"competitions" poems
I began my life active with sports and other meaningless award systems.
Girl's recreational soccer, basketball, bike riding, math competitions, the works
Today, I feel weightless
useless would be best fit
As if all the running, jumping, yelling, point requiring statuses pushed the light out of my transitioned life.
I find myself sitting in one area often, as one may do
But different than sitting on a bench or sitting actively in company of others
I sit wondering exactly who I am looking at
Why am I empty lifeless longing towards an imaginary spot in the distant wall
I imagine some events in these minutes of stoic despair
Hearing goes weak and frozen, in this second, while I continue my Sunday brunch with non-conformative attitudes and her mother, the sweet old dementia
I don't mean to have their meetings often, I must of first acquainted as the first grade trauma or the Broadway rendition of Alone Thoughts featuring the Broken High School Years.
I hope to work the wheels again, to end these meetings and to live for once, in the midst of motion and pause.
This time, stopping and starting as I please.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
Four years spent here
Four summers at band camp
Memories to last a lifetime
Long hot practices
Hearing ‘Love ya mean it’ daily
Supporting the football team all season
Friday nights at Wildcat Stadium
Sometimes followed by competition the next day
Late nights and early mornings become routine
Long bus rides to competitions
Coming home on a win
Loud roll calls in your ear
But still loving it
Last band camp, last premier show, last football game, last marching practice, last competition, last band bus ride, last competition
Last festival, last concert practice, last concert, last band banquet
Not ready to leave
Never thought you would make it this far
Never thought graduation would be around the corner
Never thought about leaving the band room for the last time as a student
Never thought about last field show or game/competition
Would ever come up
Seniors to be dearly missed
Can’t believe this time is here
To say goodbye
To graduate and move on
Don’t want to leave high school band
Don’t want to leave a family of supporters
But know we will always be here for you
Love ya Seniors
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
My 2 Cents
“the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.”
Let me start by mentioning that I don’t usually get involved with political matters, but in this case, I’d say it’s more of a basic human rights matter.
I’m a man, and I’m a feminist.
I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with three women; my mother and two older sisters. Growing up with them gave me an enormous amount of respect for women, (even though I may have lost a certain amount of socially expected masculinity along the way), and their current lives continue to increase my respect for the opposite gender.
My oldest sister is leaving to study abroad at Oxford in less than a week to major in philosophy. Philosophy. She also graduated high school with a 4.0 and was involved in power lifting competitions and is enlisted in ROTC. Simply put, she’s an animal. She’s worked hard her entire life and I’d hate to see a world that put that hard work to waste.
My other sister is working three jobs to pay her way through college and is planning to major in psychology. I’m always envious of her work ethic and level of commitment to not only her education, but to her friends and family as well.
My mother has been my backbone since I was a child. She was always the one I turned to in times of trouble, and continues to be. She works hard everyday, while going through mentally straining marriage problems, and comes home and still asks me about my day. She has given me nothing but unconditional love for my entire existence.
For these reasons, it boggles my mind why anyone would ever be anti-feminism. I am genuinely confused as to why, because their bodies are different, women get less privileges, respect, opportunities, and even money. I just don’t get it.
I am also disgusted that women are seen by most men as walking ****** organs. l will admit genuine guilt to using the number scale to “rate” women. It’s something I grew up with, but now it sickens me. Assigning a number to a woman based on your misguided views on how she should look, whether you would **** her, is something I find repulsive. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the opposite *** but no one gives a **** about your stupid opinion, especially the woman.
I hope someday if I ever have a daughter that she will have the privilege of living in a country of gender equality, tolerance, and open-mindedness.
Anyway, I just wanted to put my two cents in.
I am a man.
I am a feminist.
Peace.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
crime, staring competitions, tears.
these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.
your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.
i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.
but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;
but we'll never forget.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
(To my sisters and brother)
I will always miss …
Our sunset ending quarrels
Our never-ending teases
Christmas’ shared carols
Warm hugs
Through sweet gazes
The sarcastic smiling faces
The growing-up races
Revenge taking chases
Greed over goodies to be hidden
In unpredictable places
And I will always miss …
Competitions and crazy bets
Singing hilarious duets
Of made-up songs in the shower
This innocence
Of our childish humor
Screamed from a room to another
That art of tricking eachother
To cleverly stay in control
Or wrestling over the remote control
And I will always miss …
Decades of shared history
Amplified joy and divided misery
Bursts of laughter on old tapes
Creatively imagined games
Of whirlpools in drapes
And goalkeeper leaps
Random costume parties
Daily role-play stories
Sega sagas from dusk to dawn
Alliances and conspiracies
Sisters, my lovely sisters
Wise, you have become
Loving wives, caring mothers
Soon, you will become
Make sure your kids relive
What we used to live
Their uncle will make you proud
Just like you fill him with pride
Brother, dear brother
I secretly looked up to you
As I grew older
I kept resembling you
It doesn’t matter
If you’re a little far
Brotherhood’s a matter
Of unbreakable bond
And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Rejection, Rejection,
Oh, how that I loathe thee
It seems to me that you are
NOT my cup of tea.
I have tried to fit in
And to get in on the action,
But you just keep coming in;
giving me a bad reaction.
I have applied myself
To many aspects of life,
You came in, ruined it,
And you’ve given me the strife.
From jobs, internships, applications, and auditions
for a chance to act in the theatrical productions,
to contests, competitions, sports games and tryouts
Thanks to you, I’m feeling left out.
I’ve lost the hope, I’ve lost the faith
In any aspect that I put myself into,
You, Rejection, are the cause of all of this
You’ve made me feel sad and blue.
I feel like I’m a loser
And I’ve given up the fight
You’ve kept me in the darkness
I can’t seem to see the light!
I have big dreams and goals
Wanting to be an entertainer;
You just set my dreams and goals aside.
That’s a no-brainer.
I’m depressed and lonely
And it’s all thanks to you!
Rejection, you’ve just made
My nightmares come true!
This is not what my purpose
In life’s supposed to be,
Rejection, please go away!
Please let me be!
I would hide all of my true feelings
From my relatives, colleagues, and friends,
Please stop this, Rejection!
I want it to end!
Rejection, Rejection,
I really hate you!
We’re breaking up and
going our separate ways.
I’m through with you!
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Churches and cathedrals filled with paralegal misfits,
its just sick how beautiful nations can come to this.
Bowing down on knees just to see a better view,
quoting a bunch of words or two,
you lie sins still comes in multiples.
I know because I've seen many clips being load,
and triggers pulled to explode flesh just to expose the soul.
You wash your faces with holy water,
then when service is over your back on corners bringing wars such as black on black slaughter.
Selling dopamine to fends hellacious scenes seems to be clear to see hell-raiser dreams I seem to intervene,
contradictions to competitions, imperfect visions,
natural destruction I can't believe,
a deep pit I can't perceive.
Arab stores selling crack, Coors and ****** ******
Nobody scores in this world of imperfections.
A twisted method and deal we keep our lips sealed,
and peace is killed all because of the choices of freewill.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
371
A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—
His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—
His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—
What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—
When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before
He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—
His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—
2.9k
My father was famous for
noticing endings
admitting defeats
accepting declines
moving along
being a good, end-of-game sport.
Sometimes
he’d spark a surprise
come back—
an evening of the score.
“*The folks are as good
as the people*” he’d declare.
But as life
invariably turns out,
the folks are
rarely
as good
as the people
the pitcher as the batter
the husband as the wife
the striker as the goalie
the salesman as the prospect
the child as the parent
the ying as the yang.
In competitions someone
always conquers, even if just a bit;
the other
always loses, even if just surface wounds—
death always comes
natural or quick.
Then you
know:
“*It’s all over
but the crying.*”
Dad,
I’ve been crying,
but when will I know
“it’s over?”
And, since some “folks” aren’t
so good after all, please tell:
How victorious is victory?
Who is defeated in defeat?
What is the final score?
Who won again?
The true score for when it’s over is
perhaps how
we make sense of the endings,
beginnings,
and
rebeginnings
of life
shared and solitary.
So where is that game clock
that tally board, that ledger to
release my game
announce my endings
settle my scores
so I can do my crying
and
prepare
for next season?
18.i.11
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
To the one who hosts competitions…
Which ******* gave you the right?
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)
Who said you could take such liberties?
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it
Just one, because I want you to see…
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…
I still have a few things to run you over with.
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle
Such a fitting exercise. For you.
You have become what you really are.
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.
Lets get down to business, shall we?
I hate you. You know why.
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.
Then I will administer XXXX XXX
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the ******* the wrists….etc….
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Homework, Tests, Quizzes
I'd rather be doing competitions
for things that I actually love
Shredding, Music, and everything I write of.
What if I were to drop out?
Would my life exist on the ground?
Or would I have more time to make me
instead of boxing up all of my dreams
I'm sick of school 7 hours a day
I wanna stay home and go my own way
Compose music and post it
Go on the Voice and then host it
the education has my mind swirled
I'm stuck here I wanna transworld
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I've got a big day,
A big day planned
But it wasn't planned by me,
Or written by my hand
First I get up at 6,
To get ready for the day
And then I drive myself to school
And go to Band to play.
Then school starts at 8,
The "long dark of Moria"
When I finally get a break after lunch
You'd think I'd sing hallelujah.
But the work really starts at 1,
When I help set up for the meet;
Knowledge Bowl competitions are
Meeting at my school this week.
Finally it'll start at 2,
And my brain will be drilled for answers;
At 5:30, when the meet is done,
I'd be happy enough to dance--or
There's something going on at 6,
That I almost forgot about--
Practice for our biggest show
Choir and band go all out.
At last, eyes closing at 9,
I'll get picked up, I think
Though I drove myself, I'm not sure
How my parents planned everything.
If I survive my day today,
Then I should be alright
Exhausted tomorrow, when I still have
Half of these assignments to cite.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
There was, once, a love that was based on a dance that lasted for two years.
She was a partner that wanted to compete for first place in a county fair.
She spoke soft, gentle words to put me at ease.
We began the dance, mutually significant in each other's eyes.
As we started to sweat, far into the first three months, she gave in and collapsed.
My heart fell to the pit of my stomach, and my eyes welled with sorrow.
We continued with our dancing practices, and did quite well.
We entered other competitions, sometimes we made money and sometimes we didn't.
Soon enough the county fair came a-rolling through again.
We tried again.
This time, the clock was already against us, but we were older and with more practice.
We began the dance, we tried as well as we could, we sweated and took delightful deep breaths in the middle of this event.
We were both pleased with the outcome.
We ended up agreeing not to be partners again.
Anyone up for a dance partner?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
During the first month
of band class,
You can’t even make a sound,
You get tired, frustrated,
And you ask yourself why you even did it.
During the third month
Of band class,
You are at the point,
Where you get so excited
When you can play twinkle twinkle,
Without missing a note.
During the fifth month
Of band class,
You feel like it’s going pretty well,
You still know you ****
But you still think you might want to stick with it.
The first year has gone by,
And you are definitely doing it again.
The year finished strong,
And you feel great.
Then middle school goes by,
You think you’re all that,
So you go onto high school.
During the freshman year,
In marching band,
Things get hard,
But you learn that it’s kind of like a family,
You stick together through thick and thin.
During the senior year,
In band,
you realize that you made it,
No matter how hard things got,
And you are so glad you didn’t quit.
After you graduate,
You think back all to of the
Cold, rainy, football games,
The gross band competitions,
And you know that if you were told,
To go back and perform with them again,
You would.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 7:42 PM UTC
when i was born,
you cried to our grandmother
because you wanted a brother
and got stuck with me, instead.
and what a turn of events that became.
when i was a baby,
i busted the back of your teeth out
with a bottle of perfume,
most likely contributing to your
repetitive dreams of your teeth falling out.
sometimes i think of this when you say your "th"s.
when i was a child,
you would pick peppers with our dad
down the street and hold eating competitions
while i squashed berries in my little tyke car.
we played mouse trap on the floor.
when i completed my first decade of life,
you packed your bags, got on a bus,
got married, and were deployed for the first time.
i don't remember much of those days.
i only remember the first phone call,
"yours truly, from iraq."
when i was eleven,
you came home, war torn and ragged
and divorced from an army wife
who was never really a wife at all.
you moved on, in some ways
more than others.
you were different, changed.
when i became a preteen,
i met a girl, and looked at our mom
and i said, "he's going to marry that girl."
and marry her, you did,
and had your first child, too.
when i was a teenager,
you taught me important life lessons
like how i act when i'm drunk
and how to do sake bombs like i belong in asia.
you taught me to eat with chopsticks.
through babysitting, i learned to wait to have a child.
and now, at twenty years old, everything is different.
living down the street from me, then in the old house,
and finally in our mom's house with me,
the dynamics changed.
we became the best friends we'd
always tried to be, but were too distant
to maintain. we gained trust and inside jokes.
you finally gave approval of my boyfriend.
we wreaked havoc and stayed up way too late.
but then you moved five hundred miles away,
and every day my heart feels ripped into pieces.
i miss all the jokes, and you waking me up
to our favorite songs.
i miss my brother. i miss my bubby.
i hope one day one of us will go home.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
1150
How many schemes may die
In one short Afternoon
Entirely unknown
To those they most concern—
The man that was not lost
Because by accident
He varied by a Ribbon’s width
From his accustomed route—
The Love that would not try
Because beside the Door
It must be competitions
Some unsuspecting Horse was tied
Surveying his Despair
1.9k
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
She tends softly her man
As well as all her children
She aint seeking for equity
She is seeking for prosperity
Growth, of all her generations
She knows well her traditions
Not to be in combatant competitions
Not to fight the physical equal wars
But to strengthen the spiritual-mental walls
And they call her in tough titles-submissive and foolish
All she does is, a sit-home mum, bear and then perish
But she knows well all she wants-her family to flourish
In the hearts of the matters there you will find her
Strong and willed to build and leave her legacy
Moral men and wise women-humans of substance
She is a pillar to her home
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
She sits on her sack, in her arms
A giant club to clobber her farms-
Her fields fat yields of yams
And she beats their pulps till powders
They are all ground refined white dusts
Pu! Pu! Pu! Goes her game's rhythms
Pu! Pu! Pu! Shakes her shoulders
Pu! Pu! Pu! Her biceps fats dances with each fast beatings
Pu! Pu! Pu! Strong, on, urges her throbbing breast chest
Pu! Pu! Pu! Comes back the hard works echoes
Like her man in mines and farms and fields she, too, salty sweats
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
On her back is a bundle of woods
On her head balanced, is a load of loads
On her back is a can of waters
On her back is a baggage of belongings
On her back is her children
On her bent back she is a farmer weeding her fields
All in a day’s daily work without complains
African woman, who stronger woman, than you?
She is the backbone of her family
She is the umbilical cord of her folks
She is their heart and soul and spirit
She doesn’t retire until she expires
Early she is up-late she is asleep, O Mama-African woman!
Even with all gone, she still as a mother chicken them all broods
She still them all remembers as my dear little children
Mama, African woman! Mama, who there be like you?
African woman
You are the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
When they all walk naked-liberal
She has a wrapper for her *****
A cloak to guard her gold-her fertile groins
She knows, good honey is deeply hidden in hives
And inside these hidden hives are strong stings
Bad eyes are a sight for witches-evil ruins
Her petals plains she must by all means protect
Until right comes the most suitable honeybee
Until right comes the sweetest singing hummingbird
Until moral comes the most beautiful butterfly
Until then, her nectar is not for every eye-tongue
Gathered she covers her fine curves
For she is the most beautiful of the divines-African Woman!
The strongest woman-the cradle of all human!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
It's been ten months since we started
New classmates, new teachers.
New classrooms,
New seatmates,
New memories to create with,
New challenges to face.
Everything is new.
I thought I wouldn't enjoy this school year
I thought I wouldn't miss this
I thought it wouldn't be unforgettable
But unfortunately, I was wrong.
In my years of high school,
this is the BEST section ever.
There may be a misunderstanding at first,
between our lovely teachers and us
but at the end, we are still one.
We had joined many competitions,
we had also faced many fights between each other
but still, our friendship is still the same.
We lost many speech choir,
we won a reader's theater,
we didn't make it to be on musical theater,
but we performed at runway.
Our teachers always hate us
because of our noisy classroom.
Our school year may not be perfect,
but the memories we created was absolutely perfect
that you will think at night
and realized that you don't want to leave the Grade 9 life.
But then, you have to let go in order for us to grow
Our journey may end today,
but friendship and memories last for a lifetime.
just like what our teacher said,
"in every beginning there's an ending,
but in every ending there's a new beginning."
maybe it's our time to say goodbye
to the beautiful things we had share with.
and say welcome to the new memories,
new classmates,
new teachers,
new classroom.
And also, to the new chapter
of our high school life.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Welcome to the century of diet pills and hospital bills;
Of diet coke and menthol smoke;
Of thigh gaps and what?
Of girls throwing a mask of bones over themselves;
Disguising themselves,
Hiding every inch of skin from prying eyes and lighthearted lies of 'you dont need to lose any weight;
but doesn't your sister look real good staring at her plate,
And your moms diet seems to have gone really good;
Tell me, does she even eat any food?'
So when I started shrinking I didn't know who to blame.
But right now in the body society rejects I can't find an inch of me that is not ashamed .
Of how my ideas of perfection have been poisoned from the minute I was born.
Growing up I've watched my sister evaporate,
Picking up habits at the dinner table
My eyes fixate;
On every mouthful she lets past her hungry lips.
Counting every glass of water, counting every sip.
Tell me why,
Why girls of our generation think worth is calculated in pounds and inches
Or why empty stomachs and shaking palms are somehow congratulated.
Why our collar bones turn into competitions nobody ever wins.
Welcome to the century of starving girls
Of pretty, starving girls.
Of pretty, dying girls.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
Seventh Grade.
I wrote a poem about a solider
who couldn't unsee all the damage
wrought on his friends and brothers.
My mother cried.
Asked, “what have I done?
For you to write such
despairing things?”
Eighth Grade.
My English teacher tried to
“Harness” my talent,
in the raw.
Pushed me into competitions
Of which I had no interest.
Freshman Year.
I got accused of plagiarism.
After all,
What could I possibly know
of the world's tragedies,
after a mere 14 years spent here?
I was told to “stick to something
a 14-year-old girl would right. So
it isn't obvious.”
Sophomore Year.
I wrote about
the boy who held my heart.
Because that's what
15-year-old girls write about.
Or so I've been told.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Remembering how things went the moment we first talk.
It really was hard as challenge for me to look.
It’s because I’m that shy-type at first time.
And because you’re mesmerizing, like star in darkness that shines.
You are known for having an encouraging smile.
The way you look, it’s like perfection to human kind.
Whenever you are around, it feels like there’s heaven in land.
You are a fairy and your voice is your significant wand.
You are like Artemis, the goddess of the hunt;
For it’s like you have this invisible bow and arrow on your hands.
You’re a woman who is brave and a fighter, ready for battle;
And in competitions, I salute you for going home as the winner.
In terms of inspiration, intelligence, courage and wisdom;
You are like Athena, the goddess of these things in one.
By simply listening to your influencing words, there is wisdom.
You inspire people; encourage them to be better the next time.
Beauty is always attached to your name clearly.
And love is always defined with your personality.
You’re a woman of caring a heart which is a nurse thingy.
That is why among the Greek goddesses, I want you as Aphrodite.
As how you sway your hair when you walk until it went messy;
As how mesmerizing your eyes whenever you talk, you’re just so pretty;
As how soft-hearted you are even if you talk frankly,
You should know that you deserve a crowd that applause for you dearly.
© Quenniebells, 2015
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
One man who stood among giants
Short in status
Mighty in endurance
It was the spotlight in posing
The man’s name was Ed Corney
Mr. Corney was a Master Poser
Amazement and determination throughout
Dazzle in muscle as they entertained
Ed Corney is a name that just remain
It all relates to the sport of Bodybuilding
Mr. Corney muscles were always ready and pumped
He trained with precision
Mr. Corney practiced posing with all the right moves
Posing with transition in elegance being smooth
Dramatics beyond any verbal script, but creativity being an art
Mr. Corney can be seen in the documentary of Bodybuilding being “PUMPING IRON “
Bodybuilding was Ed Corney’s heart
It was the fire burning within from the very start
One would often see Ed Corney among Arnold Schwarzzenger, Franco Columbu and Serge Nubret and other Bodybuilding champions
Mr. Corney trained lacking nothing, but everything to gain
Competition to win being the purpose
Yet Ed Corney was more than just Bodybuilding
It didn’t matter he won numerous bodybuilding titles, but ne never loss sight of devoted fans
It was Mr. Corney fans encouragement, and that is what caught Mr. Corney’s eyes on the prize of bodybuilding achievement
Mr. Corney was a humanitarian in every sense of the word
The weights in all gyms have dropped down on all floors
The loss of a Bodybuilding Champion
A long list of Bodybuilding competitions
A muscled hero will be posing in Heaven
Ed Corney’s final competition is won
He is in God’s Kingdom
God said, “I will give you rest and on Earth you did your best”
You have achieved awards on Earth
But Heaven will be your enriched birth
Ed Corney words he might would say, “Thank you fans, but my work in Bodybuilding is finished, and remember me in being distinguished. Train wise and achieve your own expectations, but always have the art of Bodybuilding in appreciation. Remember the greats who made Bodybuilding what it is today, and tomorrow being your heritage. It has been honor to share with you being one of the Bodybuilding stars. My journey has taken me beyond the Bodybuilding skies and planets. This is not a finale, but until we meet again.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
I believe we are of sound and worthy mind;
That we might cast our constant glare back,
Towards our own transgressions and
Pretensious claims to ascendance.
That we may reflect on our own fortune,
Alive and affluent, rich in life and
Experience ill afforded to our elders.
Perhaps then we might pretend,
If only for fleeting moments,
That we are as deserving as we commonly believe.
For we are nothing if not
The cynical generation, born into
A world so mature that we need be
Nothing but children within it.
We have no politics, no beliefs, no
Drive to propel us into an existence of
Grace and enlightenment. We scoff
At signs of sentiment, we laugh
At barefaced gesture and divulgence.
We indulge in ceaseless pleasures and
Live upon the surface of the shallows.
Yet we forfeit the beauty of feeling,
The release afforded by sublimity;
We are afraid of what is bigger than us,
And we respond with profane derision.
I tire of popularity competitions,
Of gossip and blunt innuendo, of
Social ladders and picking up.
I yearn, with nostalgia and music, for
A time foreign to this weary soul,
A time perhaps non-existent, when
Such games were not all there was.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 4:09 AM UTC
What happened to the girl,
The girl that hated me with everything she had
Only to realize that we had so much in common
And that it made no sense
As to why we hated each other?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that became my best friend
And told me that nothing would come between us
No matter what?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that was there when I was broken hearted
Who told me to stop shedding tears over him,
He wasn’t worth it;
There were other fish in the sea?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that made sure I didn’t get hurt playing sports
That I wasn’t pushing my limits,
Who was worried when I wore a knee brace?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that told me when I was being stupid,
When I was about to get hurt because I wasn’t thinking,
Who told me to express myself in other ways?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that was crazy and hyper with me,
Who danced around, had burping competitions with me,
That would come up with weird combinations of food to eat
Who stayed up late and shared secrets with me?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that wrote a poem to me on my first birthday apart from you,
Who gave me a soccer ball and popcorn as a present
Who said that the distance wouldn’t mean a single thing
And we’d always have each other,
Who was terrified to tell me that she was leaving because she didn’t know how to say it?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that was my best friend
Who was always there for me no matter what
That looked after me
And made sure I didn’t get hurt or do something stupid
Who made sure I was okay?
What happened to the girl,
The girl that was my best friend?
She got lost somewhere along the way
Somewhere into an abyss
An abyss that I couldn’t drag her out of.
I guess we’re back to the beginning;
Back to you hating me.
This time though,
I don’t hate you back.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC