"frisbees" poems
We'd bound around
For golf downtown
Frisbees always in hand
"The students are coming!!”
Was a seasonal refrain
As we’d goofily gallivant
Mother’s Day shows
We‘re free, mother-suckers
For your kids, a show we grant
A CLOWN SHOW!
A DOWNTOWN SHOW!
THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN’T!
Rock their world with juggling
See the Doctor for what ails
Rudi and O in laundromat land
Jeanie, Splash, Allison, Donna,
Silly girls astonishing with
Leaps, jokes and handstands
Chewey, Steamboat and Grog
"Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”
Silly boys grandstanding
All hail Papa Gale! We
Funned with Cpt. Plunge
Leader of the band!
Sweet Georgia!
**** croquet!*
It was grand!
**** croquet was the official lawn game of the Sweet Georgia Brown Clowns during the summer 198x Trinity Country tour [wherein we masqueraded as a Norwegian Salmon Kissing team at a Moose Lodge Talent Show in Lewiston, CA* {true!}]: “Don’t forget your hat!”)
*(we won)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Running and laughing
As if
A fearless schoolgirl
Climbing through my mind
A playground for her games
My heart
Wet leaves below her feet
The veins bleed crimson into muddy puddles
As my feelings bubble to the surface
Unnoticed by the towering eyes above
The bell rings and she leaves me again
Nothing but lonely echoes of laughter
Shadowed smiles hidden behind a darkened stage
Waiting for the curtains to rise once more
One more show
As the actors take their places
The bell bites into awaiting eardrums
Feet pound and patter the ground
Jump ropes and monkey bars
Bouncing ***** and frisbees scraping gravel
Laughter fills my head like an aquarium
Tiny fish swim by oblivious
Completely unaware of my sponge-like brain
Retaining water
Slowly quieting
Drowning inside the water-filled glass cage
At last
Thoughtless
Bubbles rise from deep below
As my heart pumps air and blood to my lifeless brain
All the while she climbs
And laughs
Playing so innocently
Yet intently
Absolutely ignorant to her power
Not realizing as she stares across the chess board
That her opponent’s brain has stopped
And he is now playing with his heart
Now easy prey
Young, injured, or old
Take your pick
He is the scent of blood to a hungry shark
In her child-like mind she continues to play
Still not sure as to the extent of the challenge
A blaring bell sounds off in the distance
One more day’s reprieve
The footsteps and the laughter subside
The curtains fall together
The stage again grows dark
The aquarium is quiet
My heart beats double time
Waiting until tomorrow
Waiting for her hands to begin the climb
Staring at my pieces on the board
Knowing I’m in check
Just waiting for
The mate
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 3:47 PM UTC
This sleepy little galaxy,
lost in the milieu of a billion others,
is filled with song and the finite
thrum of human hearts.
This glow-in-the-dark Milky Way,
whose pinwheel arms
are spun with satin stars,
emits Mozart from its crevices.
This nondescript spiral,
axled upon a super-massive black-hole,
frisbees across the universe,
curving it with the maths of Einstein.
Space travelers are we all,
learning the gravitation-crawl.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and
Illuminations from one End of this Continent
to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
John Adams – July 3, 1776.*
Webster Groves - 2016
The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling clown.
Philadelphia, July 3, 1776
Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
where resolute patriots
would turn the pages of history
and tell an unsuspecting world
that a new nation had given birth to itself.*
Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.
*Each crass insult from the British crown
had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
and revolution was the only course left.*
Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A pot-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.
*One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
knowing to the marrow that defeat
would spell certain ******* and death.*
We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.
*Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Then surrender - all British claims
to American soil banished to the tomes of history.*
The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.
“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
Daddy was a boy scout
Moss grew on his skin
He was green
And I didn’t know him then
He was eating out of Frisbees
Building fires with his friends
He was young
He was not my daddy then
Soon he was an eagle scout
He grew up way too fast
Flew away
To desert sun
Hard at work
In Cimarron
Daddy was a park ranger
Before he met my mom
Hiking in his short shorts
All over Yellowstone
Daddy was a husband
Honeymoons and holding hands
And fighting over money
Build the house
Mow the lawn
Take the kids to soccer
Daddy was a doctor
Sorting pills and giving shots
And taking care of Mom
Daddy was a nurse
Wiping brows
And blowing noses
Sitting up all night
Then
Daddy was a grave digger
One cloudy day in May
At St. Paul’s
He hurt his shoulder
Playing in the dirt
At St. Paul’s
He hurt his shoulder
Putting Mom back in the earth
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
The bread blushes into a golden brown,
lettuce whispering to itself in the bowl
and Frisbees of cucumber at the bottom.
Later, men will grumble satisfactory masculinities
(bertha bertha you’ve done it again)
while dishes in women’s hands
laugh their way to the sink and
the yellow light inside keeps out the pitch black
universe beyond the light splashed windows.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Summer is
bikes and rollerblades
and go-carts and skateboards,
kites and frisbees
and ***** and gloves,
rainbows and suncatchers
and white fluffy clouds,
blue skies and green fields
and sunshine and flowers,
bare feet and sandy toes
and waves on the shore,
tan lines and sunburns
and goofy tourists,
yellow and orange
and summer rain,
butterflies and gardens
and fresh vegetables,
smiles and funny faces
and silly conversations,
smirks and giggles
and big belly laughs,
playing outside until the streetlights come on
and picking flowers for the dinner table,
building sandcastles just to knock them down
and shelling so many peas your finger go numb,
staring at a sky so blue it hurts your eyes
and running barefoot through the cool grass
and laughing so hard you can't even breathe.
Summer is.
Oct 3, 2009
Oct 3, 2009 at 3:29 PM UTC
Mrs Dryden
sat behind you
on the beach
combing your hair
you watching
the racing tide
the sounds
on the shingle
the other people
sitting or walking
or playing ball
or flicking Frisbees
each to each
her fingers
parting strands
patting down
waves of hair
she maybe reflecting
on the night before
in the cheap hotel
the creaking bed
the second rate
furniture
the Full English breakfast
she having
a young guy
between her thighs
she spoke
of her husband’s failings
his betrayals
his preference
for younger women
you taking in
the scarcely cladded girls
sitting or walking the beach
out of your safety zone
out of reach
and Mrs Dryden’s fingers
moving down your jowls
her lips kissing
your neck
at the back
her breath
whispering words
you thinking
of Miss Fox
the year before
how you nearly went
all the way
(as they used to say)
until her parents
came back home
too soon
spoilt the fun
of one on one
look at that ship
passing over there
Mrs Dryden said
pointing out to sea
her other hand
holding yours
her words carried
on the air
and you imagining
Miss Fox
maybe sitting there.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
beach’s brightness and heat
soothe weary skin and bones
so good to feel warmth upon shoulders
and sand between toes
reminiscing in familiar scents
of cool salty breezes
and warm sun tan lotions
shaded eyes swimming in clean ocean’s blueness
witnessing waves’ wonder
as a wet world walks onto a dry one
so many people seeking refuge
in rest and recreation
so many voices volleying beach *****
and tossing frisbees
so many feet leaving 1,000,000 footprints
rendered shapeless in loose grains
casting shadows in cups of sand
as day wanes and crowds disperse
curiosity ponders this micro desert of mini dunes
who has walked here through the eons?
who walks here still?
the setting sun shimmers on the sea
sparkling upon 1,000,000 crests
surface tension of the ocean’s tableau
rippled by wind and gravity
driven by earth’s rotation
forming floating cups of golden iridescence
resembling footprints in the sand
moved by their beauty, curiosity ponders
did someone walk upon these waters?
does someone walk there still?
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Does it exist?
I look down
The direction of sight, below the concrete rail
There’s grass and blankets, Frisbees and pups
And a vision of love gone right.
The hands intertwined are wrinkle lined
Worn out with age and aching
Rough from life’s work
Yet soft in the finger’s embrace.
Those hands have perhaps held a plow
A newborn aloft
A needle and thread in fine intricate work
A rifle in a foreign trench.
A pen pushing letters to form words
A gavel to hand down sentence
A mixing spoon and bowl
A handle of a coffin.
Maybe they’ve held an unopened letter
A glass raised in a toast
A wedding dress
A framed photo of someone lost.
Chalk in a classroom seminar
Hard packed snow ammunition
A nervous hand in a dark movie theater
Clean sheets of motel rooms.
They look up
Their direction of sight, above the girders
There are clouds and birds and me
Studying their hands holding on in lasting love.
They walk away
Hands still knotted
And it is my proof
Of a love like that.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 6:07 PM UTC
3900 light years from earth
a mere 1.2 billion miles across,
makes me wonder who your master is
and what magic it takes to fill
your feeding bowl
I wish I could ****
the kiloparsecs keeping us apart
and see you, unleashed, maybe chasing
Frisbees left by the barking big bang
I hope you don't bite
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Dumping skip-loads of furniture through the missing wall of my three-story house. Tossing a broken pool table with its hammered slate-top. Me and Max smashed it to pieces. We shook the whole house as if it were jelly, flavoured lime green and mixed in with insipid gobstoppers that block drains. One mahogany-stained side, with rusty poorly placed nails jutting out of it, flies through the air towards the arresting vistas in a makeshift panoramic frame. It frisbees, then falls. Falling like the leaves outside Carol and Dave’s place did, in the umami-infused oxygen. I have never tasted cleaner. They are graceful autumn helicopters that scythe the strings holding the world together. Until the world can repair, we are somewhere else.
The ****** mouldy wood flew like that. But, it cut the strings differently or severed different strings all together. Rain is curling the once neutral carpet, and I sit where I can see the mustard yellow skip receive another treasure.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Bared every piece of my soul
I knew how
Still these trees remain barer
Thrown a hundred frisbees in spring
Turned a thousand saucers in fall
Still pie in the sky wins
Watched a lot of people
Seen a ton of smiles
Still trust is obsolete
Walked a million streets or more
Tamed even more shoes
Still I’ve gotten nowhere
Read all the books they told me to
Seen all the classic flicks
Still most amazed by fire’s flicker
Every city seems the same
Every person less a wonder
Still they say life is wonderful
And the wedding gowns blend into the snow
I somehow like them better that way
Still one or the other seems off-white
Plucked the petals off a garden
Wished on endless shooting stars
Still no miracle of love
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 11:24 AM UTC
You like to pretend she's me, don't you Miss December?
When you watch the dice fall from her hands like they’re broken
Or when you accidently call my name down the abandoned streets,
But realize I have fallen off the map?
Miss December, do you remember watching me cry over girls in green and white?
Do you remember me tossing my textbooks down the hallway like Frisbees,
Only to have you chase me to the nearest empty corner?
My eyes would shutter like paper, and I would ask you to turn the page.
Do you notice the scars left on your ankle after a humid day?
Miss December, do you remember the days I spend mending your wounds?
Only to realize you were too broken and shattered for one woman to heal.
As if lightning through your temporal lobe would be the only escape to sanity.
I held your hand through dying dogs and relapse.
I told you, you could do anything.
Did I push you too hard and shatter the last glass?
Is that why you turned the purple car away that day?
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 2:53 PM UTC
A harsh Winter day , sweating copper , shoring ditches , sporting long johns and ***** coveralls , thankfully returning home to hot coffee and a chair in the kitchen ! Glance at a seashell on the window sill from Daytona Beach , recalling beautiful blue Summer days with Brown Pelicans , white seagulls and salt water taffy ! Ships on her horizon , children laughing with frisbees and sweet Summer memories ! What beautiful token from that magnificent coastland tempers a thick skinned , calloused workers train of thought such as mine this very evening ?
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
When I look at a picture of me,
I don’t really remember the person in the picture.
Who she was and how she saw the world.
I can educate my guesses.
But they are guesses only,
based on what I don’t really remember to be true.
Because I am not who I was (any number) of (anything) ago.
One, two, three, four:
years, months, weeks, days, hours, seconds,
ice cream cones eaten, smiles given, frisbees thrown, breaths taken.
I am the sum of all my moments,
all the years and months and ice cream cones and breaths.
Every moment culminates in me.
And so when I look at a picture of me,
I see a piece of the person standing with a picture in her hand.
I see a moment of the baby, girl, woman who’s
loving and living and breathing
and adding her moments up.
I may not really remember her, but
I know she is still real.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
***Man plays his guitar as he sits in the grass
With Frisbees flying over his head
The man has a stash
Which gives us our moments
What makes things expensive
I don't understand
But what I know is that
living is the best I can
Peter Gabriel's got sun in his eyes
He's still searching but hasn't got a clue cause he's blind
What a sad picnic party and its melting form
Let's ditch this place so we don't have to mourn
Let's go away from the stupid, sad people
So we can be sad on our own
Sad on our own on our own
Sad on and off and on and off
Sad on our own on our own sad***
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
Months fly by, the seasons go
Springs into summer, fall leads to snow.
Dreadful hot Junes melt blizzard-filled Decembers,
While April and Autumn are hardly remember’d.
Times when trees begin to blossom,
Those with Frisbees start to toss ‘em.
When school lets out and the students cheer,
Forgetting the halfway point is here.
And when the leaves turn red and gold
Couples huddle to keep from the cold.
At last, when the first snowfall blankets the ground
We see the year has finally gone ‘round.
So the next time you have a dull moment
Do this, it will make you content:
Stop everything and look outside,
See what the world can do and provide.
And savor these moments for any reason,
Whether you’re sad, or in a different season.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Sunsets of a thousand colors,
jumping into crystal blue waters,
yeah, school's out for summer.
At first, it’s a shock - ignoring the clock,
we’re like prisoners set free
- for a two-month party
- and no responsibilities
Ditch the books ******* - you’re my tribe
- summer’s our vibe - it’s time to slip-n-slide.
Barbeque, corn on the cob, juicy peaches,
lemonade, popsicles, hot sandy beaches,
thunderstorms, short shorts, cotton candy clouds,
let's get a little too silly and a little too loud.
Coleslaw, hotdogs, sharing French fries
Charles smokin' ribs, burgers piled high,
lounging by the pool, with friends dropping by.
Sunglasses, flip-flops, midnight walks, crop tops,
sunrise mornings, throwing frisbees in the park
Playlist DJ’n, the bare feet are tappin', we’re TikTok dancin’,
and, truth or dare, I’m seeing a couple of new romances.
Ferris wheel spinnin', funnel-cake eatin’, roller coaster screamin’,
the kettle-corn’s poppin’ for rom-com streamin’ and reality-TVing.
My mom asked, “Why are you girls all sleeping in one room?”
The answer? “Cause there ain’t no cure for the summertime snooze”
Why doesn’t someone make a sunblock perfume?
Umbrellas, watermelons, 3am dips, Taco Bell trips
and roasting marshmallows on the poolside fire-pit
Beach towels spread like butterfly wings,
hey, our tans are starting to match our bikinis!
Come on, relax, have an ice-cold martini.
We’re not doin’ nothin' - we’re makin’ memories!
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 1:28 PM UTC
I have been beside her
in joy and love.
Been inside her
in joy and love.
I have seen straight into her soul,
stared awe-struck in love a million-fold.
Been sent further than I knew you could go beyond control
by the sweet succulent scent of her soul
(it is trails & rivers & bamboo
& cooking & kissing & always true
& music & wild wonderful lover
& absolutely amazing mother
& blue eyes which made mine bluer
& spinning fire & adventures
it is staring into the sun without going blind
it is the One Love i waited my entire life to find)
i worship and weep at an altar of forever remember
where we bike and hike and soul-stare-share,
make love anywhere
everywhere
sharing a shower
or a counter encounter,
fling frisbees by our beach scenery
before flinging footballs at a winery,
toss pebbles at windows
before she curls my toes,
clown horn swarm her iphone
as rock n roll ring tones
rock n roll my real phone,
fall asleep holding her
happier than ever before,
dream of years of days of seconds with her
each somehow better than the one before,
and awaken to the miracle of her
even happier than ever before!
Then in a dead dream
never to be our reality
(aborted before my belief dream
actually became our forever reality)
i somehow play guitar,
become Yur miracle musician poet star,
and in a perfectly uncontrollable embrace
You scream & whisper as You kiss my face,
and as we make each other *** & then some
and tremble at the power of what we've become
we are dazzled by discussions of the future,
of our family and activities and Love so pure!
Eventually i wake up
why?
i hate when i wake up
cry!
Shannon
oh Shannon
my Shannon
the One i waited forever for,
why did You show me the sacred shore
only to **** me and leave me bleeding in agonized gore
You are the Love of my life,
i'll always wish You were my wife!
& with Z-O-E
we were a family :)
**** You killed US,
crushed and swept away the dust.
You loved me one day,
the next You threw me away...
The 3rd day of February
is when i ceased to be me.
There are sporadic moments
where i'm almost clint
**** mostly i'm merely a regression
into deeper darker depression....
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
I live in a neighborhood were
Even if you got a job
You’re still barely getting by
Hardly get to live your life
When your bosses can work you
Anytime they like
Any shift day, or night,
Part, full, or overtime
While the yard gets grassy
Cops come passing out ordinance tickets
Frisbees float away falling into thickets
Surrounded by various forms of scrap metal
While bricks once baked and harden
Crumble to dust
The foundation cracks and busts
And your house comes crumbling down
Letting critters come and go
This is my block
What a shocking show
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
My dorm room was bright this morning. It was disorienting.
The sky outside was a cloudless, striking neon blue.
The air was so crisp and clean, I could hardly feel it going in and out.
It all sparked to create a diffused sense of well-being.
Gone, it seems, were the concrete bunker feels of winter.
There's been some loose talk of ‘spring’ lately—I thought it was fake news—but from my third floor lattice windows I could see what looked like people outside. They were walking in the sunshine, riding bikes, throwing frisbees, kicking hacky sacks, a couple was making out in the grass—it was a riot of activity.
Sunny skiffed out of her room (which looks like a hotel room trashed by some rock star), she seemed lighter than air. Three days ago, she announced there was someone of “particular personal significance,” in her life (translate: girlfriend).
Start the schmaltzy, string-drenched soundtrack—love is in the air.
Our challenge now is to carve out a poised and measured final act to our undergraduate years. There’s a scurrying, cynosure, beehive, hyperfocus to labs and classes, a heightened, almost cinematic quality, as if, up to now, we’ve only been practicing for some undefined ‘real thing.’
.
.
Songs for this:
Daylight by Harry Styles
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing by Michael McDonald
Dizzy (feat. Alfie Templeman & Thomas Headon) by chloe moriondo
.
.our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list.
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 9:22 AM UTC
We ended rough
Like the dreams of dried maple leaves
So let me tell you this
Thank you
Thank you for warming my heart on cold nights
Like hot chocolate in the rain
Even though the illusion of you
Took the whole of my brain
Thank you for the long nights
When I couldn't bring myself to stop reading your words
Or going over them again and again in my head
Thank you for letting me hold on
Little do you know the many times you saved me
Even though it killed me
Thank you for showing me that someone could care
Even if not for too long
Thank you for teaching me to see the stars
The moon and every constellation lit my way through the darkest nights
Thank you for the good memories
From frisbees to video games
You made me smile
You made me cry
But most of all
You were there
Now I have people to turn to when times get tough
The more distant moments when I remember you're not here
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Waffle-like prints in the sand,
maple syrup sun pours across the land,
sunrise beach bulldozed clean,
sandhill dunes growing green.
Opalescent sheen of mother of pearl,
old oyster shells spin and whirl,
the waves come in with a slap,
seagull wings beat and flap.
Sand dollars here, but no change,
the crab runs sideways it's quite strange,
bottlenose dolphin swims right by,
the sun climbs higher in the sky.
Jelly fish, opaque blue balloon,
sandpipers squeak out a tune,
colored clams exposed with every wave,
they dig in fast like crawling in a grave.
No longer alone as the day begins,
kites now fly in the onshore wind,
parents and children, with frisbees and nets,
picnics to come and skin surfing I'll bet.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC