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RCraig David Apr 2013
Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i write for an injection of a venom, for a sense of disorientation, poetry shouldn't be about the skill of narration, a clear Renaissance painting of some school, it should invoke a ******* random macabre, a sense of disorientation, there's no real technique to practice with poetry invoking a tarantula's venomous bite... poetry the art of disorientation and a fulfilling disillusionment, nothing else, nothing more... to prescribe disorientation... upon charging into a blank page... the brute of squalor and slashing of grime, marbles and marrow!*

as quoted by Bonaparte (oddly enough
a psychology student and former
girlfriend of mine who i lost my virginity
to, while she got drunk and slid into my
bed at a party, and asked dreamily for condoms
scolding me about the three pictures adorning
my student room: marquis de sade, Bonaparte
and Plato) - quicker the goat in the frying
pan than on the steep cliff face - mooch kiss
you Isabella i would a second time,
you remind me of Annie from Masterchef -
the way the stiff upper-lip is missing: signature of
french girls, the curling and cuddles -
ooh mooch chuckles and mushy peas -
p p p - belinda carlisle melted cheese goo in my heart;
stony ******* i ain't, but my drinking habits
are not boyfriend material, sorry... try next door:
se vie se la - the french know their eccentricities,
and therefore exploit them in the grey -
the english stiffen up and exploit the same
but to a too obvious exploit: bowler hats and umbrellas,
nothing will make this London gloom repent
even if you're donning St. Petersburg's architectural
multi-colour... did i mention Bonaparte the patron
saint of the Duchy of Warsaw?
over here there's Adolf with a heretics hat
never bothering to read history twice,
history you read in a blurry haze of being drunk:
reminiscence is hardly nostalgia, but sure as ****
history save Moscow from the French and the Germans
but not the Poles and Mongolians...
the Russians know this and hush thing over,
sweeping stories under the carpets using
a babushka as an excuse for the prime propaganda
technique - go on babushka ride the Ferrari
on the stairway! canapé mit crayon caviar?
yes, Isabella, if i weren't a ****** i'd move to
Grenoble - sheriff's honour.
                                                  you weren't
the first, you weren't the last,
i need bragging rights - and a hot colt to shoot with...
then the lacrosse initiation ceremony -
Lycra tights, drank a whole bottle of whiskey
of Glaswegian whiskey, stumbled into
Isabella to my shame parade of whatever that was
lad banter etc etc. - pleaded on my knees, my knees...
apologies for the inexperience,
she was seriously into Japanese cartoons,
studio Ghibli;
                          so she scolded me over Bonaparte,
and i said: it's not exactly Piłsudski - in my town of
birth they praised him, raised statues,
later with communism desecrated them, then later
raised new statues - but what's bothersome is that
she didn't mind the Marquis... a psychology student
after all... she wanted native speakers for a little
psychology experiment, that got me,
learning from scratch aged 8,
pitch-perfect elocution and she didn't bother to use me
in the experiment... that ****** with me...
hey! i'm hardly a cockney! coached croquet pears
ready for a beating... what's the rhyme, ah yes:
apples and pears = stairs... seriously, musically
cheese sometimes works, they had a Monday cheese
night at the union - all the usual buggery of
a mid-life crisis...
yeps, that Annie from the current Master Chef reminds me
of Isabella - dracul - RA!
a bit of high culture (Ezra's cantos) and a bit of low
culture (marco bailey's Enter the Dragon)...
while sitting on the throne of thrones (a toilet)...
it's like my dream... although better... Ibiza two-point-oh.
Lori Mack Sep 2018
Puppet Master

You crept in like a mischievious thief.
Intrigued, decieved and retrieved my son.
Influencing and destroying his beautiful life.
Diminished his hopes, his dreams and his self-esteem.
Convincing him he had no future,
No love, no value was to his life.
Your wicked silk spun web of deadly lies,
Mislead him to believe,
That happiness and love cease to exist.
This is your fuel,
This your fire.
Your one and only desire.
You will not quit until they all expire.
******, black, H or tar,
You are a seductive liar.
Your needle point claws buried deep his arm,
Dripping with your poisonous conceit.
Now you are his puppet master.
Dominating his mind, his thoughts and his words.
Your malicious acts preformed through him,
Make him look wild, insane and disturbed.
Each day in your tight intense grip,
My son dwindled and shriveled away.
Becoming your molded and trained apprentice.
Coached to perfection in your twisted ways.
You are as bad as a ******,
A murderer and even more.
I hate you ******!!
You started a war.
I will not let you win!
Let go of my loved and cherished son.
Let him live a full and beautiful life.
I surrender to you myself.
Volunteer my own life.
Take me instead,
Be my puppet master,
Enslave me,
And let my baby live.

L. Mack

9/20/18
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college

Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor

Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's

A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows

Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy

He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense

Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry

Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone

Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love

Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero
The kid could throw, he really could throw

Scouts were watching back in high school

Arm like a rocket and vision like an owl

Smart too, had all the tools

He could pick apart a defense

He just knew what he could do

But he could throw, the kid could throw

He wasn't coached, the kid just knew

He was fourteen when first spotted

Junior ball in  Eastern Michigan

Throwing footballs, Setting records,

Just to break them all again

His mind was agile like his feet

He just knew how plays should go

He was gonna knock them dead in college

He was a sure thing for the show

He made the coaches look amazing

They never, ever  called a play

He'd run the team alone while playing

He knew just what he had  to say

Three perfect years in highschool

Undefeated every year

State champions...why naturally

The kid just had no fear

He was a leader with that football

He was a man amongst the boys

He sure could pick apart a defense

He broke 'em up like little toys

In third year scouts were knocking

Every college from the East

Full rides without a question

The schools all wanted this young beast

He settled on a team with promise

He knew he could help them win it all

The scouts and coaches stood in awe as

The **** kid could throw that ball

He kept his marks up to the level

That he needed to stay around

He wrote up plays instead of homework

Some in the air, some on the ground

The kid could throw the ****** football

The NFL already knew

He'd already broken most school records

The scouts just knew what he could do

It took two years to make a bowl game

On TV beneath the lights

The country knew of the boy wonder

And they would see it Sunday night

The one thing without question

Was the rocket they called his arm

The coaches built a line around him

They would keep him safe from harm

In third year he decided

He was turning pro that year

The pro scouts all knew of him

The price to get him would be dear

Deals were made through out the summer

Teams were phoning every day

The school was upset he was leaving

The league knew he was set to play

Two first round picks and a reciever

Went to Detroit for his rights

The Lions had the chance to grab him

But the Texans had him in their sights

The Texans proudly took him

He was gonna lead them all the way

The way that this kid threw a football

In Texas they sang "Happy Day"

Our father who are't in heaven

Hallowed be thy name

We lay this boy to rest before us

Before he even played a game

A celebration in a men's club

The boy had come so ****** far

When shots were fired in the crowd there

Two gunmen drove by in a car

He had the world in his possession

Man the kid could throw, really throw

But, fate had chose a different story

How good he was we'll never know
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Glory came early as did fame,
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.

He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.

For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s gam
Gary Speed, footballer, dead by suicide, age 42
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Glory came early as did fame.
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.

He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.

For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game
Gary Speed, Coach of the Welsh national team and  soccer legend recently took his own life at age 42. It is after the cheering stops that the aging elite athlete often has trouble readjusting. As Joe DiMaggio, another Sports Icon, told writer Gay Talese; " I'm just a guy trying to find a way to survive."
abby Apr 2014
when i think back to the first punch
the nail and sting and two-week bruise
i don't think about the pain
or the sound of your fist against my ribs
i think of your face as you swung your arm
twisted and red but that was only layer one
layer two was remembering when you coached me in softball
layer three was my nine-year-old embrace
layer four was whispering, "she's your little girl."
layer five was your confusion as i grew up and became quiet
layer six hated yourself in that moment
as well as layers seven and eight
layer nine was your anger again, which caused you to hit
but layer ten was your apology
i forgave you one thousand and sixty eight times
will you ever forgive yourself?

*(a.m.c.)
JC Lucas Jan 2014
"Why do you box?"
I asked one of the gang bangers I coached at the gym one day.
"To stay out of trouble, I guess," he replied.
And all of a sudden I got kinda mushy over this kid and realized he really was in a
Hard
Place, trying to make the best of a
Bad
Situation.
And I said,
"Listen to me. Don't ever stop boxing.
School, whatever,
Work, whatever,
But whatever you do,
Keep boxing."
He looked at me kind of funny and
He said "why do you box?"
And I said,
"I've been doing this a while now.
Boxing's fixed me up through some
Serious ****.
So above everything else, above women and money,
Whatever you do,
Do not
Stop
Boxing."

I'll probably never know if boxing
saves him
like it
saved me.

But I do hope it keeps him out of trouble.
He'd just served up a dinger, 450 out...upper deck

His third home run that inning, and  he figured "what the heck"

He knew the hook was coming, first they had to make the call

Then the pitching coach would come out, before he had to give the ball

To the manager, all stoic, spouting rhetoric and then

He'd turn over the game ball, a kind of baseball zen

He'd come to learn this process,

He'd seen more and more this year

The time was getting closer

He'd have to hang 'em up this year

For five straight games he'd got the hook

Never getting to the third

And there was that team suspension

For flashing fans the bird

Frustration, more than anger made him vent and flash the sign

It was captured on the jumbotron, his finger.....8 foot 9

It made all of the sports reels, his finger in the air

But at 46, he thought, well....I really do not care

He was signed.. a bonus baby, out of Henderson N . V

He came up  out of high school in summer sixty three

His fastball, just untouchable...ninety miles per at least

And on opposing batters he would surely have a feast

He knew what he was throwing, was the best in many years

But at eighteen he was still surrounded by lots of big league  fears

In high school he set records, went to State, and led the team

He was the best left handed starter, Henderson had ever seen

He won each game he pitched in, hit for numbers, struck out tons

His team outscored opponents by at least three hundred runs

Scouts were out to watch him, every time he took the mound

And he knew this as he walked out, tossed the rosin on the ground

He chose to bypass college, heading to developmental ball

If he did what he was told, he be in Lakewood  by the fall

He got the call in August, saying "son, you're on your way"

"You'll be on the train this morning and tomorrow you might play"

So, he made his calls, told those he knew he was heading to N.J.

He was gonna set Lakewood  on fire, he was gonna have his day

He sat for weeks when he arrived, erratic was his stuff

"You've got to tame that curve ball kid, it's just not good enough"

His first start in September, he was nervous and concerned

What if I blow this chance and back to Texas, I'm returned

HE started off with two walks, hitting one then fanning three

He was feeling better, just what people came to see

After five innings they pulled him, with ten strike outs to his name

His team was up six nothing, he was gonna win this game

And sure enough the bullpen came on in and shut the door

And before the season ended he was winning three games more

That winter he went home again, and worked on his control

He knew what the coach wanted, he understood his role

Next spring down in  Clearwater he showed he had improved

So when the final cuts came down, up to double A he moved

It didn't take them long to find him burning up the mound

In fifteen starts, a hundred K's,  no one better could be found.

From here he went to Allentown, to AAA he'd go

Next move that he would make from here should put him in the show

He only threw 3 games down here, two big league starters down

He was called on up to the big time, and was starting....out of town

He only pitched an inning,  two thirds to be exact

He got lit up for 6 runs that night, hard to keep it all intact

He finshed out watching more games, than he pitched in but he knew

He'd be in the spring rotation wearing number forty two.

He met with mixed success at times never coming up real big

For as each year passed his fastball slowed and harder he would dig

His bonus money squandered, three wives gone, investmestments too

He bounced around the league a bit, hitting eight teams in succession

It was enough to do a weak man in, at least there's a concession

He was still up there, the show, on top, it didn't matter where he pitched

As long as he stayed healthy, he wasn't getting ditched

But one day he, on three days rest felt a twinge in his left arm

He pulled himself, and iced it, not doing any harm

But his pitching got erratic, speed was gone and no control

It was then he got the phone call...he was going to the hole

They moved him down to rehab some in AA across the state

He knew with no improvement that this would be his fate

Two years down here and then again, a new kid came along

Sorry, but you're going down...that was a lonely song

Two years and then he moved on back out West just to see

He knew he still had some heat...throwing nearly ninety three

But control...no way at that speed, slow it down...they'd hit him hard

Once he dropped it under eighty...all the batters...they went yard

But still he kicked around some, working nights, coaching some

Then he got the call from Joplin, got to see if he was done

He showed up fit, and did his best but still just couldn't toss

He'd get the speed but no control, the plate it wouldn't cross

The team was just a throw back, small market and little park

But inside he had desire, this place lit in him a spark

There never were too many fans, eight hundred at the most

But when he took the mound there, he could feel his younger ghost

On nights he wasn't pitching, he played first and coached third base

On other nights, he sat around and sold programs round the place

He knew that soon the time would come, he knew his bubble'd burst

He didn't throw as fast to  home as these kids did to first

But now, with the suspension, and him getting pulled five straight

He knew he'd overstayed his welcome, he'd been here far too late

"The ball...Jim, Jim, the ball....was all he heard coach say

He was already in the dugout and he wasn't gonna stay

He packed up and he left the park, left his rooming house as well

He had nowhere to go to, and maybe just as well

But the next year he was out there slinging just like Jim could do"

He was selling peanuts and some ******* jack at a ball parkin Purdue

The game is in his soul you see, it's part of who he is

Like Gherig, Ruth, Diamaggio, like Peewee and The Dizz

He owes his life to baseball. even though he stayed too late

"If he'd just controlled his curveball"...the kid...coulda been great.
It's a long, baseball themed tome. With a nod of the head to Henderson, Nevada.
shireliiy Sep 2015
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They are not.Drama is easier to see in other people,I gave the idea a lot of thought and came up with something a little different.you can be relatively sure,for example,Whole life coaching focuses on helping an individual to balance these. Things in order to move forward in personal development.That lens leads you to make the decisions you make for your life,The missing piece turns scarcity into real abundance in our lives.Just ask area employees of Wachovia Securities or Circuit City.my life isn t divided up evenly

Købe samsung galaxy s4. B Everyone Can Benefit From a Coach Everyone can benefit from being coached at some point in their life,3 Explore your problem alone by completing the sentences,If you discover what hinders you,I asked the clients to close their eyes.One study even shows that Omega 3s can reduce or eliminate ADD ADHD symptoms.ve gotten your. Business going strong, b Have you ever wondered why you do some of the things you do? A lot of what you really do is based on your subconscious samsung galaxy s5 32GB.you can count on them to help you out as well.Take a different route tomorrow when you drive to work samsung galaxy s4 32GB.this declaration becomes your personal affirmation of who you will be in and for the world.you re best off with a supplement.Consider.I am writing this in the middle of a heavy rainstorm.a statement that asks for no response from the one harmed.You see.Who are the people in your life? Despite the number of.
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Alone
Away from home
I stand upon a vessel
Guided by the rivers of romance and light
To seek the histories of distant lands
And the fates that made me
Merge to a new destiny

I watch the waters
Guide the vessel through the historic sights
A sight meant for all foreign eyes to partake
Yet I find myself alone
The famed tower of France spins its light
It sparkles brighter than I remember
As the spotlight seeks a divine host
That appears from its beam
And soars upon wings of white
To land in front of me

The wings carry a familiar friend
One I felt I needed to see closer
Before my latest voyage
Dawned in a bright blue dress
With a white pearl necklace helping frame her gorgeous eyes
Within the locks of sparking brown hair
That light the sky above and sea below
Danced with every little glimmer of light
In a sight I cannot shake

Through in the moments that followed
My eyes fogged with tears of admiration
In the sight of a figure of both strength and beauty
As our arms reached for each other
And embraced our heartbeats
As they coached our feet to the rhyme
Of a phantom song that played
To still the spinning world
To freeze that moment in time
Forever in the dreams from Paris
And forever locked upon my eye
When I see the being in reality without her wings
She doesn't realize are there
Jenna Richardson Oct 2012
I remember the exact moment we met,
You told me my blue eyes matched  my dress
And with blood taking hostage of my cheeks,
I made fun of your German name.

Yes, I can remember
the first time I snuck home to our bed, guiltily
lifting the feather comforter we spent hours picking out
in Bed Bath and Beyond.
A blanket that now weighed as much as a semi truck
crushed around your sleeping body.

Lying beside you, no dreams came
to relieve me from my reprehensible  thoughts.
But it became easier. So easy, that one night
I didn’t feel a thing when I slid under those weightless covers,
Kissing you goodnight, mumbling something
about ******* coming in late.

I remember the exact moment we met.
His black rimmed glasses and off balance smile
As he handed me a cup of jungle juice in a dim, packed house.
His compliments felt all wrong,
Like they should have been coming out of your mouth
But I drank them in
faster than the jungle juice in my ***** plastic cup.

Your face
the day you walked into our room,
that’s what I remember, and wish I could forget, most of all.
I’d coached myself for this moment a so many times
I guess I  never thought it would actually come.
I don’t know what was worse, the lies
falling from my mouth, or you believing them
because you believed so much in me.
Mysterious Aries Sep 2015
Someone gave me reason, not to go too far
A friend that seems to me, from another star
In a not so ordinary world, where paper and quill speak
Where best hug ever are not true, but we can feel it so deep

I've been busy lately, trying so hard
Pushing myself, to get an ace on the card
"Think of the reason why you are writing, Is it to impress or to express?" she said
A word that humbled me and knocked some nerves in my head

Truly with her, I think i can share my secrets
Everything about me, my happiness and regrets
I've learned a lot from her, on how to survive in this fairyland
Coached me how to engraved perfect footprints in the sand

She was the hardest riddle that I've met
Gives a lot of clue about her, keeps you thinking but you'll never get
She was someone so close yet so very far
But for me she will always be... my friend from another star...
Hello Poetry is like a different world from reality...
To where we can meet some amazing person...
To whom we can say they are truly, a friend from another star...
Voahirana Oct 2020
My closest friend,
You convinced me you were the only one good enough.
I thought I was in control,
but it was really you all along.

You coached me through my 200 calorie days,
Only celery and diet coke you’d say.
And oh the praise that came with it.
“You look great tell me your secret!” they’d say.
My secret you ask?
Behind that bright smile,
was months of starving.
The bathroom had become my resting place.

I was never enough for you,
was I?
The protruding ribs,
the heart failure,
the unreadable blood pressure,
the bulged spine.
It was never going to be enough.

So when I hear “I wish I could get it too,”
I think of the constant struggle,
It never stops.
Calories are now ingrained in my brain,
as easy as my ABCs.

Goodbye Ana,
all I ever wanted was to be loved.
He was a normal man
With a normal life
Two kids, one dog
And a loving wife

He had a normal job
Drove a normal car
Coached little league
Went to normal bars

All that ended when she arrived
It's amazing that normal man survived
With short, short skirts
And deep blue eyes
Just saying try me for on size

He did what he should
Avoided her at first
But she taunted him
And he quenched his thirst

He was white bread only
She was not
He was cold baloney
She was hot
He knew he shouldn't do it
Lost that thought
Till that fateful night
When he got caught

He was a normal man
With a normal life
Two kids, a dog
And now a new ex-wife

He had a house in town
Where he didn't live
And half of his pay
He was forced to give

His vows got broken
He couldn't turn away
She just taunted him
And he had to play
Was it worth the loss
With what he had to pay
He was a normal man
What could he say?

His wife found out
It wasn't tough
She could smell her scent
That's when things got rough

His wife was blonde
The girl was red
He even brought her
home to bed
There wasn't much
For him to say
She had him dead to rights
Now, he had to pay

He was a normal man
With a normal life
Two kids, a dog
And a new ex-wife

It wasn't long before
The affair did end
He life was broke
Too bad to mend

He was a normal man
With a normal life
He'd lost it all
Was it worth the strife?
Ottar Mar 2015
Glasses with frames now used to see
Lines on faces not far away, beyond me
And my capability, under fluorescent,
Lights.

These glasses gather spots of rain, doctor
Doctor, there are spots before my sockets
Containing real steel slate blue eyes, go ahead
Whistle if you must.

I will get used to it.

Six foot five in a five foot nine inch frame,
Coached volleyball well without any shame,
Calm demeanor was not required, I was
Tame, not the chair kicking kind.

Did not need glasses then, when oh when is this
Going to end, when either you or the referee,
Whistles.
About superficial me.
Tyson Sivad Sep 2015
In conscious hours the mask I wear,
Of indifference to cares,
Becomes more than a mere facade.
I too don't know it's there.

But in the night when darkness takes
The mask from off my face
I close my eyes and my dreams start.
Like torches to my heart.

I made my choice, I had to say
I didn't have a care.
But when the eve had ended day,
My mind's eye saw you there.

Your smile your lips your hair your eyes.
I played my humble part.
And while I lived my life of lies
Another took your heart.

At first it was all just a game
To watch the drama fly.
The ups and downs and go-arounds.
I really rolled my eyes.

When did it change? I couldn't say,
Cause I don't really know.
When did the cynic in me die?
When did my love start growth?

And here I am, trapped in myself.
My true feelings to hide.
As love evolved between you both
Myself I do despise.

You'll never know the pain I felt
To watch you two converse.
You smile at him, he smiles at you,
I feel my heartstrings burst.

I dealt with it the best I could,
The cruel punishment.
To be the third wheel of it all
When you two came or went.

I think the hardest part for me
Was when he asked advice.
He'd ask of me "What would you do?"
I tried to steer him right.

I helped him word his letters,
Advised him what to say.
I coached him as he talked to you
And silently I prayed:

"Oh Lord when will my time here end?
I can't take it anymore.
Emotionally beaten.
Inside my heart is torn."

Now here am I, defenseless.
My mask in shatters lies.
I can no more deceive myself,
As tears spring to my eyes.

I won't lie, I tried and tried
To lock away my heart.
But in the end I stood no chance
Against your beauty's charms.

As you now prepare to leave
Your family and your home
A part of me will go with you.
I'll feel very alone.

I'll miss the stars within your eyes,
The sunshine in your smile.
The way you laughed and talked with me.
The way you dressed with style.

I wish you both the best of luck.
You'll both be leaving me.
I hope you have fun in the States
While I'm across the sea.

To me you're the most beautiful
Girl that I've seen
While I've lived my time on earth,
And wherever else I've been.

I know that you and him
Really have a thing.
I won't get between you two,
Just let the love birds sing.

But if he ever breaks your heart,
Or if things don't work right,
You'll always have a friend in me
Through all the trials of life.

Thank you, Princess, for everything,
for letting us be friends.
I love you, and I bid farewell.
Until we meet again.
RCraig David Jul 2019
Where I was then?
Where was I when I decided to “be” according to where I thought I wasn’t, but should be seen or be or had been.
Who was seeing me and why?
A stranger’s approval superseded my own deny...but why?
Doesn’t matter now, the story’s “how”, driven by eyes not mine, saw me there then, not now....
Don’t remember the why, where or when....
you get the picture, the state of mind I was in.
A situation, a moment, a scene,
Where I thought I would “mean”, make an impact or at least when I thought I was making efforts to intervene.
“The Scene”, alas, conveniently never convened to pass because it was not of truth-tried substance but flammable gas.
Whether my “right here, right now” approach would be enough for the price of smell, taste and touch....too stubborn to be coached,
too proud to see myself beyond reproach...
A rhetoric heretic riding coach facing every new horizon I approached...
Prime for being poached.
First, I crater.
You’re a target for more abuse if you cater.
Later I learn, earn, burn, know better.
Bitter, I turn hater.
Sell your self now to matter later...
Instead I try to unplug,
to be better.
Isolate yourself just to make a difference.
Creators that steer clear of best interests,
bent to mechanize.
We consent, but don’t recognize.
The “Society-interests second” dance?..fat chance,
their intent to capitalize so you can look good in tight pants.
People consume more processed salt, fat and sugar.
Drunk youth dance to music made by “industry entrepreneurs” that never played an instrument.
“You make how much??? Here are the 10 neighborhoods, restaurants, cars, clothes and other some-such you can identify by...I mean afford...I mean identify with.
Sacrifice a category to move up in another, the gratification will root in your  instinctive brain,
recreating the same situation like a bad joke,
ever-riding the razor thin line of addiction and cope,
correction and hope,
direction and scope.
Men can **** it or **** it or brag about someone else who did.
Women can socialize, feel, share, dance or share about someone else who did.
It’s well researched, they know the instinctive needs
Only opinions allowed, the truth carries too much responsibility.
I can always change my mind later, the truth does not change.
Funders will shake any baby or kiss any hand to get you to say yes to “this is why they’re bad” but never change brought in “this is how we can”.
Thunders will quake any wonders if they’re felt without Lightning’s blinding flash to closed-lash eyes.
Sliced, Spliced, Splintered and splendidly split.
Thrice not twice I was hindered to commit to give but not get.
Crises without advice,
a soul’s Tendency to admit quit, at least, so is writ.
Heresies cost,
scarily tossed across the lost sea’s vast length crossed.
You only drown if you leave the shore, better not, how dare you want more.
For regrets i have
And times i missed
I never thought
I could be so ******

War against any who approach
No method or trials
This is nothing that can be coached
Rage

Fallen friends ill avenge this yet
You thought i wouldnt **** wanna bet?
Youve taken all i knew
I now turn the crosshairs on you

Fueled by love
Compelled by hate
No man could reach a power this great
You try and try but will never overcome
I have the world under my thumb

I saw your hope crush
Felt your strikes
To me, but plush

Im calling you out
Here i am
Any resistance is futile by man
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Sitting Shiva in a Yarmulke
is not, for me, routine.
Still it was right that I should
grieve
for a man I’d never seen.

A man who loved his children
and was devoted to his wife.
A man who worked long hours
and was happy in his life.

A man active in his temple,
One who coached the little league.
A man like any other-
If you pricked him he would bleed.

He wore his nation’s uniform
when called in time of war.
And when the guns were set aside
He ran his little store.

There may be some million like him
Yet not so many as before
Men who truly loved this country
and were respecting of its laws.

A strong and vibrant middle class
is what our country needs
Not Parks filled with rootless losers
and boardrooms manned by thieves.
Our late Friend, Ron Mittman. Hard to believe it is a year now that he has been gone.
Brittney T Feb 2018
I wonder what he thought of me
When I was 9 years old.
My two sisters and I running around
Excited to meet someone Mom brought home

I wonder if he knew then
What he would take from my family,
From me.
I wonder if he knew then
The wedges he would place when he tried
To make we.

I wonder how long it took him
to choose.
My older sister never liked him.
My younger sister was 4.
I guess it could have been worse.
It could've been her he had coerced.

When he coached my volleyball team
And insisted it was indecent
For underage girls to wear
spandex uniforms I thought
"how nice it is for him to care."
I wonder, was he concerned for me
Or protecting my delicious modesty?

When he followed me up to my room
After my showers
Was he waiting outside the door
Like he said,
or was he waiting
for the day he would waltz right in?

When he stayed up
Talking to me at night
We weren't good friends,
Best friends.
We were predator and prey.
He was trying to make me see
That him and me would be okay.

That my mother didn't care.
That my sisters weren't worthy.
That my friends could never understand.
He wanted me to know
that I was alone,
And he understood.
We were the same.

In the same breath
He would call me his kid
Then tell me how grown I'd gotten.
How smart, beautiful, honest.
My mother apparently forgotten.

Then there were hands.
And cameras.
Then silence.
Plain Jane Glory Jun 2013
It's not the painless choice
that I've coached myself to believe it is

But why not, you idiot cynic?

Because I only find happiness
in moments of ignorance

And?

And in those moments of ignorance
I find minutes of shame

And?

And in those minutes of shame
I find hours of sadness

And?!

And in those hours of sadness
I find  endless  defeat




...that's why I sleep life away

Why, you fool?

Because in a lifetime of slumber
one finds nothing at all
Jenny March Nov 2010
Love tis not a thing,
bound by time or space.

You cannot send it away,
nor invite it in.

It is not coached,
nor guided by a map.

It can grip the soul,
with fear or hope.

Sleepless nights,
full of anguish and tears,
are its furthest friends,
and closest enemies.

Yet dreams of "could be",
spur it onward.

It conquers that which,
none other can.

Death, Time, Pain,
Love is the healer of all.

JCM 2009
JCM 2010 ©
m Nov 2018
It takes time to make a home out of your body.
To be able to sit inside your mind and wash away
Any form of negativity
To be simply happy with your complexion.
To be so comfortable that you have no doubts.
The world is a harsh place to build a home for yourself,
They will doubt you
Break you down
Tell you how it's not done.

Your perception of ‘beauty’ is extremely corrupted
Stop blaming yourself.
Its not your thoughts,
;your acne
;your stomach
;your slim legs
It’s merely the idea you hold of beauty.

Imagine the world without standards?
Imagine never worrying about others thoughts on you?
-About a number on social media?
Imagine we were coached to prioritize social media & beauty
-second?
We would have a world of intelligent
Confident
Fearless people.

Maybe with that power we would be too dangerous;
maybe unstoppable.

Thats why we keep people
at their lowest.
The power confidence gives is
intoxicating.
John F McCullagh Nov 2013
For Forty years he’d played and coached
and referred the game.
Now Alzheimer’s stolen
nearly all except his name.
With his past now dis-remembered
and all hope of a future gone
what else was there left to him
except to just play on.
The pickup game he’d played for years
Became his sole relief
He played with men he once knew well
before he met time’s thief.
You see him running on the pitch
with purpose, or with none.
And if he goes off sides at times
his friends say no harm done.
Like a child, he chases *****.
His scoring touch is gone.
Yet, in the moment, he finds joy
And so he just plays on.
this poem was inspired by an article by Phil Taylor for the "point after" column of Sport's Illustrated. It is the story of a soccer enthusiast, John Plankinton, who continues to play the sport he loves despite battling Alzheimer's disease.
L Aug 2014
Matt,

I still see you as an obnoxious, 6'2, fifteen year old goofball.
Is that weird?
To hold that image of you in my head?
I was eight years old when you were fifteen.
One time, you pretended to eat my cat and I cried.
"MATT, WHY WOULD YOU EAT ANGEL?!"
"Leigh, I didn't really! Look, he's right here!"
My earliest memory of you.
A fond one at that.


You and my brother were close.
Roughhoused together...
Played every-kind-of-ball together...
Grew up together.

Our fathers have always been close, so naturally their sons would be.

Your dad still calls mine
"my dearest friend".
They coached alongside each other for years.
And who did they coach?
You.
My brother.
Kids who needed a guiding hand.

You stood out.

(Of course you did, you were six feet tall by freshman year!)

You controlled the basketball court like no one else.
Rebounds, ball handling, 3-pointers;
You could do it all.
There was no stopping you...
Oh yeah, you made the team what it was.
How many career points?
Over 3,000?
Something like that.

You were a star off of the court, too.
Everyone looked towards you for a quick joke.
You were funny, man.
Your laugh was infectious, your smile was luminescent.
You'd ******' light up New York City.
No, you weren't the brightest guy...
And your dad never let you forget it.
But you tried.


I wish you could see your family now.
I hadn't seen your parents and brothers in ages.
Parker's no longer that chubby, quiet kid, huh?
Rob is as thin as ever, quiet as well.
Your mom is as beautiful as I remember her to be.
Your dad hasn't changed a bit.
No, I take that back...
He was crying.
All 6'8 of him pulled my 5'2 father into a hug.
"Come here, my dearest friend."
My father cried.
I haven't seen that man cry in years.
And now both of them are crying over you.
Over how beautiful, remarkable, and loved you were.
There were a ton of people there, also crying for the same reasons.

You were so valued.

I wish you would've known that.

So long, Matt.
Until we meet again...

-Leigh
Suicide is boxing me in.
I'm remembering what it means to live.

**
Leigh
Roberta Day Aug 2011
Why do we reach for satisfaction when we inevitably fail?
Why do we question what we're supposed to hail?
Why don't we know what comes after our bitter end?
Why are we coached to smile and pretend?

From the time we are born to the time we die
We question if the life we're living is a lie
Is there more to it than money and greed?
Shouldn't answers be something we need?

Life is a game and we are controlled
Controlled by a higher power that has yet to be told
A voice stays in our minds, forever spewing nonsense
Reminding us of the time we have left and the time we've spent

We've read all the books, we've practiced all the faith
Yet no true answers are revealed about our fate
So we continue to reach, and inevitably fall
And wonder if there is something to catch us at all
Young Johannes keeps his theory
dressed up with petty pink
flourishes and tucked inside her
wicker basket. She's plopped fat

on a spangled, off-center perch
while surrounded by tangles of
circular mirrors, each reflecting
his fragmented eye. “The fluid

mechanics of my camera’s
lens imbues its gaping human
subject with a soul,” this caged bird
sings, just as he’s coached her.

She doesn’t require very much
care -- a few scattered meat-filled
husks and white space for flapping
her clipped-tones -- but reluctantly

Johannes must set Prolly free
to wing it openly upon
the waves of patterned noise
his vacuous glass can’t see.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
S Smoothie Mar 2014
Well, its been a hell of a week or two

and I dont know how I got through

there were victories and triumphs

I had validation from my friends and my bosses

but there were also many great losses.

other things happened too but I wont share them with you

I got cut by love and other matters this i'll confess,

I bought a tub of yogurt and honey and drowned my cares in creamy sweet mess,

I chucked the physio rules out the window

i was bad but It did some good though

I posted a pic with #nomakeupselfie to raise some dough

I ate nutella with a spoon, and bananas dipped with coconut sugar crowns

then I trained hard for blood ssweat and fears till my body went down.

I ran 100 kms and and went into high gears

I coached an under 9 soccer team for the first time in two years,

it felt great but I felt so unwelcome there though I saved my tears

I thought I killed that beast ages ago but apparently no.

Then the killer love that broke my spirits,

redeemed my soul , it all went missing and i felt at home.

the performances despite a lack of time went well

the raising of scripture in it against bullying was great as well

I ve been to hell and back and now its time to take a breath

write some soul scripts and send them out as well,

in Christ my word for agapi we can do all things

let the light of the world seep into all things!

have a blessed day and remember

everything changes and theres good reason its that way,

because nothing good and bad is here to stay

we just cant maintain those amplified feelings everyday.

we wouldnt be able to appreaciate what each will teach us today

life is interesting to say the least but so much better when challenging yourself

a wo/man against an unknown beast!

hugss SS
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)

On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,

asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green

backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,

nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,

that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray

zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate

any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
our local football team
are at the top of the district comp
this season
they've had a winning romp
with superior play and skills galore
they've left other teams
flagging at the bottom of the draw
this year Billy Dwyer has coached
them with great aplomb
that's why the team's position
is looking so plum  
for a decade the team never got
any further than the ladder's lowest rung
the town's folk are grinning
from ear to ear
with the good results the team
is having on the footy fields around here
the captain of the team
is confident that the premiership
can be achieved
as the lads on the team
are dedicating themselves
to rolling up the sleeves
there is but another few weeks
of footy to go
and our local lads
are in with a good show
they'll be on the filed
this afternoon
putting in 100%
to proceed to
the trophy's ascent
Mr E Apr 2013
What would it take for you to care?
The reader of this piece.
To spark an emotion deep within your inner soul?
I could say my friend and I were close
But that general  story would not turn head
And you would forget you had read this at all
What if I gave him a name?
A name that gave him purpose to me
To identify his broken body
For me to nod my head at the call of this--name
His name was Mathew
And though I could not be there when it happened
I write to you, to say I wish I knew more of him
I wish I had understood his smile
But a year ago, in the warm air of summers bubbling evening
A man decided to let drink drive for him
And a body lay on the street
They called him Cheese, for he always smiled
A natural smile that warmed the room
And every day I want to say
That I wanted to know you a little more
Your brother and I had been friends but never
Close to call "Best" friends
But your family was always good to me
And I saw you from time to time
In retrospect I knew your humor
The hearty laughs I'd hear in your house
And even if I knew nothing of what was funny
I smiled
And laughed as well
Your father coached me numerous times
The basketball court never failed to hold
His compassion and love for the game
I know he loved you all the same
And someday I may see you
And I will introduce myself with name
And we will be in a better place
Void of sad thoughts and earthly pain
kirk Newman May 2015
The life of a roach is never glorified.
Much like the life of a Black man or woman.
In which 50 of us die, and the next 50 have children while they're children.
We could never have a meal, we succumb to the crumbs of society.
In the dark with our friends eating quietly.
It's like the black race was destined to be a roach.
Either you're coached to conform or you smoke until a roach.
It's like nobody care about the birth of a roach.
Maybe it's the color or the way that they look.
While it's ironic that roaches reside in a black house.
They'll never make it in the white house.
Because that system is so clean that a "roach" would get wiped out.
It's like the roach is petrified by the butterfly whites.
Never could eat a steak, a lot of pb & j on butter knife nights.
It's crazy because even Blacks don't like roaches.
But it seems blacks don't like blacks either, a sickness in need of a potion.
It's even crazier that this is nothing about a roach.
But it's more about a race, that's ended by a rope.
Called a noose and then a chain, to make a change for the pain.
When the slave system got better than what we overcame.
How could you hit or stop what you eyes can't see?
While it's ironic how they blind us with TV.
Is it a system that can sense that we're a threat.
When the police war is heating up, and we're the ones with the sweat.
While we either selling a rock or dishing a rock.
And even athletes get locked up so youth don't listen to cops.
While you blame the blacks for picking a lock.
While filthy society said it was clean by blaming roaches for missing a crop.
And the craziest thing is the death of a roach too numerous to care about.
Much like the blacks when we march on a racial death, while the other deaths aren't shared about.
While that black boy went missing, nobody knew of his whereabouts.
How do you beat a system half of us aren't aware about?

— The End —