"handball" poems
You were one of those boys
Who I'd known since I was 4,
And who got confirmed in the
Christian faith
Six weeks ago.
One of those boys
Who joked around in class
In a way that made the tescher smile.
One of those boys
Who I was happy to have in my squad
For gym
Because I knew we would win
Team Handball.
He was a guy
Who was completely comfortable
If I referanced second grade,
Even if my memory
Embarrassed him.
Someone who was so happy
To go to highschool
And be on the football team,
And who had already made friends
With all the players.
And he was one of those boys
Who we all knew
Would be the one to score the winning goal.
I thought that he would always be there.
Because boys like Bennett Rill are rare.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
What are the odds of finding someone -
who can finish your sentences -
who will let you cut in line -
who knows not to just lend a hand, or an ear when you need them to give you their spine -
who will keep every secret, save every letter, tell you how you really look
who will remember every single one of your birthdays -
without checking Facebook?
What are the odds of finding someone who knows your poetry by heart ?
I will always see you for the alley-oop.
I will always save you a seat.
I will always pick you to be my partner even though you are terrible at handball.
When the fire takes all you have, my home will be your home.
When you are old and can no longer remember my face, I will meet you for the first time again and again.
When they make fun of your accent, I will take you swimming because we all sound the same underwater.
When Ellis Island tries to erase your past, I will call you by your real name.
When they call your number for the draft, I will enlist to fight beside you.
And I will march with you from Selma to Montgomery and back as many times as it takes.
We will stand together against the horses and the dogs -
They could tell you how rare this is.
But they could tell you how rare this always is.
The chances are slim.
The cards are always stacked against you, the odds are always low.
But I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.
I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save some for later.
I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rains fall hard.
Love-
I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself.
I want to be air in your lungs that reminds you to breathe easy.
When the walls come down -
when the thunder rumbles -
when nobody else is home, hold my hand -
and I promise -
I won't let go.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT
what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?
{not right to accuse others of conceit
why play handball with self deceit?
far better to accept the things that be
and apply my emotions, stoically}
for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
She dribbles up and down the driveway
A red handball that bounces up
With the same vivacity as her heart.
“Come on, Grandpa!” she will say,
When she realizes I'm smiling over my coffee cup,
And I'll get up to join her in my soul's old art.
With a rather new stiffness I'll throw toward the net,
And my mind goes to what was and what's not yet:
From dunking with friends in schoolyard courts
To each banana bread breakfast and protein shake snack,
To the luxuries of life and vacation resorts
Of stardom and fame before the injury of my back...
But she will be the most famous star,
I'll buy her a basketball for Christmas this year.
She'll pass me up, be better by far,
And she'll see something glorious when she looks in the mirror...
The ball hits the roof, seems I aimed too high
And I wonder, again, that cursed question: why?
I put my arms down and let out a sigh
As she chases after the ball.
I turn to sit back down, get back to my chair
When she runs up and pulls the back of my hair,
She pouts a little, saying, “No, that's not fair!”
It begins to dawn, I haven't lived since that fall...
The fall that broke my back,
The fall that broke it all,
The fall that took me from riches to lack,
The fall that keeps me from standing tall...
“Shoot it, Grandpa!” she calls to me
And what can I really do but comply,
I shoot and hit the roof, missing very clearly,
But she breaks into applause, and I begin to cry:
For she is my biggest fan,
Though the smallest in stature of them all,
And her applause is all I need
To look again in the mirror, first time since the fall.
She shows me I am worthy
Of affection, I am my granddaughter's glory.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Lake Erie Blues
alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT
what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?
{not right to accuse others of conceit
why play handball with self deceit?
far better to accept the things that be
and apply my emotions, stoically}
for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
The future that we bought into has ******* us, all
due to those weevils in the counting houses playing handball with our cash.Give 'em all three strokes with the cat o nine tails,let's hear them moan and send their wails across the land so others of this thieving band may listen and take heed.
I'm sick of being bled bone dry so they can feed,I need to take a stand and start an anti weevil band but that takes cash and dash it all,it's all being counted down in county hall.
I have counted many lucky stars while laid out on the floors in several bars and then have counted several more when making it out of the door into those spaces where I know the sad and lonely people go
but I'm not one of them thank God,I've always been a little odd like that,the flat sound and Elliot knew it too,the wasteland of the tasteless,few will guess how I digress and each day more becomes the mess I make,this jiggery pokery keeps on poking me as if I could be anything other than the skullduggery I partake in.
I have spun my sin into this shawl I wear and call to some greater being to help me bear the shame but it seems like 'fuck off' is my name I hear it often cited by the counting men who couldn't count the Viscounts in a biscuit barrel,
and so I do a barrel roll and bowl along my merry way which I do quite nicely every day and if tomorrow is another day
when do we start the war?
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.
It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.
The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.
There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.
To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.
The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.
The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.
Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.
South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.
Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.
The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.
Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
everybody hates chris hums on the television.
during commercial breaks, i stare at the ceiling,
feeling bed rest marooned.
cocooned in sweat-soaked blankets
dotted with crumpled kleenex
i ask myself for the first time:
“why am i alive?”
and it’s not that i want to die
although the strep throat
swelling up my lymph nodes
is hardly worth staying for,
but rather i ask what it means to be 10
and not able to see far beyond then
and where i fit into the hopscotch
criss-cross applesauce chaos
that is the world beyond the playground fence.
once im well again i ask my friends.
matthew strokes his hairless chin, then shrugs,
he doesn’t have time for existentialism,
he’s running late for cello lessons
so the question bounces off him like a
handball off a wall:
with a slap and a thump back down.
i ask tyler now.
he cares about me, but girls are gross.
he has a reputation to uphold,
which he won't if he tells me so.
he grasps for an answer,
not heartless, but manhunt tough,
“well, you make me laugh,
i think that’s good enough.”
that summer, he moved to texas.
facebook says he works at 7-11
and i wonder if on the night shift
when customers stop trickling in
and he’s mopping up puddles of slurpee
he remembers wrestling me on black top,
arms tangled in impossible knots,
fifth grade love and skinned knee blood
flowing between blows
and still laughs.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
for i am a young dude
and i do my art and my writing
and i can get you a root
with anyone in this world
elle macpherson would be nice you say
i can get you a root with her any day
kylie minogue would be pretty rad ya see
i can get you a root with her yeseree
what about lisa wilkinson from the today show
i can get you a root with her any day, buddy
don’t call me buddy for it’s so downgrading
cause if you call me buddy i won’t get you a woman
do you want a woman
i can get ya one
i can find a beautiful woman
so i can ****** my way in
for i am a ******
i have the prefect woman in my data base
that you’ll be interested in
so do you wanna see the woman
i have lined up for you
or do you wanna be square
cause if you are square
you won’t be able to get there
cause with my kind of woman mate,
you’ll be happy
**** beautiful tremendous women
see i am a little young dude
just put your head in my lap
and i will handball it back to you, dudes
cause i am a cool young dude who has a lot of fun
i can find ya a woman and then
i will give ya a kick up the ***
for i am a young dude a little young dude
who loves life a lot
with a dad that wants to stay in my life
by getting in my ****** way
yeah mate yeah mate, i am the coolest dude around
cool people don’t fight
cool people find women for less fortunate people
i give women to people in reference they will leave me alone
i am a young dude little young dude, i am a little young dude
****** oath i am a guy, cause i wanna be young all my life
want a woman, i can get you one RIGHT NOW
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
Goodbye, addiction, my killer vice
I've come to realise it destroys ones life
Because a little starts a web of lies
As your true inner self slowly dies
And the person inside hides from itself
Blaming the cards you were dealt
Coming from within the drug of deception
In my search for meaning I just couldn’t wait
Took a gamble with an old schoolmate
Behind the now derelict, but once busy hardware shop
I blew it all up, until my head was about to pop
Then my heart felt like it was jumping out of my skin
That’ll be the last time, never again
Until my mind craved the drug of deception
And while in a crazy trance I saw
Three headed creatures, six eyes or more
Creatures stalking without a cause
Creatures nearing without a pause
Creatures appearing from nowhere on my trip
My mouth tight lipped
Caused by the drug of deception
"Help" said I, "I want them to go
Caused by a lost souls woes
Take notice my friends, save yourselves
Take my advice for it could help yourselves."
But my addiction like so many in life
All fall into the drug of deception
All of us in society at times have troubles
Try and find a way out of your mystery puzzle
The choice is yours alone, so never ever handball
All of us in some way, are marooned on an island
Wandering around trying to contact the mainland
But it’s free to move to another thinking way
So instead live every moment, of every single day
Better than being lost to the drug of deception.
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
We used to run around the streets in Elmhurst. Play football and bounce the ***** off windshields. Get into tussles and act like tough guys. Somebody on the block always opened the hydrant when things got too hot.
There wasn't a lot of running inside the walls of my high school. It was a train to a bus ride away from home. But it felt a world away.
I'd meet the homeys after school, out on the handball courts in Broadway. Sometimes I didn't bother going to school. I'd skip straight into acing fools on serves.
It's a habit I've kept with me over time. I've had trouble seeing the opportunity right in front of me because I've believed things had to be a certain way. I believed new relationships couldn't be formed as strong as old ones. But I was wrong.
I made it through high school. First kid in the fam to graduate out of college. First generation middle class man from the streets of a lower class upbringing. I don't get to bare that too often. And I don't get to speak my speak all time. Often times I've had to change tongues, dig outside my element to feel a part of something. More often I've chosen not to do so. Out of pride? Out of principal? I probably know as much as you. And that's nothing. But wherever I am, there are places that I came from, people I have met, things that I have been. And without them I'd have no words for you.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
"Hey! I'm not an uptight
I caved in cowardly
I truly never mind
What people whisper behind
Believe you me"
"Oh poor! Is this why you burst into tears?
And still scorching and blazing
With red eyes and firm fists
Glaring glowing sweats and *******
You're an uptight
Believe you me" never mind"
Uh..That's none of your business
Why don't you just agree?
I never freak me out to people
Whom I'll never ever talk or meet
"Playing handball might cause serious injury
What I shouldn't..I should believe
You're honest and candid
Cowardly I'm caving in"
"Hey..wait a while..hello??
Oh..you're gone
Let me confess
To be honest
I'm uptight
I always seriously sternly mind
What people whisper behind
Believe you me"...
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
I need a Bleh Book
Somewhere to dump the random cacaphony of **** ricocheting against
the thinning vault of my skull like a prison yard handball
Nowhere to go but in perpetual motion nonetheless
Drolly counting a cadence without the revelry of enlightenment or the hope of release
What should be pearls of wisdom precipitously condensed by the weight of time within an elegant carapace formed under the irradescent glow of a witches moon are just chili seeds gathering dust
in an old septic tank rusting under a dimming streetlight in an Albuquerque back alley
Hard kernel remnants of rellenos long since evacuated
Maybe this is it
My book
So
Bleh *************
You
are
welcome
Jul 2, 2021
Jul 2, 2021 at 8:36 AM UTC
it's June###
(if you lie awake,
trying to pronounce June,
in NYC).
weed-whacked by flies.
a handball court taking
pains to paint both wall to ball--
black and white.
halved in cold heat on impact.
with a glop of grey.
sparing players with a stroke.
as the backs of blue buses melt
and bumble, into a wealth of streets.
sanitation blowing those types of kisses.
with wheels going round and round,
de-ranged with reup and rot.
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 2:32 AM UTC