Or her I was over 3,000 miles away With another man she was drinking herself to sleep Praying to some porcelain god for me to stop I'm sure the morning sickness didn't help Her depression Or hangovers. Or the will to tell me, The man already greiving over one lost daughter we had lost another. Before we even knew she was there. I only tell her I love her. She says she needs me around because I’m a taurus. I have no idea what she means by that. But I love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets. And her still believing in magic. She gives me something to dream about while I wash these trash cans. Like watching hairspray together Her bending me over some chicken wings. Our little Princess.
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1. 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.
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Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
You Know Your a Poet When: Superbowl Edition
For us, The Super Bowl Is poetry In legal motion.
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Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
The Super Bowl (10W)
My eyes might scan bookshelves, but I search for Blankets. I wont say a word, because it's already quite warm in here. My friends are yelling at each other, about bad politics, while there's testosterone on the blue screen. I sit on the floor and flick comrades off my lap. Little dark bug- I was quick to slap. It's clamorous, a broken plate, a blame game, then silence. Everyone else is on a smoke break. I sit on the sofa while we wait. I keep looking at Blankets. The warmth and comfort of Blankets. You know you fix heartbreak- by filling it up with empty cotton? so the blood soaks up, and the space is cramped, so those mushy feelings have no place to stay? I cover myself in the forms of Blankets. I am just one soppy broken heart, surrounded by the same on Super Bowl Day.
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Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Blankets
Hello Super Bowl Sunday, I don't really know you I know I should be attentive, but I haven't got a clue You are a holiday to many, a really big deal But to me you are a mystery, and an excuse for a meal A game to watch, I get it, and some really pricey ads I can watch what others scream about, and pick up on new fads I feel I am outside looking in, on others' joys and sorrow They will hype all day beforehand, recapping all tomorrow After all, its just a game, Not filled with reason and rhyme But I will get my revenge next month, when it's Oscars Time!!
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Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Super Bowl Mystery
I have seen the bliss before the morning's dawn . I have taken kiss from a woman as she slept like a new born fawn . I have seen the sun and moon set together in a western sky . I have seen all the reasons now as we let our loving die . I have seen the fog at times when there was nothing one could see . I have seen eternity from the mountains all the way down to the sea . I have seen love's kind embrace and felt it's breath upon my skin . But I don't even dare to dream there will be another like you again . Oh , I have seen paradise through The yellow of the glass . Tasted it upon my tongue And it was so very nice . I have smelled the rose's fumes And it permanates the air For evermore I assumed But now face cold realities stare I have seen the petals fall one by one by one I have seen the fingers slip away until there were none . I have this empty feeling at the bottom of my pit God it is so unwilling I think I'm feeling sick Our love has evaporated After summer's rain   Leaving steaming memories Heat and searing pain But I have not seen Nor think I ever will See a love again like this Forever that's so real
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Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
I Have Seen