"coaching" poems
Since age 5 I was taught
to wear loose clothing
and not talk about eating.
"No, you can't have that shirt
with the Hershey's logo across the front.
You're already overweight,
let's just slap a label on it."
My mother doesn't know that
every day I still hear her voice
telling me to tilt my head up
in pictures and to go outside already.
I remember age 9 as my dad
telling me I was smart and my mom
telling me I couldn't buy that shirt
because it clung to my stomach.
I was taught to never talk about food
because it would always be met with
"of course".
Mother dearest, I know you meant well
but your coaching lead your little girl
to value the size of her thighs over
what she learned at school today.
You wanted to protect me from
the world, but didn't protect me
from myself.
Teaching is not telling me that
I had no willpower at age 8
and you forced me to accept myself
because nobody else would.
But trust me, mother,
you were never consciously hurtful
so I need to let you know:
the next time there is a little girl
that looks up to you, do not tell her
that she has to watch what she eats
or she will never get respect.
Do not tell her that "It's your body,"
when she asks for just one more brownie.
Just make sure that you love her numerically more
than that number on the scale.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
You know, there's always a song that takes me back
To a year, so long before
It's not always a top ten song
That hits my very core
It just grabs me and transports me
Back in time while standing still
It might take me to a good place
Release a memory I should ****
But, my soundtrack is different
It's not just music in my mind
There's sounds that make my playlist up
Sounds of a different kind
A baseball smacking leather
God, that sets me free
Some good, some bad, some coaching
Some involve my ******* up knee
The click on every eight track
When it switches channels to play on
Brings back those early mornings
when the house cleaning was done
But, music, yes the music
makes a large part of my list
Some take me back to dances
And the girls I never kissed
The good songs stretch my senses
Make me smell things from the past
The memories still linger
While the music didn't last
Sirens, car wrecks, yelling
Have their place on my list too
It's not music to most people
It made my list though, who knew?
A sound as small as raindrops
Take me back to a morning when
I stood on line with a hundred others
Brave women and brave men
Cornwallis, Nova Scotia
rain and U2 take me on a track
To basic training on the east coast
Wow, that's 25 years back
A car crash and a siren
Takes me to when I met my wife
This was on the television
when Princess Di, she lost her life
So, my soundtrack is eclectic
It's not just music fuels my trips
It might be a golf ball bouncing
That takes me through a time warp slip
A song, that's just too easy
Everyone has one of those
But, can you travel back, oh, 30 years
When someone blows their nose?
There's more sounds that effect me
But, those I think I'll hide
I will write about them later
And I will take you on that ride
In 50 years of living
Lots of sounds have hit my ears
We'll sit and chat about them
One day over a few beers....
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Ive given it to god he will provide
Praying for true love and someone worthy
I ask to move up at work tired of feeling stuck
A raise so I can have a little extra
Confidence to be myself achieve greatness
That my schedules font have a time conflct
Work for my living invest in myself
School to gain knowledge to make life better
Jujitsu on my 1st passions an injury will not keep me down and out.
Return to coaching softball pushing my girls to be the best it comes from within
These are on my mind theyve helped me grow become a better person
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
When I was thirteen, I had a running coach.
He was short, lean, and muscular.
An Italian man
with a whistle hanging around his neck,
farmer's tan, and below his black widow's peak
sat silver aviators, propped upon his shiny beak.
I ran miles and miles a day, but,
no matter how much I'd run
he never followed. He always trusted me to
stride my roads and lift my knees high
during the kick at the end of the races
against myself.
"If you want to run
you gotta drop that baggage," he'd laugh
between sips from his water bottle
as he towered over little me,
panting and red. We both stood
tall under the blazing sun.
I couldn't comprehend exactly what he meant,
I mean, I told him,
"I have ultra-light, top-of-the-line shoes,
compression shorts and athletic toes,
a hairless chest for maximum speed,
sweat running rivers down my spine,
legs that never exhaust, and,
above all, Coach,
a spirit that can move mountains." His response,
silence and a smirk.
Who was he to teach me about running?
"You're weighing yourself down boy,
you gotta drop that baggage."
It was his motto for me
every time my time would increase,
because, you see, when running,
increase is bad. Except for hills.
I can still hear his voice in my head,
"Uphill, increase exertion."
He never ran with me, he just told me to go.
He showed me the route and I did as expected,
six days a week, sometimes three miles, sometimes ten,
day after day, again and again,
shoulders hunched and me out of breath,
"runners high," they called it.
I hated running, I hated my coach,
I didn't understand why
anyone would want run to anywhere.
Not now. Now, I love it.
It has become my hobby, a specialty
for when one grows up,
your body is built for it, and your mind
has been ready to run since junior high.
It starts as a seedling, when you're barely able to walk,
and by the time your cardiovascular system
has been assaulted by packs of tobacco
and rolled marijuana, it blooms green.
That's when you realize:
Running is easy.
And coaching?
Don't even get me started on how easy that is.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
Various Muscle groups with a name
A young aspiring bodybuilder died while achieving his own fame
The Human Muscle Hospitality of Shawn Robinson
He was the voice of encouragement
He was the concept of going the effort
Being honest with truth
All this while still in his youth
Shawn’s smile being his style
The weights game came in for a while
Yet remembering him on his buddy to buddy approach
When it came to Bodybuilding his passion was no joke
Don’t even try a Bodybuilding poke
His true words in what he spoke
Your life cut way too short
In everyone’s mind a comfort of sort
The weights are saddened
The muscles can’t flex
There is a feeling in the air of feeling perplexed
That was then, but this is now
Shawn’s spirit said “Keep training and continue to expose to the world in how”
My departure is not an end
But it is for your inspiration in continuing to begin
Bodybuilding is about achieving and conquering the odds
If the chain doesn’t break, there is no strength
Seeing your own efforts at every length
If you lose the concept and technique, there is no vision
If the effort isn’t seriously made, there is no reason
Remember me in all seasons
Think on my coaching words in wait and see
You will become in your training efforts the way you were might too be
All I ask is to have patience, but wait and see
Heaven knows the reason I was called up
My spirit will always sit high and look down
Help each other, but don’t become muscle bound
Remember the numerous conversations we had
Perhaps to some you got mad
My life was bodybuilding
My dream was to achieve
My challenges in overcoming the struggles
Bodybuilding is about being stuff, but I want you to be stuffer
Strength is in the mind then pulsates throughout the body
Mind over matter
My life has been lived to the fullest
Make yourself proud in my honor
Again just wait and see
I am in the arms of the almighty and that’s thee
Together we are one
But keep living as your life as only begun
Yesterday was only tomorrow passing by
Don’t cry
I want to see you achieve with every try.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
I have forgotten how to breathe.
For something so natural,
I’m finding it so hard.
I catch myself talking
through the process.
Much alike coaching
a child to walk.
Each breath is a step
- slow, calculated and clumsy.
And with each successful step
comes the exhilaration
and the confidence.
The next following steps
executed in haste causes
the body to lurch forward.
*Losing balance.
Losing composure.*
Unready feet caught unawares...
Haphazard footfalls.
I have fallen.
I have forgotten how to breathe.
I’m out of sync...
And I’m at a loss...
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 5:03 AM UTC
ticket to the train station
tempted to train my motivation
singing swan songs for my salvation
toking for a moments vacation, coaching vocation
warp the world around my thumb
sway to the beats of my drum
angels pick me up, scared to become
all the things i have been ashamed of
iridescent sparkles that were judged as vain
steady shovelling the **** shaving down the over grown bushes
the path was there all along; i see her now
what the **** was i even doing
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 12:29 PM UTC
Chalk Times
The reps wondered what the chalk marks were in the office
On a couple of work stations in the coaching office
On the managers desk in the sleeping quarters
In the rest room by the gym area and other places
It was where their randy coach had bonked 3 other agents!
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 9:06 AM UTC
Holidays--everyone should reconnect
even with people you see everyday but
never speak to because you can tell
you won't like them...
show them some sunshine and brighten their day
overheard while showering in the women's locker room:
"How's the baby?" "He's four and a half."
Whoops
"Hows Max?"
"He's in Rehab, he's not coaching"
"Ah,oh, ah"
Clothed, she rushes for the door
Continuation with another as I toweled off
"The pool at Concord is cold" "is not" "is" "is not" "well, the air there is cold"
(it's' only five minutes away from here)
Let's try this again, shall we? "So what do you do? I mean, besides swim?"
"I go to water aerobics in the morning
then I swim, then I pick up my kids and swim again. And we had a party and some doctors came over (she looks around, especially at my less than perfect physique,
she is about to expel a naughty, bad word that should never meet the ears of polite company
her eyes are red and look like they will fall out of their sockets
like those little ****** dogs
My friend the vet said one's eyeball fell out during an operation
So he put it back
she's roughly my age, but she has a natural tan in the middle of winter
and the sun has written it's thin lined signature all over her face creating the look
of a satellite image of an area once filled with rivulets of water,
but now experiencing a severe drought
but she truly is 99% fat free)
and they were...OBESE. Can you believe it?"
L'horror.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
There lives a dragon in my stomach.
That pokes and prods with every scale.
With heat from it’s flames that leave skin blushed.
A bloated squeezing growing from the lack of room.
I check my stomach daily.
Searching for holes and bruises,
My hands running over bear skin amazed.
And yet, I feel it now,
Playing chess up my spine,
Each claw catching as it climbs up my vertebrae.
Leaving chills and goosebumps in it’s passing.
I’ve cried out for help.
Wanting nothing more from this beast.
But it leaves nightmares with it’s presence.
And it’s wings make perfect walls.
People just get tired after a while.
Just “the boy who cried wolf,”
But as I spout more words to them scrambling for help.
I see the smoke pillowing out of my mouth.
And before I could question,
We were both just as blinded.
I have a dragon in my stomach.
Years spent together like bitter friends.
Growing used to the burn of it’s hugs.
Even dousing the flames on my own at times.
A begrudging compromise.
Now overtime the beast grew too.
Spending more of it’s passing as a shadow over my shoulders.
Even with much less hold on me than before.
It still watches with delight.
Some days weighing like a backpack of bricks.
Whispering in my ear, coaching. Letting smoke fill my head, confusing.
Most other days are more bearable.
At night the beast stays on my chest.
Like a scaly tiger it curls on top,
With a kneading purr as it settles.
I never quite remember sleeping these nights.
Flashes of tossing and turning from being uncomfortable.
Poking, and prodding, and burning, and now chilling, and now waking up sweating.
The fog only clearing after spending time awake.
Alas there is a dragon in my stomach.
A spiteful beast that took hold there.
With greetings just like an old friend.
And when I finally demanded it’s name.
“Trauma” the beast told me.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
I'm not a critic but I'm honest
My passion to write keeps me in the light
Mma keeps me strong
minds racing can't accept defeat
Drums beats in mind all about the tempo
My opinion doesn't always matter
When it does not sure what to say
Coaching my team to be the best
Want to be the best not settle for less
Leader of the pack comes natural
Ranks don't matter do your part
Know your role make it part of your soul
I'm anxious to grow and excel in what I do
Repetition and keep practicing
Never quit eventually you'll get it
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
The bird stood by the lake and peered at the bird on the other side so beautiful and fine
" So long my friend,I know now that you a are a state of my mind. I can never hope to be as superb as you.
Can never hope to be.
One day
After many years, the bird fell in love with a skunk that was a smelly mess
and after many years the bird fell in love with a chameleon. Very confusing affair
neither here nor there..The bird thought she was a chameleon too. No sense of self
She could have been an elf if that was required.
She eventually tired slithered and flew away.
Many years later she fell in love with a Hawk.You should have heard her squeak and squawk.
Said the hawk . I am hunter, you are prey now for your own good just fly away. She decided to stay. Anyway.
Persistent.?
Blind?
who is to stay.
The Hawk for some reason saw the good in the bird and
relented.
Learned to love the bird though a difficult task
to not follow instinct and gut the poor thing.
Little hawklings did spring.
Hawk .
Many, Many years later after much coaxing and coaching the bird
stood tall and felt a good vibe.
Tried to eat the hawk alive. Who knew.
A sad ending to the tale
duck feathers on the floor.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
I want to do more with writing
Make money in my passions
I wanted to.be an mma fighter but injuries take time to heal
Coaching was fun but the politics an favortism got old
Years of giving my all coming up short
I asked what can I do to move up they gave advice to the guy next to me
Refuse to stay down and out
When others leave I move on better off with out
If you leave that's on you I'll be around
If not I hsve to live and pursue my life
I hate not knowing living in doubt
No regret but hard to forget
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
Not one to give advice but willing to help others.
Coaching has taught to lead a team
Mentoring peers to helping them excel
Giving pointers on writing many talents
The best way to master is teach
Multiple repetitions an practice
Skills aren't natural they are learned
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 4:44 AM UTC
Where is the child
Who has moved through thirty winters
Since he watched his father
Try to bowl a cricket ball
And who, by careful coaching elsewhere
Understood, that the action of his arm was wrong,
Scribing through the child’s unblemished run
Of seven faultless summers, a clumsy arc,
Which sent the ball too wide,
And called from restless slumber
A spectre of uncertain shape and size.
Where is the child
Who saw his father’s failure
Force derision from each watcher’s eye
And shared their scorn, yet was ashamed.
Where is the child
Who learned too fast
The legacy of adoration,
And impotently sent imaginings
From fevered nights to boil
Each mocking eye in blood.
Where is the child
Who felt confusion; anger,
Then, the dormant seed of virulent contempt
Germinate, strike root, grow, bud and bloom,
Finding instantly, a fallow vein
In which to flower for his father’s sake.
Where is the child?
Where is the child now?
His desolation lives between these lines.
His uncomprehending eyes plead from every word,
At each full stop he mutely tries to speak.
Just once, his hand stretched from this page
To touch my own.
©James Rainsford 2010
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 11:08 AM UTC
i lke to stand out in crowds
socialize amd meet new ppl
may not be tall but im a big figure
my smile unique eyes have that sparkle
make ppl laugh and smile makes my day
pray to be understood and play music loud
punk my style diy (do it yourself)
my heart beats like a drum solo in metal music
my lyrics deep amd dark my world is dark but full of strength
remember the day i change for the better
being funny usually means my sense of humor is mistake for weakness
one day i plan to be a radio personal
one day publish something that will give new perspective
may not ne the best one but im he right one for the job i see myself doing
coaching was fun but the competitive edge comes out
mma is another favorite sport of mine
the possiblities light my mind up
i call the sport and game how i see it, i found respect what you love
pursue it with all you have to give it will bring the best out of you
if not you can bring the best out in others
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
I think I threw my arm out playing catch its fun to be involved push myself to belong and feel I belong proving myself.
That's the feeling I love most about sports always doing my best try to be my best on and off the field. I like my training and efforts to go towards something. I want to be in an MMA match before I'm 30 I don't look my age and told myself I'd be in better shape than a teen or better. I've set personal goals I have to stop letting other factors play a role.
Today was an emotional expressing myself being able to have a connection to something I love.
I do miss coaching but don't want to go back my staff treated me unfair but starting new is the way to get over the bad that's going on.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
They came without vision
None questioned their skills
They took a big lead
Then promply got killed
New England was battered
New England was bruised
Atlanta was lunching
And quickly got schooled
The halftime explicits
They blistered the walls
The bigger the lead
The harder they fall
Tom Brady's the gravy
In Belichick's cup
Coach built a big fire
And heated him up
There were some deep passes
Some ***** and some dunks
The hell of it is
It was done without Gronk
That tightend of legend
Who sat in the wings
While wiley Tom Brady
Conducted the thing
It's all big in Texas
Including that game
The hype, the excitement
For Atlanta, the shame
We heard them complaining
We saw them give in
With Julio to lead them
They still couldn't win
But, there is good news
If it wasn't from chocking
They stumble this fall
Then it must be bad coaching
In twenty-eighteen, we'll fire the staff
And bring in some retread
For minimum cash
He'll get the ball rolling
We'll win it, for sure
Or, ole Mr Ryan
We're showing the door
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
4am in a world away
I heard the news
Not best way to start the day
I wished it was just hearsay
I still do
See a big part of me
Was made from you
Talking through my earphones
Coaching me through life
Helping me fight
All the good fights
Singing and dancing
Crying, and now mourning
Countries apart
Yet you connected to me
You still do
Thank you for everything
You will be missed
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Watching
observing
like social outcasts
typical and yet atypical
according to demographics.
Craving ideas concepts facts
that will/do separate us from the herd.
Lost notions of sense
seeking portrayals, refurbishing old ideals
Warping every ounce of self
simply to emulate
some long forgotten concept
which no one will ever truly understand.
The brunt of a joke yes,
The stoic face that removes you from a content moment always.
We see
We accept
Most never understanding
Reading lines casting lies
doing our selves the only justice
Of keeping "them" content
I am not social with you all
I was never to be
I can accept that
I would even claim to understand
I care for,
for some small sake
Yet
"who's?"
is the only question to astound me.
Not the for who or the good golly whys
That are blathered from the lips
of every would be philoso-phile.
More so the
"who is?"
Because in reality so many of us are not
NOT
Stopping to smell the flowers
(for the truth of its meaning)
Breathing
Feeling
Seeing
Listening
Coaching
Questioning
Learning
(or ever truly)
Knowing.
Not even i.
i won't even fathom what it is to be.
Simply out of
Respect,
Awe,
Wonder.
Do we touch sanctity
or does it only grace us with their presence?
If so does
he/she/they/it
have a name?
Could our gift remain solely
in our ability for recognition?
i Question myself in efforts
To obtain procure peruse
not in doubt.
Doubt is a by product of fear.
I shall not fear
Will you
Do they
As hard as we make it
It will forever be ourselves.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 1:55 PM UTC
Little girl burned by desires
Go go in her head she loves a man
She is young and stupid
Naive, innocent and adventurous
Sneaking in the night she reaches the fone calls a lover that lay in bed elsewhere with a another woman
The deceit of her beauty drives her astray
To risk her future in blindness to fall for moments
How can i lert a proud heart majestic in high life to spend at all times the sweat of men as she never minded she was cementing her tomorrow.
I dont care she said...i can leave home...who cares i can abort.
But then who cares you can also die, she sees from near and focuses not afar.
Early in the morning the mother folds her back and hits the garden searching for surviving fighting for her daughter.
No she is flittered and gone her coaching books with her body I pause and tear.....
Such a generation
She says to all dont tell me what to do i have my chances to live, like a cat she believes in nine lives.
Her smooking temper alerts well wisher of help
Her clothes torn to many so she moves naked in their eyes only clothed to the unknown
The universe you ought to have will now have you
Will they be bygones or will it regrets
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
Girl ...
I'm so tired of shedding tears -
starting to feel like a hairless cat
Don't know why God made us females so sensitive
We're like ice-cream
sweet, soft, smooth, delicious
taking whatever shape you impress upon us
It ***** ...
When I think I'm over it -
just the merest look or a suggestive hook
throws me right back in a nook
It belies the fact that I'm strong !
Independent, a mind of my own
a leader
Except, - If you look closer
a heart that's made of gold -
which melts at his look or touch
even though, I know
he's going to hurt me so much
I cry - tears of fear
Trouble don't last always
when this has come to past
I will be okay
looking for love again at last
The day will be bright
I'll be coaching my girlfriends on men
having no more tears of my own -
I'll be training her to stand up alone
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC