"dodgers" poems
teepee dwellers gather rounddancing flames, natures soundhappy hippies, beads and banglesvegan food but leather sandals save the earth, soap-dodgers pleadflower power, worship weedhate pollution, love the treeslove and peace, pure and free dreadlock strands, ***** handssymbolic signs from aeresol cansacrylic colours produced by manthe hairy eco paints his van van thats spews black filthy smokebalding tyres, handbrake brokesigns of peace and global gleeno wipers, tax, or m.o.t workin hippy knows the scoresummer paid by winters choremother earth their passion causeand some drive home in four by fours
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 1:15 PM UTC
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a can of raineer beer (if he really goes there) ill never ask him.
This is how lastcall always takes place: a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager. ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers. He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach. Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home. Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies ( a red head)
He charges like arhino. Hes a animal without areason to **** But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening. Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our bull **** stories. We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.
He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair. Every one of his is angry patrons drink until the switch flickers the message ( crawl home bfore the cops fish with dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot. (Searching for fake DW'S) each of themshine a britemaglite until the last car disapears still swerving like a skunk ptetending to hide in the storm gutters.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Jackie Robinson is exalted
as the first Black man to play,
but far fewer fans remember Glenn Burke,
the first ballplayer openly gay.
Like Jackie, he played for the Dodgers-
(different coast and a different time.)
Glenn came up to the Majors
In the summer of 79’
Burke was strong and tall and fast
And some teammates called him “ King Kong”
Though he roomed with Reggie Smith on the road
most nights Reggie Smith slept alone.
Burke befriended Young Tommy Lasorda
which was why he was traded away.
Old Lasorda couldn’t deal with the rumors,
Nor acknowledge his own son was gay.
Glenn Burke rode the pines while in Oakland
Billy Martin never gave him much chance
When Burke injured his leg in Spring Training
That ended his time at the dance.
He drifted, his playing days over,
He used, he stole and did time.
An accident left him a *******
Unprotected *** ended his line.
No shock was the A.I.D.s diagnosis-
His sister had long known he was gay.
When she took him in he was dying
when all others turned him away.
Sandy Alderson, with the Athletics,
took pity on Burke in despair.
The team paid for his A.I.D.S. medication
and covered the cost of his care.
Sad is the fate of the Athlete unsung,
dying apart from his team.
Glenn Burke showed that a gay man could play,
That a Gay Athlete also can dream.
Glenn Burke passed a long time ago
But his story deserves to be told.
He said when your suffering, dying of A.I.D.S.
Even days in the summer are cold.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a can of raineer beer (if he really goes there) ill never ask him.
This is how lastcall always takes place: a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager. ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers. He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach. Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home. Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies ( a red head)
He charges like arhino. Hes a animal without areason to kill. But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening. Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our bull **** stories. We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.
He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair. Every one of his is angry like drini until the switch flicker themessage ( crawl home bforetheco9s fishwith dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Yankees, Reds and Red Sox
Royals, Rockies, Braves
Mariners and White Sox
Cardinals, Blue Jays
Angels, Orioles, Diamondbacks
Nationals and Twins
Tigers, Brewers, Pirates
Astros, Indians
Dodgers, Rangers, Mets and Cubs
Phillies and Padres
Giants, Marlins and the A's
Let's not forget those Devil Rays
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At the crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn boxcars pass
Artful dodgers
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smoky music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All was good with the world
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
You're long overdue,
as if you ever knew the time,
time for you meant something to do,
somewhere to go,
but not something to be.
Is it goodness and mercy?
oh mercy it's not,
the bubble you sit in
is the one that will pop, but
it bothers me that what I see are
the rip-off merchants
collecting kudos for even bigger
flim-flam, ten cent men,
for the
cheats
and the deadbeats,
the tax dodgers,
those who make and won't pay, those
who make and just take it away,
the fraudsters
who love to lord it and
I'm really getting bored with it.
For you there's a reckoning due
and not before time.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
Rose was a Red
Dodgers are blue
We're stealing signs
How 'bout you?
Cheat like this
Not like that
One's okay
The other picked at
Keep to tradition
Not technology
Yeah it's confusing
So is most any ideology
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC
I say it's tarnished because it's been through the ugliness of the sixties, what with the divisiveness the Vietnam War caused.
I have an acquaintance who has a t-shirt that says "these colors don't bleed" and then shows the American flag.
I say they're bleeding now because of the unnecessary blood shed by our boys in Vietnam mixing perhaps with the red blood of America as symbolized by the red stripes on the flag. All because there were these chicken-shit draft dodgers, at least in my own opinion, who with their squawking about serving seemed to egg the war on and on and the unnecessary bloodshed it caused.
I do respect the symbolic nature of the beauty of the American flag and can recall when I was still rather patriotic suggesting to my father, a retired West Point combat army colonel, to get a flag pole in our front yard at one of the houses we lived in the Champaign-Urbana area and fly the flag every day long before it was done even in other parts of the country.
I could be wrong there. Anyway there was an article in the local paper about it that near as I can remember implied that or else it was at least a first for Champaign-Urbana according to what they said.
I think I'm getting patriotic enough again to definitely want the flag to not be burned, etc.
Yeah, me and the flag these days
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
We took a long drive down
To Jawbone Corner where
A flashing red light
Acts as a four-way
I'm with my girl, her driving,
Me delivering foreplay.
Down in the Valley where
You can be at rest or
You can be at play,
Newly Weds and nearly Deads,
Draft Dodgers from Yankee Ville
And my family lives there still.
Apple blossoms with
Their assualt to the senses,
All kinds of distractions,
Too many to mention.
A Sunday drive
That lasts all day,
Cape Blomington stands
Oh so tall,
You can get down
And forget about it all
As you coast in to town
And lay your money down
At the local pub,
Checking it all out
To see what's what
In the way of fun,
Where to next
Under the mid-day sun,
Where to next
Before we're all done.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Sandt Amaro and Karl Spooner on the old Brooklyn Dodgers.
My 2 all-time favorite players of my favorite team the Yankees are
an putfielder acquired in a transaction Vernon Webb
and the Rookie of the Year for, I believe, 1957
an outfielder first baseman Norm Cisbern.
My 2 favorite all-time Illinois basketball players were sixth men Ed Perez and Joseph Bertrand.
My 2 favorite all-time Detroit Lions are Bobby Cayne and Pork Walker with Ces Bingaman a nice third.
My favorite all-time Cleveland Browns are Otto Graham and Frank Gatsby.
My all-time 2 favorite Chicago Bulls are Michael Jordan and Dave Corzine.
Mordern-day-wise, I like Parig of the LA Dodgers, Steven Aren who last I saw was with the Washington Nationals, and in modern Illini football I loved Monty Wilson. He hit so hard and the sound of a prize recruit who never got in on a game. D'Angelo McGary and I liked the sound of the name. Duane Brantley who was a large for the time offensive lineman out of Chicago wo dropped out before he had a chance to play.
This is just scratching the surface, I guess, since I'm not into the star system per se.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Took a long drive down
To jawbone corner where
A flashing red light
Acts like four-way
I'm with my girl, her driving
Me delivering foreplay
Down in the Valley where
You can be at rest or you can be at play
Newly- weds and nearly-deads
Draft dodgers from Yankey-ville
And my family lives there still
Apple blossoms with
Their assault to the senses
All kinds of distractions
Too many to mention
A Sunday drive that lasts all day
Blomidon stands oh so tall
And you can forget about it all
As you coast in to town
And lay your money down
At the local pub checking it all out
To see in the way of fun
Just what can be found.
© 2012
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
I want to work at the baseball
Hi everyone, it's me again, and I am telling you this
You see, mate I want to work in the USA at a MLB game
I don't care what match, oh no, whether it's dodgers, or Marlins
Or even the New York Mets or Yankees
I just want to work at the baseball, man
And if I don't, I will get a little cranky
I want to help out at the front gate and check tickets, yeah that's good
And after the game starts, oh yeah, I want to sell ice creams
Yeah that sounds so divine, and everyone will like me
As I sit here waiting to sell them, oh yeah
I will sell to little Timmy, and Fiona, Nicole and little baby Clare
I walk up and down the grandstands saying these simple little words
Ice creams, ice creams, anyone for ice creams, only $2 for 1
Kids were running all over the place, trying to buy one off me
And suddenly this became very busy, I can hardly breathe
After that rush I told someone, that when I die
I will bring baseball to the afterlife, and any nut can play it
Cause up there, we don't need food, water or worry about being fit
Leave that for our earth, bodies to worry about
We can fly around, from planet to planet
Playing 5 hour games, and we can score very high scores
And strike out a lot as well
You see when Ronald Reagan died, he played baseball for Mercury
And he scored 1 home run and then he was struck out ever since
I also saw a baseball star, and he was ****** good
He got three home runs, and then after that he struck out
Their best batter they had, and after he finished doing that
He went into the tent, and he arrived there
When I started working there as a volunteer barman
Where I will sell the beer and spirits
I did that for the rest of the night
Right to the stroke of midnight, and I felt so good about that, oh yeah
And then our very first president, George Washington said, let me batter up, and while George was on Saturn playing baseball against Jupiter and playing well indeed, his earth body was playing at this baseball match I worked at, and Buddha made us meet, you George scored 4 home runs, and this batter scored 4 home runs, and this was the most exciting moment in my entire life
And I will always say to myself
I want to work at the baseball, where I can feel I can really become involved with a sport as good as this, oh yeah
Sent from my iPhone
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
A snakepit, a lion’s den,
a second-hand shark cage.
The Big Apple, the Little Rascals,
everything after the Victorian Age.
These things scare me on sight,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.
The Trix Rabbit with a gun,
The Dodgers winning a World Series.
Parallel parking with Mark Hamill,
Sesame Street conspiracy theories.
These things make me shake at night,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.
The White Album, the Black Plague,
toenail clippers, salad bars and Disneyland.
The Richter scale, the Mendoza line,
Any and every last teenage boy band.
These things give me such a fright,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.
Television reruns of H.R. Pufnstuf,
An opened jar of Miracle Whip.
The names of Frank Zappa’s kids,
vacationing on a Carnival cruise ship.
These things horrify me alright,
but still not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 6:00 PM UTC
Sea spray
Wrinkled faces
Promenade walkers
Doing morning paces.
Coffin Dodgers
Passing time
Waltzing the promenade
In Warm sunshine,
Sea breeze
Fresh air
Promenade walkers
Seem not to care,
Hand in hand they all ebb away
They'll be back another day
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
February being a yearly reminder of Afro-American achievement
It is also being the black pioneer’s commitment
Creations being actual experiments
Discovering knowledge and expanding their mind
Being successful with theory combined
The possibilities that actually became a reality
George Washington Carver in turning a peanut into oil
Eubie Blake, my Famous Great Uncle who was a Movie Star, Jazz Pianist, Composer and in 1985, a Broadway Play “Eubie” in his honor
Dr. Martin Luther King, Civil Rights fight for Equality in order that there would be liberty
Medgar Wiley Evers, a Civil Rights leader who fought for what was wrong in order for all to get along, and a college named after him called CUNY MEDGAR EVERS COLLEGE
Malcolm X’s widow, Dr. Betty Shabazz, I had her as a Professor in a health class while I was attending CUNY Medgar Evers College
Joe Black, One of my Mentors who is deceased, was once a Pitcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers and later Vice President of Special Markets at the Greyhound Corporation
Ken Webb, Formerly Kiss-FM 98.7 Radio Personality Host in lecturing my Radio Production class in the fundamental of Radio Station Engineering at CUNY Medgar Evers College actual Radio Station
Zelma Lewis, Deceased Board of Education Music School Teacher and Professional Opera Singer. I was exposed to Opera at 15 Years Old at the AMATO OPERA HOUSE
in the Bowery in downtown Manhattan. Ms. Lewis taught me the fundamentals of the Piano after hearing me play the ***** and Mr. Daniels being a Professional Pianist also taught me the Piano.
Charles Anthony Blake, my Grandfather, who taught me the elements of Typing and becoming intellectual in being college educated
My personal heroes in helping become a champion established in how I would succeed. Some were famous and some were not. Yet in their own right, it doesn’t matter as it is true Afro-American achievement that all provided in contributions in their own way and it’s their inspiration that carries me each and every day
They all are great in their own God given talents
They were nothing that I needed to be silent
Achievements made against all odds
Achieved in how and the remembrance being now.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
Tried my luck, under the roof of the New York Dodgers dome
Didn’t make roster, hopped on Route 66, went to another city
Ended up at the front gates of Walter Disney’s home
Which has been re-zoned to downtown LA, oh what a pity
Walked the streets, buzzing to pollinate all the beehives
Saw some Fred Astaire dudes, showing off their colorful jives
Wandered down a blackened, one way street
And who the **** do you think I would meet?
The one and only knife wielding ghetto **** Huggy Bear
Who said, I wasn’t now, looking all that smug, oh dear
Then along came his crew, Bonnie and Clyde
Now I wanted somewhere to ******* well hide
All of a sudden, a striped tomato pulled up and out jumped Starsky n Hutch
Yelling out to the **** Huggy Bear, who spoke double-dutch
Leave the boy alone, and go on and get back on home
Thank god you showed up, for I was ‘bout to write my last poem.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC
I don't need you to go see the Dodgers play in the Ravine.
To the cherry blossom Trees in Japan.
Or to find myself.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner's booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,”
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allmans- ‘Melissa’
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
If I did not know the hollows of some minds
feathered in decorative vacuous trimmings
or
the narrowness within that runs like
lovingly tendered English garden paths
or
the shallowness ****** that rivals handsomely
the depth of a penny-farthing not even two
or
the stupefying superficiality of conjured lives
lacking rhythms and hues in sensibilities
or
the daggers drawn envy of little minds inadequacies
that pines writhes and slithers only to hide when faced
with proven talents and telling might
or
the shameless harriers adorned in the selves-loathing mange
of the fraidy-cats who in feral packs ****** ale-houses
and throw stones at the houses on the hills
or even
If I did not know the frustrated offsprings of broken couplings
and broken lives ablaze with angst and unloved in disappointments
lacking positive role-models in absentee maleness
or even
the social houses ferals itching for attention while bug-eyed on
substances brought next door from stolen gains
or even
the dregs and drabs with hopeless tomorrows from yesterdays
spent in pool rooms and the local bookies who played truants
in past learning dis-glories
or even that most are soap dodgers in obligatory tattered Levis
and pilfered trainers who cursed the groomed as poofs and posers
So if I did not know all this and more
I will understand the vernacular of lost minds and illiterates
and their outputs would engage my consciousness and thoughts
Alas as it is hate is not a language I speak
Envy and Jealousy are not avenues I live in or even visit
They rather sadly fear me
They say they are at war
just because I do not
do as them
Yes!
Fear make one do crazy things
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg Last March,
It's on His Website. We Spent Two
Days Together In Richmond Va. In A Blizzard In 1982
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC