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snarkysparkles Aug 2016
So, next week, I lose a limb.
I have it marked on my calendar in neat, purple letters.
Humans, unlike starfish, spiders, or Dr. Curt Connors, cannot regrow limbs.
They can be amputated or removed surgically to prevent disease,
But this is different.

You see, this Friday, when I lose my limb, I won't get a replacement limb.
And the disease, if you can call it a disease, well,
As far as I can see, it'll spread faster than ever.

Have you ever loved someone so much that they become a part of you?

First of all, it's very unhealthy.

Second of all, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Well, if you've ever felt this way toward someone else, it's safe to say that someday, you will start to think of them as an actual part of you- like your other half.

The more time you spend with them, the more you'll read their expressions, pick up on the nuances of their speech and expression, the more you'll open up to them and sync up to their moods and habits-

It's frightfully parasitic.

And when they leave, it's like losing a part of yourself-
After all, you've put so much into each other,
So much that you'll never get back.

I'm in love, and it's beautiful and terrifying.

My love is a part of me that's getting ripped off this Friday.

You see, he's moving three hours away.

He's a year older, and he's going to college.
I'm more scared than he is about it.

Luckily, we're only separated by physical distance.
But honestly- you know that gag in movies where the villains tie the protagonist limb by limb to four horses and send the horses galloping off in four different directions?

That.
It feels like that.

This Friday, I'm losing a limb- for now,
I'm losing him.

So, soon, I'll have to learn to live as just one part of a whole.

That is, until Thanksgiving break...
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Locker
by Michael R. Burch

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

reproved
adulation or sentiment,
left with the pungent darkness

as remembered as the sudden light.

Originally published by The Raintown Review

These are poems about sports like baseball, basketball, boxing, football and soccer. Keywords/Tags: Sports, locker, locker room, clamor, adulation, acclaim, applause, sentiment, darkness, light, retirement, athlete, team, trophy, award, acclamation



Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.

They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, “called a ***** a *****.”
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ******, did me wrong.
A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.

They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,
and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.

My face reflected up, more bronze than gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—Bold.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child.
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

Published by Black Medina, Bashgah (Iran, in a Farsi translation), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Freshet, Formal Verse, Borderless Journal, Interracial Love, and in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong

Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying, “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ******.” I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in a publication called Bashgah.



Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch



hey pete!
by michael r. burch

for Pete Rose

hey pete,
it's baseball season
and the sun ascends the sky,
encouraging a schoolboy’s dreams
of winter whizzing by;
go out, go out and catch it,
put it in a jar,
set it on a shelf
and then
you'll be a Superstar.

Pete Rose was my favorite baseball player as a boy; this poem is not a slam at him, but rather ironic commentary on the term “superstar.”



Baseball's immeasurable spittin’ mixed with occasional hittin’.—Michael R. Burch



Larry Seivers had golden hands
by Michael R. Burch

Larry Seivers had golden hands,
platinum hands,
diamond hands,
hands of jasper, sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, sardius, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth and amethyst.

Other receivers were more elusive,
bigger,
faster,
more physical,
flashier ...

but Larry Seivers had hands.



Julius
by Michael R. Burch

Instinct
in an unplanned moment
as you rise
will teach your limbs the art of flight:
the waltz of light
through vaulted skies.

A falcon flies:
its keening cries
as sunlight fails
fall hollow to the earth below,
and you must know
how fierce the light of sunset feels.

You hear
those ringing cries, their echoes clear
though far away, and so you pause
—defying even gravity,
suspended over some vast sea—
then fall ... into applause.



Larry Legend
by Michael R. Burch

He's slow, can't jump,
looks pale and plump.
He talks too much;
he brags, and such.
He's not real nice,
has blood like ice
and will like steel
(and steal he will).
But when the game is on the line,
your team, or mine?



Big Mc Attack
by Michael R. Burch

Johnny Mc
Enroe
is back—
the fierce
attack
of words
and serves,
returns
and taunts.

He flaunts;
he flails,
reviles
and rails.
Sometimes
he wails.
His ego
swells.
He grunts
and groans
and moans
and gee . . .
I think
he wants
to referee!

Johnny Mc
(thank God)
is back—
wisecrack
ing, fiery,
taking flack
(not hesitant
to give it back).

We love
to watch
him glare
and wince,
and since we sense
his dreams
(intense),
we sit
on pins
until
he wins.



For Jack Nicklaus, at the 1987 Open
by Michael R. Burch

When you were young
every putt was makeable
and every dream remarkable;
the stars were unmistakable
you set your sights upon.

Then, in your youth,
time not yet a factor
and age not yet your rector,
you plotted every vector
and victory shone ahead, like truth.

But uncouth youth was fleeting ...
soon losses grew more numerous;
time's skies became more cumulus;
the nerves with age—more tremulous,
as the sun from the sky was setting, retreating.

How have you then, as sunset nears
and the world looks on with unsure eyes,
cast off the crutch of age to rise
and stand as though the butterflies
have no effect, no, nor the cheers?



I wrote this poem after Tom Watson chipped in at the 1982 US Open to defeat Jack Nicklaus. Nicklaus was getting older, but he was still competitive.

There Are Dreams
by Michael R. Burch

for Jack Nicklaus

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that are etched into your eyes.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that resignation can’t disguise.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed . . .
O, I’ve dreamed them, esteemed them.

Like fire,
desire
flares most brightly as it dies.



Jimbo
by Michael R. Burch

for Jimmy Connors

Pounce like a panther,
all sinew and nerve;
attack, arched in anger,
your quarry—the serve.
Imagine a moment
of glory to come
as you lunge for the path
of its flight through the sun.

Are you a Templar
like warriors of old,
forsaking your loved ones,
crusading for gold?
Or could it be
need for fame drives you on?
Do you soak up the cheers
as you dash through the sun?

As you battle those younger,
those stronger, more fleet,
still none can be fiercer,
less yielding, complete.
Oh, what drives you onward,
what makes you compete?

I think not the riches, acclaim, even love . . .
but your heart is incentive enough.



The Great GOAT Debate
by Michael R. Burch

The great GOAT debate
can no longer wait:
we MUST know who’s best, and know NOW!

Is it Jordan, Kareem,
or Hakeem the Dream?
Is it Gretzky, the Rocket, or Howe?

Is it O.J. or Brady,
or are they too shady?
Tom Burleson or Monte Towe?

But now that I’m thinking
and done with my drinking,
before I make friends with a large purple cow ...

It’s the Babe, let’s get serious!
Babe Didrikson Zaharias!
Let the Ultimate GOAT take a bow.

Mildred Ella “Babe” Didrikson Zaharias was a basketball All-American, a baseball and softball star, a professional golfer who accumulated ten major championships, and a track and field legend who won two gold medals and a silver in three different disciplines at the 1932 Olympics while setting four world records in the process. She was also an expert diver, roller-skater, bowler and billiards player. Didrikson won the 1932 AAU track and field team championships while competing as an individual, by winning five of the eight events she entered and finishing second in another. She remains the only track and field athlete, male or female, to have won individual Olympic medals in a running event (hurdles), a throwing event (javelin), and a jumping event (high jump). Despite taking up golf in her mid-twenties and having to wait until age 31 to regain her amateur status, Didrikson won 17 straight women's amateur tournaments, an unequaled feat. Altogether, she won 82 golf tournaments. She made the cut at two men’s PGA golf tournaments, the only woman to do so, and she did it sixty years before any other woman even tried. In 1934 exhibition games, after being taught the curve ball by Dizzy Dean, she pitched one scoreless inning against the Dodgers and two scoreless innings against the Indians. Didrikson still holds the world record for the longest baseball throw by a woman. The world has never seen anyone like her.

“She is beyond all belief until you see her perform ...Then you finally understand that you are looking at the most flawless section of muscle harmony, of complete mental and physical coordination, the world of sport has ever seen.” – Grantland Rice, considered by many to be the greatest sportswriter of all time



Ring-a-Ling Bling
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is mostly bling.

Determining an individual athlete's greatness by counting championship rings (i.e., team success) makes no sense to me and seems disrespectful to all-time greats like Ernie Banks, Charles Barkley, Elgin Baylor, **** Butkus, Ty Cobb, Michelle Kwan, Karl Malone, Dan Marino, Marta (who may be the greatest female soccer player of all time), Barry Sanders, John Stockton, Fran Tarkenton and Ted Williams. Perhaps the best example is the player most cited for rings these days: Michael Jordan. In reality, Jordan didn't win a ring his first six years and was 0-6 against
the Larry Bird Celtics and lost two more playoff series to the Isiah Thomas Pistons. Were Bird and Thomas the better players, or did they simply have better teams? The answer seems obvious.
Jordan only began to win rings after he was joined by outstanding players like Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, et al, and even then it took time for that team to jell. Jordan was a transcendentally great player before he won a ring. If he had failed to win rings because he never had good-enough teammates, would that make him a lesser player? Judging individuals by team success or failure makes no sense, unless Jordan was a lesser player for six years while his teams struggled and then he miraculously became the GOAT when more capable players showed up. Ditto for LeBron James. The first thing he does after changing teams is use his influence to get better players to join him. LeBron is not foolish enough to believe rings are won by individuals.



The Ring Thing (is entirely Bling)
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is entirely bling.

Michael Jordan was zero-for-six
against the Larry Bird Celtics;
moreover he was twice sent home
by Isiah’s Pistons;
his ring case only began to gleam
when he had Horace, Scottie and B.J. on his team.

Thus the ring
thing
is bling.



The Ballad of King Henry the Great
(aka Derrick Henry)
by Michael R. Burch

Long live the King!
Send him victorious,
happy and glorious,
long to reign over us:
Long live the King!

Long live the King!
Send him like Sherman tanks
Mowing down cornerbacks,
Stiff-arming tiny ants:
Long live the King!



No T.O.
by Michael R. Burch

Lines written after the aptly-named Eric Eager said, “A. J. Brown is Terrell Owens.”

I’m young, I’m big-hearted,
but I’m just getting started.

I’m running my own race
at my own **** pace.

T.O. belongs in fabled Canton town,
but I’m A. J. Brown.

The second stanza was actually written by A. J. Brown, a budding poet, and published in the form of a tweet.



Charlie Hustle
by Michael R. Burch

for Pete Rose

Crouch at the plate,
intensity itself.

Follow the flight
of the streak of white
with avid eyes
and a heartfelt urge
to let it fly.

Sweep the short arc,
feel the crack of a clean hit,
pound the earth
toward first.

Edge into the base path,
eyes relentlessly relentless.

Watch his every movement;
feel his every thought;
forget all save his feet;
see him stretch
toward the plate ...
and fly!

Fly along the basepath
churning up the dirt,
desire in your eyes.

Slide around the outstretched glove,
hear the throaty cry,
"He's safe!"
And lie in a puddle of sunlight
soaking up the cheers.

A Texas Leaguer dropping
to the left-field side of center
sends you on your way back home.

Take the turn past third
with fervor in your eyes
and a fever in your step,
the game just strides away ...
take them all and then
slide your patented head-first slide
across the guarded plate.

Pause in the dust of your desires,
loving the feel of the scalding sun
and the roar of the crowd.

Shake your head and tip your cap
toward the clouds.

Slap the dirt
from your grass-stained shirt
and head toward the clubhouse ...
just doing your job,
but loving it
because it is your life.

This was an early attempt at free verse, written in my teens.



The Sliding Rule
by Michael R. Burch

If you’re not quite kosher,
like Leo Durocher;
or if you have a Pinocchio nose,
like Peter Edward Rose;
or if your life turns tragic,
like Ervin Johnson’s magic;
or if your earthly heaven
is stopped, like Howe’s, at seven;
or if you’re a disciplinarian
like Knight, but also a contrarian;
or if like Joe you’re shoeless
because you’re also clueless;
or perhaps like Iron Mike Tyson
you work a little vice in;
or like Daly working the jackpot
you’re less unlucky than merely a crackpot;
or like Ruth you’re better at drinking
than at dieting and thinking;
or perhaps like Andre Agassi’s
your triumphs are really your tragedies . . .
though The Judge might call you a sinner,
society’ll proclaim you a WINNER!



Tremble
by Michael R. Burch

Her predatory eye,
the single feral iris,
scans.

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

Her hard talon,
clenched in pinched expectation,
waits.

Her clipped wings,
preened against reality,
tremble.

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

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



Y2k: The Score
by Michael R. Burch

You should have known
when you were giving us wedgies,
pulling down our pants
in front of the cheerleaders,
playing frisbee with our slide rules . . .

that the years are exceedingly cruel.

You should have seen,
dashing across the gridiron
(as the cheerleaders screamed
in a *****-show of ecstasy),
playing the hero, the bull-necked **** . . .

the hands on the face of the unimpressed clock.

Though you were popular,
the backseat Romeo, the star
who drove the flashiest car,
though you lived out our dream
and took the prettiest girls to the dances, the prom . . .

you never had a chance.  Something was wrong.

We missed the big dances and proms
as we hissed and we schemed,
as we wrote and re-wrote our revenge
while you partied like Stonehenge.
Now your business is in debt to the hilt.
It’s too late to cry: Foul! Unsportsmanlike! Tilt!

One statement of ours and yours are all lost!
Your receivables, aging and gathering dust,
will yellow like ***** one soon-coming day.
While you were scoring, you missed this play—

Jocks: Zero. Nerds: Y2k.



Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

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

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

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

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

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

Winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne poetry contest; published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal and Poetry Life & Times
"Once the city used to pulse with energy. ***** and dangerous, but alive and wonderful. Now it's something else. The changes came slowly at first. Most didn't realize, or didn't care, and accepted them. They chose a comfortable life. Some didn't. And those who refused to conform were pushed to the sidelines, criminalized. They became our clients. We call ourselves Runners. We exist on the edge between the gloss and the reality: the mirror's edge. We keep out of trouble, out of sight, and the cops don't bother us. Runners see the city in a different way. We see the flow. Rooftops become pathways and conduits, possibilities and routes of escape. The flow is what keeps us running, keeps us alive."
*-Faith Connors
Game: Mirror's Edge (2008)
Developers: DICE
(Script)Writer: Rhianna Pratchett
Character: Faith Connors
Voice Actor: Jules de Jongh
Arcassin B Jan 2015
By Arcassin B & Lexi

:::AB:::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

::::Lexi::::
it disappoints me how such ugly words, can taint the beauty standing before me,
such gorgeousness caused butterflies to flutter at the bellows of my stomach...
but to my surprise,w poison butterflies fall from your lips as gold stares into my eyes
why does your tongue allow such ugly words to fall from it..
your beauty tends to blind other people from processing what you just said, but i hear everything,

::::AB::::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

:::AB:::
Just be sure you don't take anything,
Before you go,
Although parting is such sweet sorrow,
It can't be enough i its bitter,
Worms through the apples,
Your sinister look,
And falling clouds,
Have no effect on me,
I've written enough just know,
You'd mind control me,
Or at least try to,
Crumby attitudes,
O I hate to see a smile turn evil,
Like Connors boot,
Mud filled,
I underestimated you,

::::AB::::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

:::Lexi:::
Underestimated how your lips could give a heart such warmth, yet your words always seem to send a chill through my bones  
The way you'd wipe discrete tears from my face and make me laugh
Sometimes made me forget
You're the one that caused them,
How dare you part your lips and ****** such spiteful words against my heart with such pressure?
Youd always seem to manipulate my thoughts, rearrange my mindset or tilt my perspective, and with such tainted I love yous and eyes so full of gold,

:::AB::::
So unusual.....
hey guys this collab is from me and my team mate , her name is Lexi and she is in my group called the prisms , she doesn't have an HP but she will join us soon but she is a part of my group so welcome her with open arms.

#Theprisms
THE PRISMS Jan 2015
By Arcassin B & Lexi

:::AB:::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

::::Lexi::::
it disappoints me how such ugly words, can taint the beauty standing before me,
such gorgeousness caused butterflies to flutter at the bellows of my stomach...
but to my surprise,w poison butterflies fall from your lips as gold stares into my eyes
why does your tongue allow such ugly words to fall from it..
your beauty tends to blind other people from processing what you just said, but i hear everything,

::::AB::::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

:::AB:::
Just be sure you don't take anything,
Before you go,
Although parting is such sweet sorrow,
It can't be enough i its bitter,
Worms through the apples,
Your sinister look,
And falling clouds,
Have no effect on me,
I've written enough just know,
You'd mind control me,
Or at least try to,
Crumby attitudes,
O I hate to see a smile turn evil,
Like Connors boot,
Mud filled,
I underestimated you,

::::AB::::
Pretty colors,
making no sense at all,
wind flowing through your hair,
Its already bad enough to even fall,

:::Lexi:::
Underestimated how your lips could give a heart such warmth, yet your words always seem to send a chill through my bones  
The way you'd wipe discrete tears from my face and make me laugh
Sometimes made me forget
You're the one that caused them,
How dare you part your lips and ****** such spiteful words against my heart with such pressure?
Youd always seem to manipulate my thoughts, rearrange my mindset or tilt my perspective, and with such tainted I love yous and eyes so full of gold,

:::AB::::
So unusual.....
Welcome to our HP :)
KV Srikanth Jan 2021
Dusk of the decade.
Dynamics alternate.
Collective consciousness
On the threshold of change.
A movement had happened.
It was to stay.
That way.
Assumed wrongly.
Permanancy is chalk.
Duster enough to erase.
Decade of contradictions
Revolution leads to war.
Mirror view image.
Evidence of change..
The Seventies became.
Aurora like a thousand searchlights.
Whipping across the sky.
Pulling out all stops to Kingdom come
To stop the atrocities in Vietnam.
Neil and Buzz.
Aboard the Apollo eleven ,
Small step was humility,
Giant leap for humanity.
Bob and Carl,
At the Post.
Navigated by *******.
Investigate Watergate
All the President's men
Final days for Nixon's reign.
Beat Generation, Flower Power ,hippie movement or Counterculture.
Christened by Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg.
Capsuled the mood in the air.
Ken Kesey and the Grateful Dead
Acid Trips taken on a Bus.
Experimental tour on
Music and drugs.
Civil Rights and Dr King
Another battle about the skin.
Won the Nobel.
Proving everyone is equal.
Wars, Marches ,Protests.
Illustrated in bedrooms.
Live television was the boom
Horrors of War ,seen by all.
Casualties of  War Were in every room.
Rock Music explosion.
Nexus with the counterculture generation.
Talents aligned
Bands formed
Music into existence.
Legends born.
Myths created.
Millions gathered
Traditions established
Parables designed
Life altered
Generations affected.
effect felt , effortlessly.
Captivating? fascinating? entrancing? hypnotic?
Words can't describe.
wasted words .
Demiurges  divinity diminished dramatically.
Drastically devoid.
Haight and Ashbury.
Cradle of Counterculture.
Intersection of both.
Became the Cross
worshipped upon
Beatnik a fish out of water.
Took to the crossing like a fish to water.
Contradiction in words
Unity in Society
Gathered in entirety
For the Summer of love.
Civil rights and Vietnam War.
Gay rights and Nuclear War.
Women Power and Human Sexuality.
Sub Cultures and Anti Authoritarian.
Bohemian and Mind Bending drugs
Ikigai for Millions
I'm the Greatest the world has ever seen.
Heavyweight champion and king of the ring.
Rumble in the jungle
Thrilla in Manilla
Foreman and Frazier
Bout after bout
Showed  the world what Ali was about.
Many are called ,few are chosen .
Scandinavian Teenager
Tennis' first rock star
Grass or Clay
Dominated the play
Resembled Chirist
Bjorn Borg was a delight
Raised by women to conquer men
Jimmy Connors became a legend
Winning titles was a cinch
Played 5 generations and 2 decades without a flinch.
Longevity laudable
Point or Life
The offer he made.
Battle of the sexes
The Great Billie Jean king.
Gave the women's movement a zing
Grasping at the straws,
Bobby Riggs the competitor
Remained a spectator
Astrodome witnessed a milestone
Billie beat Bobby
Three sets to none
Quality questioned
Answer given
Inferior no woman
King remained Queen.

Cinema of the 70 s
Greatest ever made
Censorship boundaries blurred
Artistic expression blossomed
Studio system failed
Television boomed
Auteurs and Polymaths
Actors and Superstars
Collaborated .
Symbiosis enriched
Individual and Team. Delighted Disciples  Demanded  .
Studios responded
Classics  in order
One equal to the other
Talent made them timeless
Quality gave them immortality
Excellence brought Endurance.
Warner Brothers and Warren Beatty.
Bonnie and Clyde .
Canadian Premiere.
Jumping off point.
Films that altered lives.
These films have no death
Proved Montreal as holy as Nazareth.
Fashion was about expression.
Androgynous looks
Reigned supreme.
Wearing Tee Shirts and Levi's Strauss Jeans.
Bold and Daring was the theme
Stand out and Fit in
Principle behind the dressing.
Turtlenecks
Heeled boots,  braided belts , Corduroy pants.
Long collared shirts  leisure suits and flowing scarves.
The 70 s was more about costume than clothing.
Hairstyles and Sunglasses
Unique in itself.
Retro and relevant
Stylish and current
Smart and trending
In and out.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
One leaf falls
holographic illusion
across time the Terminator travels
to shape Sarah Connors' destiny.
Heart attack
a common enough destiny
as common as young men discussing girls' ****.
The Constitution
is the document we refer to, the lodestone
to correct course and not go crazily astray.
Lose all purpose beyond ******, child *** and food hording.
Illuminated manuscripts
in a dark age, tape decks remind us of our voice
our communal voice
Supremes and Fred Astaire
the silken wail.

I lie alone in the night
its sensuality makes the best sense
it does or does not clarify the day
of classes or clients or chain saws
whatever fever may have infected me at the moment
a fever to achieve access to foreign films while living in the
      mountain community of Schroon Lake
the fever to instruct the American people how to apply ideals
      and practicalities of Constitution to international
      relationships
the fever not to die today, to maintain consciousness just one
      more season (and one more after that).

Anyway, what is being discussed -
the finiteness of one life -
or perhaps existence continues in another dimension, on
      another frequency
no owl hoots
but other purpler and indigo occurrences
with other purposes
as incomprehensible and wonderful as these purposes
to choke on a cherry pit or nuclear bomb
to wail our wail together
each individual identifiable hoot and wail, loud laugh and
      suppressed scream
one orbicular chant, humanity, from India to Indiana
complete, one sing.

I feel this way
searching for my place among you
childless, but a child among children
obeying or not obeying the speed limit
as my hormones permit
everywhere among brothers, the sisters among sisters
the races together exterminating the last rhinoceros and
      preserving its genes at the zoological society
my species attacking entire rain forests, temperate forests
      and boreal forests
like the engraver beetle in the red pine's inner bark.
Thus, I occasionally cheer the Terminator
cheer the machine and neutron bomb
even in the face of individual heroics, the male and female face
their physical love, tender and violent
I don't know what I want.

It could be simple
as this headache.
Not to despair
just to care enough to think clearly and accept 10,000 years
      of history.
Not to hate those in authority
humor is the only remedy
yellow ape teeth chimping in the glass death face
and ritual is remedy
a death song
and one for planting
and one for the beginning of loving.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
the Australian Labor Party
is in mourning to-day
the great left wing union
in the sky
called Gough away
he was a leviathan
of Australian politics
in the seventies
many social issues
he championed
on the parliament's floor
with Rex Connors and Dr Jim Cairns
his biggest bone of contention
was Sir John Kerr
he sunk Gough's money supply
with Malcolm Frazer
looking on from the side
to-day there is a dark pall
cast over the Labor Party
as it says farewell
to Gough
men and women
of
Australia
will
never
see
his
likes
again
martin challis Sep 2014
Weather’s coming up soon lad, talk is, three days,
no catch for a week then*

Connors’ folk slough to the Arms
in the shape of four or five,
a tawny pint floats the hour,
and by seven the place is alive.

My father now by the edge of the groyne
is a gaze half mast at the sea,
as he sails himself to the brink of an isle
and turns a yard-arm to the lee.

He sets on his oars the cataclysm of waves
he casts the wind at his hair,
swears salt is the sword in the taste of this life
and not what falls with a tear.

He'll treble a note in harmonica muse
and rustily **** a bone pipe,
spit saliva colder than frost on the grease
and never complain of the gripe.

Running the wind or roaring the cape
or rounding the sound of the wire
his name is the take of all seafarer kin;
the hearth, my heart and the fire.

My father the salt, the seafaring man
a wave in the seas as they glide
now found to the ocean,
a son to the sea
the son to the father; my guide.
evolove Sep 2021
Turn the "M" sideways.

Marshal Mathers
Marilyn Monroe
Marilyn Manson
Matthew McConaughey
Meghan Markle
Mac Miller
Melissa McCarthy
Mads Mikkelsen
Mandy Moore
Max Minghella
Malcom McDowell
                            
M.J                 (M) 13+(J) 10 = 23 (two threes) 33

Michael Jordan
Michael Jackson
Michael Johnson
Magic Johnson
**** Jagger
Marc Jacobs
Milla Jovovich
Montel Jordan

C.C               (C) 3+(C) 3 =  (Two Threes)

Chevy Chase
Cindy Crawford
Chelsea Clinton
Courtney ***
Chris Cornel
Christopher Columbus
Charlie Chaplin
Camila Cabello
Chris Cuomo
Chuck Connors

B.C or C.B               (B) 2+(C) 3 = (Two Threes)

Bill Clinton
Bill Cosby
Bradley Cooper
Benedict Cumberbatch
Billy Crystal
Ben Carson
Chadwick Boseman
Christian Bale
Chris Brown
Charles Bronson
Chris Benoit

                           Companies Hiding Evil Numbers

BBC=223   Skull and bones 322 (biblical)  just Google 322 bible. They are trying to become God's.  Eat from the tree of life and live forever.  What do you think that means?
WWE Flip the letters around and you get 333. For 33.3
CNN logo is CW for 33 (C)3 + (W) flipped is a 3
F.O.X in the hebrew alphabet is 666
Hopefully you get what I'm saying...
KV Srikanth May 2021
Game of Tennis
Followed with Passion
Addiction or Abstenance
Inborn ingredient
Still a teenager
Unaware to decipher
****** into the genre
Of Obsessive Compulsive disorder

Borg and Connors
Superstars of the Sport
Fans of both
Supported them at the very core
Great Personalities with individuality
Each at the other end
Of the behavioral spectrum

Transformed the game
Purely on the popularity of their name
Remained a club Sport
Transformed into arenas
And increased the antenna
Game and person
Seen in unison
Dichotomy in reason
For fans not evident

Endorsements made them Ubiquitous
Every Magazine with their commercials synonymous
Personal life now on the front pages
Looking back today that hasn't one bit dated
Insights into their lives
Provided in detail
Imitation best form of flattery
Their OCD taken very seriously
They considered it reason for their Victory
Works for them will work for me naturally
Every detail loud and clear
Had both their approval
Fans in their minds clear
Anything copied makes you feel near

Borg had his list
So did Connors
Followed the list
In the beginning for fun
Didn't know that the foundation of a disorder had begun
Practicing in the same court
Wearing the same t shirt
Booking the same flight
Sitting on the same seat
Racquet pressure strung together
Lined up in a particular order
Picked from sheer obsessive behavior
Not shaving during the tournament
Hours of sleep determined
Time for a shower
No change to occur
Falling on his knees
Looking up at the sky
Thanking the almighty
with a sigh
Many more to list
I'll write another

Bounces before serving
Connors list beginning
Counting then till felt right
Umpire had to force with all his might
No of racquets no change
Hitting the strings before the game
Route taken from hotel ti stadium always the same
If even one of the above were to change
Willing to even forfeit the game
Shoe laces tied in a particular order
Order of things in the bag did matter
Pointing the racquet after a point
Fist pumping his signature
Was another measure of disorder
Many More to list
I'll write another

Followed these first with ease
Easiest trait to copy
But things turn ugly
Stuck with the OCD sans the trophies
In the Coaching business
Took gigantic proportions
Things to do before a tournament
Took longer than the actual event
Disease by defenition spreading
Personal life no more an exception
Already existing due to all the fan worshipping
Made worse by taking up the profession of training

Same route to work
Even socks chosen has a method
Time of departure never to endanger
List of things done in the same order
Even and Odd counting
Depends on the activity engaged in
Many more to list
I'll write another


Camel in the tent
Mind becoming hell bent
Following the list top priority
Everything else including thinking a rarity
Driving in top gear
Major issues in the rear
Only this matters
OBSSESIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER
Keiya Tasire Dec 2019
Winter is here
Yet it is not yet Christmas
Not yet Winter Solstice
Nor Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the Essene New Year!
It is snowing in my heart
It feels like winter.
It must be winter!

Sitting, being warmed by the fire
Comforted by the touch of soft fur
Fur Babe, Habibie, I love you
Remembering
Aaron's, Stephan's, Connors, Kevin's, Maria's birthdays
Singing with the Christmas Choir
Silver Bells and Deck the Halls
Evergreen trees, popcorn garland
Snowman soup
Gingerbread Cookies hung
On the boughs with red and green ribbons
Sharing gifts, laughter, hugs and joy
Christmas morning stockings
Filled with an orange, cinnamon roll
A few simple pleasures
Pass the Ibarra, please....

Why all the fuss? Continue to keep it simple!
Wrapped up in my fuzzy, two sided warm blanket

The comfort of my kitten and tears  
Lifting my heart from my feet
Yes, it is still in one piece.

Finding the  Christmas Cards and notes to write.
Creating, to  celebrate those close to us
It is time to create new memories
And keep the Holiday Spirit alive.
Today I am missing my adult children and grandchildren. We live far apart from each other and traveling is not as easy as I had once thought. Yet I gather myself together and get on with it.  By getting out of myself and invite the neighbors over to celebrate the season. Write Christmas  and create birthday posts to send.  It is helpful for me to  take a bit of time to grieve, and then celebrate life.
Israel Baker Apr 2016
Antique shops
Say lonely words.
I and mine
Are but a patch of grass.
A wheat field
Waving like a
Banner of quiet
Sovereignty:
Empty freedom.
There are a thousand houses,
Homes of a hundred thousand persons.
And I am but one.
How stupid am I?
Oh, how stupid and vein.
That I love, that I hate,
I squander and create,
Worry and worry,
And yet there they are.
They are indifferent.
A family of four.
Cheri is the wife,
Tommy the husband
They have two children,
Lidia and Claudia,
They live a suburban life
Barely baptist and certainly content.
Then there's the Trina family,
And the Radells;
And the Baders;
Haynes, Spencers;
O'Connors, Smiths...
And so many others,
And what amazes me
Is that they just exist.
They are just there!
I can go and see them,
Hear them speak,
And I am in no way a part of them.
Oh! How foolish am I!
I should rip it out,
My passion and motivation,
For what is it worth?
Other than to drive me mad and speechless, driven dumb by the rains of life; by a simple kiss, water's blissful kiss, I am taken over with this feeling.
I am nothing, so be it.
I too, love rain.
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
Flushing Meadows 91
Jimbo had a last 4 run
Out of tune in the earlier open
Had a wrist surgery done

Approaching his 39th birthday
A few days away
Started his night which went into day
Patrick McEnroe at the other end holding sway

Two sets to love
Three games to love
Love 40
Down in all 3 parameters
Sets Games and Points
A full house crowd
Gently dispersed
Not wanting to see the Legend once fierce
Now in reverse

I got him and the match
Patrick thought but as he said
With Jimbo you never can tell
Till you shake hands at the net
Exactly what happened next
Jimmy turned the match
Third set with his lead diminishing
Jimmy said famously
See you in the 5th
Met him as promised
Shook hands at the net
2 am the next
Winning the match

Many Greats who'd left the stands
Embarrassed to see him play the losers hand
Decided the result before hand
Papers next day had a surprise in hand

They want more drama
Iam gonna give it to them
The Jimmy Connors scream
Tells us that we too can dream

Next on the other side
Michael Schapers
Reached a ranking of 25
Now a qualifier
Had a bad year earlier
Hence put thru the grinder
It was vintage Jimbo
3 sets in the row
Dutchman was a no show

Karel Novacek
The no 1 Czech
Seeded 10 was once 8
Lost in straights
Few games into the first set
Thought Jimbo was easy to get
Made the same mistake
Different story at the net
Shook hands in disbelief
Actually felt a sense of relief
The sold out crowd chanting Jimbo s name
Court converted into a Colloseum all the same
Every point Jimmy lost
Crowd turning hostile representing a lynch mob

September 2nd
39th birthday celebrations
20000 plus audience
Joining the celebrations
Celebrated in his own style
Pre Quarter final on the line

Aaron Krickstein
Standing in between
Jimbo and history
When it comes to glory
No one fights harder than Jimmy

A former world number 6
Had his ambition fixed
He had his tricks
Standing in the midst
Front row seat for Legendary Jimbo grit

Tennis Stadium sounded
Like a football game
No individual sport had garnered such fame
Tempers flying in all directions
Umpires decisions questioned regarding its effectiveness
David Littlefield in the chair
Had a lot of heat to bear
Formed a new vocabulary
Kids of that generation used constantly

One game away from
The match slipping away
2/5 down in the 5th set
Feral instincts intrinsic
Created the birthday magic
Everything he did defied logic
Fans ecstatic

Lost the first set against Paul Haarius
Won three next 3 marching into the Semi
Considered by many to be the greatest point in Tennis history
Time stopped in New York city as people went dizzy

Everything changes
On of the most uses adages
Won the US open 5 times
On all  the 3 different surfaces at different times
Clay Hard and Grass
Including the inaugural win at Flushing Meadows
Going into week no 2 a miracle
Even for a 5 time winner of the title
The story he scripted here biblical
Lost in the last 4 battle to Courier
But won the hearts forever
No sacrifice big enough for immortality
His heart the reason for his enduring popularity
My city and My people as he declared proudly
5 generations of opponents during a 20 year career none could have handled this more Wisely

Playing against him
Is like playing against an army of 40000 fans
Gathered to watch him dance
Every match sold  out in advance
Black market tickets for a 1000 dollars
No seller all buyers
Crowds outside the stadium
Matching those inside
A very rare sight
His mere presence a delight
All his opponents feared the most
As he was always a darling of the crowds
Joke goes around that even the opponents family
Actually roots for Jimmy

This is what they want
This is what they paid for
Said this aloud to the crowd
Established his legacy
and with the fans his intimacy

Greatest fortnight in Tennis
Said most of the games players and  pundits
A wild card entry  given
Their most wise decision

Sailing into the Sunset
Time he will decide
On his own terms
His name is James Scott  Connors

His tagline which he underlines
That follows him at all times
Sums up his Attitude Charisma Fame and Game
IF I EVER ENTER THIS STADIUM IT IS GOING TO ROCK N ROLL
KV Srikanth Jan 2021
Borg and Connors
Fire and Ice
Scandinavian kid
Mid Western  boy
Opposites in Personalities
Opponents in the Game
Playing hands a mirror image
Similar in goal
Immortality in Glory
Each standing in anothers path.
Inherited a Club Sport
One hundred years old
Turned tides in a decade
To bequeath an International One
Compounding of fans
Beats the Market index
If were a stock
Buffett would have Invested
Soros Traded Long
Return on Investment
Calculator would show an Error
It would require a Computer
Stadiums to Capacity
Individual sport
Never seen before
Television rating
Team sports behind
Brands Endorsed
Sales Skyrocketed
Whoever called it a Sport
Every Stadium became a Colosseum
Dont have to go to Rome
Fight till death
Punishing the ball
Revving the Spectators
Players they weren't
Armed with racquets
Complex to the Gladiators.
Clay Grass Turf Cement
Surfaces changed
Battles continued
Tenacity Endurance hit peak
Week after Week
Sun Tzu proved wrong
Winner not won before battle
Fortunes Changing by the point
Art of War put to shame
Fila and Donnay hand in hand
Double ****** Backhand
Long hair with headband
Sporting a Stubble
Magic wrist
Nerves Iced
Looked like Christ
Clay or Grass
Every fortnight in May & June
Five years in a row
Trophies in Stockholm
A feat to reckon
US Open a jinx
Trophy not in the mix
Even Achilles had his heel
Borg his at the Big Apple
66 titles and 11 slams
All at 26
Nothing more to conquer
Cried Alexander
Dropped the Sport
Void felt forever
Opponents missed him
Raised their game
Without him field was tame
Even losing to him gave players Worldwide fame.
Raised by women
To Conquer men
Jimbo trained by Gloria
Player of repute
Backyards turned into courts
Clocks stopped
No ration on duration
Handed over to the great Pancho
Mentored Him Sport and Growth
Jimbo blind to creation
Trophy only in vision
Arrows cannot miss
Clay Turf or Grass
US open belonged to Connors
3 Slams in seventy four
No 1 5 years in a  row
Wilson Steel T 2000 and Slazenger in tow
Cover of Time
A matter of time
Roland Garros dream stopped
Not Tennis but Politics played it's part
Knees  weaken
Spirits shaken
Confidence beaten
Status of Opponent
After a match against the Champion
Played 5 generations of legends and aspirants
Well into his 40s
Beating them all
Young and old
Three decades
One end was the same
Other side changed
Never out of top 10
Entire career
Weekly ranking released
Jimbos inclusion automatic
Collected 109 titles
A record standing still
Darling of the Crowds
Loved by all worldwide
Ended his career in Vegas by Winning battle of the Sexes.
Greatest player of the Century
Both shared second
First among equals
Equals among Legends
The Above a true story
There cannot be a sequel
BC happened in AD
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
Take me back to the era
the 70's the greatest of all
pure unadulterated nostalgia
living in its memory by the day by the hour

Time machine if existed
would ensure it is re looped
Live in that time
it always stays present


Denim Shirts and checked pants
long hair and sideburns
boots to match and tee shirts worn
before or after never done

Music blaring from windows
houses and hostel windows
Grateful Dead  playing live
Deep Purple  to jive


Cassettes replacing the gramophone
every house a whistling tone
The Doors playing in the background
4 streets away hearing the sound

Movie posters on Roads
life size images
of Charles Bronson in tow
Clint Eastwood Robert  Redford and others movies in the same row.

Wimbledon telecasts
Borg and Connors in the Final
Two gladiators with opposing personalities
Battling out for the elusive trophy and carve their name in history

Take me back
ill never come back
returned back
enjoy the decade back to back

— The End —