"jerseys" poems
Sit in a crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday.
Basketball is not the point.
Stare at the orange speck anyway.
Silence your phone and his voice from before,
Still inside your head,
words the color of the burnt orange ball.
Find music in the squeak of the rubber soles,
Notice the referee's slanting stripes, and how they blur
when you stare, until even pictures inside your head blur.
Nod to the man wearing the red cap beside you,
whose words dribble across your mind,
They imprinting a message:
travel
next year
last year
time
killing
foul
out
losses
hope.
Maybe you miss that last word,
Or maybe you see the message graffitied on the score board.
Maybe you close your eyes and open them again,
And notice the white jerseys gleaming in song with light,
The same light that slants up toward you,
Your shirt should also be white,
With the same light shining on those who travel
and on those who foul out.
Sit in the crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday,
and forget about what he told you last night.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
Funny men in tall chef hats
Marching about so wildly
Stone soup and humble pie
Main course and dessert delight
Give me a dose
And that girl two
Vanity, her dream come true
Narcissistic uncaring and cold
A mid-evil blunder
So daring and bold
Spoiled brats
And rotting Brauts
Sugared too sweet
Not telling the truth
The gossip
And all
The Court jester
The village idiot
He sinks to the bottom
She cheers to the top
It's amazing the wonder
The high school scene
The many things
That relate to its sheen
The short stout bakers
Making profit from weakness
Some goods so smooth
Some just the opposite
The geeks and nerds
Hackers and slackers
Jocks with jerseys
And rebels with rock
Serve up course two and three
Let's make it a festival
Just you and me
Vanity and sheen
Were just getting started
This is high school
This mid-evil concert
For four years we live it
A new melody
A new song
It's not the end
But the struggle
Is on.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 1:04 AM UTC
Over the past couple of years I’ve made some new friends
Gay ones
Coming from a small town there wasn’t a lot of that growing up
But I grew up not judging people and accepting my friends
Religion, race and ****** orientation
And then I got made fun of for having friends
They said, “Oh you’re probably gay now too right?”
I am so straight
I am so straight
That I like to listen to classical music because
It makes me feel an emotion I haven’t felt yet
I am so straight
That I cry at the end of really good movies
Because the actor or actresses performance was so believable
Or the story was something that touched me soft
I am so straight
My favorite color is purple
I am so straight
That I watch sports with my gay friends and we
Discuss the color of the team’s jerseys
I am so straight
That I broke up with my smokin’ hot, perfect 10, girlfriend
Because she didn’t have the incredible ability to carry on
A decent conversation
I am so straight
That I like to wear skinny jeans because I believe it shows off my figure better
And you come up to me and say I look gay
And girls come up to me and say I like your style
And then I kiss them
I am so straight
I write poetry about things I like to do
*** THC and partying with all of my friends, regardless of how they love
I am so straight
That I’m not even on this planet
The world is a sphere
Full of bends and curves
I’m straight out suspended in space
I am so straight
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
Muelle de Binondo Street,
Barangay San Nicolas,
Old Manila.
My dad's fate
Will always be muddled
With nostalgia:
The mid-afternoon
Traffic of fruit vendors,
The toothless strains
Of my grandfather's voice,
Bouncing off
The warehouse walls
Like folding cardboard,
The ceramic gallops of horse-
Drawn kalesas taking him
From school to
My grandfather's offices,
Every day and back,
Up and down
The cardboard box river
To Tondo. There, he hurriedly
Buys ten
Asado buns
From a stall across the
Street from their
School - a voracious
Schoolboy
Forever late for class, forever
Putting on basketball jerseys
Too wide for him,
Basketball shorts too
Short; body
Always too gangly,
Too long-limbed, wide eyed
And fleet footed
For his dreams to catch.
He once could dunk.
He is still a baby boomer -
Scared of firecrackers,
Weird penchant
For popped collar shirts,
Pointed shoes, and
Sequins - he, was an avid
Lover of stars - his old
Dust-strewn bed posts
Giving way, I imagine,
To iron bars caging
The luminous starry night,
Floating high above
The sewage
And the freight trucks
That weigh him so.
They sang to him.
In the tune of
My mother's voice -
The only album
He ever possessed.
Song set from
His favorite band.
"Apo Hiking Society."
His favorite word,
Was "leap."
A disciple
Of MJ, Dr. J,
And Magic,
Samboy, and Jawo,
Icarus on hardwood
And leaping
From the free throw line.
"Son," he once told me,
"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."
He was always afraid of heights.
It wasn't until 41 that
We made him ride a roller-coaster,
That he had even seen a roller-coaster.
"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."
I think my favorite
Memory of my dad
Is still him wringing my fingers
At Space Mountain with
Eyes so tightly shut
That we forgot
Our fears,
And screamed instead:
So.
This,
Is how the stars look like
When unbolted
By folding cardboard,
And iron bars.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue
There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door
Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s
Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot
The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months
Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game
Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp
***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used
Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick
An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA.
Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion.
Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase
Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation”
Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
Another gladiator fell
Watering the field in blood.
His head was sheathed,
He never cut through the net
That descended from the stands.
The iron-fisted trident
Brought thumbs up from the spectators
Indulging in the beer and nuts.
There are always some to be sacrificed
To placate the mob in the colosseum
Beneath the night lights on Mondays,
When Coke is the drink of victors,
And jerseys are sold to the trainees
Who now put on their spikes.
These are ours
Running headlong into the arena.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
People will disappoint you
Find your hero within
Confidants are few
Worshiping athletes is through
Trash jerseys in the bin
People will disappoint you
Hero worship is taboo
Celebrities and spin
Confidants are few
Others will lead you askew
Fidelity is thin
People will disappoint you
Parents can lose luster too
Once hero, now has been
Confidants are few
Bid pseudo heroes a dew
Your hero dawns your skin
People will disappoint you
Confidants are few
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
Ordinary people
carry action figures
on their dashboard
and stop in still traffic
on their way to work
to stare at the circus billboard
wishing they could be
the incredible flying man
who soars above the Ferris wheel
and disappears beyond the horizon.
The human cannonball lives
with his mother
in a musty basement
filled with old baseball cards,
beer can memorabilia,
an ash stained billiards table,
Chicago Bulls jerseys,
and pictures of Goldie Hawn
and Evil Knievel.
The human cannonball has
high blood pressure,
frequent anxiety,
a wheat allergy,
a jaw that pops
when opened too wide,
a crick in his neck,
a bruised shoulder
from falling
into the net
over and over.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
Lincoln gave you
your official day
but I must say
I don’t suspect he saw
faux green fields
with helmeted gladiators
of a new age
playing for millions of eyes
and millions of bucks
while the thankful, and the stuffed,
sat
glued to the flat screen
hooting an hollering
for cheap victory
belying loyalty to brands
stamped on jerseys
that are valued more
than the grandest feast
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 12:21 PM UTC
Oversized clothes
Dresses galore
Both of them
Fit to one gender
Sports jerseys
Baggy shorts
I want those
but I'm a "girl"
Perky dresses
Lots of makeup
I'm told I must
Because I'm a "girl"
Anxiety fills me up
I need to be perfect
I need to be a daughter
I need to be a girlfriend
a wife
a mother
Why can't I be a child?
A lover?
A ren?
A human?
Why do you have to choose for me?
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
1. Although you aren't a big eater, you snack on several unhealthy foods.
2. Your middle name is Andrew.
3. You thought a 'henna' was pronounced 'hyena'.
4. Watermelon flavored gum is your favorite.
5. You are 5,8"
6. You always come to my home games, even when you miss a few important plays.
7. You're #5 usually, but you are #10 when you wear the maroon jerseys.
8. You know the lyrics to my favorite Taylor Swift song.
9. You are a huge fan of the Jags.
10. When you were 8 years old, your family forgot you to your own birthday dinner.
11. You notice different things I do with my eyeliner.
12. You draw stupid things in Spanish class.
13. Your favorite place to eat is Rib City.
14. You don't ever mind buying me smoothies.
15. You always put your hand on my thigh when we watch scary movies.
16. You remember it was a Friday in which you asked me out.
17. Although you own several t-shirts, you don't own any Florida Gator hoodies.
18. But you call yourself a fan.
19. You weren't impressed with Mockingjay Pt. 1.
20. I cannot stop thinking about you, especially on Saturday nights when I am not with you.
21. We have the same scar on our left hands and our ring fingers.
22. You take pictures of me when I'm not looking, but you delete them when I ask you to.
23. You have never told me I'm stupid, even when I am.
24. You don't like the beach.
25. You always wait for me at the end of class so we can walk together.
26. You remember what color shoes I wear on important days.
27. You don't get mad at me when I miss important parts of your game, as long as I am there.
28. You give me more hugs from behind than you do regular hugs.
29. Kisses on the cheek make you smile.
30. No one has ever been on my mind more than you.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
I apologize for the stains on the pillow case,
I could not hold it in again.
The black that seeps into the flowers on the edge,
Are just from my eyes,
A little makeup remover should do the job.
The clothes missing from the closet are all mine, I swear.
I left your jerseys on the dresser, folded under the picture of us.
Please forgive the mess in the kitchen,
I began to make pancakes, but found myself in a heap on the floor,
While the batter bubbled under the stove.
I was sobbing because I am going to miss everything about this house.
That is no reason to stay here, I know that now.
I will miss Sundays, the smell of brunch from the hall,
And the glow of the tv when you fall asleep.
I found you countless times on the couch,
But never thought to move you to the bed.
The bathroom should be in good order,
The hair straightener will finally be out of your way.
I cleaned up the hair that I shed all over the house,
Because I know how much you hate it.
I began to vacuum the carpets, but I kept crying on them,
The hot tears would dry under the vacuum,
But I couldn't find the energy to keep going.
I know you won't understand why I am leaving,
Which is why this letter is for you,
And why I can't be here when you come home.
Your blue eyes would just drag me back to bed,
Like they have a hundred times.
I couldn't handle the grayness of your love anymore,
The way you couldn't commit to the distant future,
Or even to tomorrow.
We shared a house for ***** sake.
I hope you find the one you need,
I hope she cleans better than me,
I'm sorry that I am hurting you.
But I am happy that this is for me.
Sincerely,
Me
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Running down the court
Listening to the screaming of the fans
Feeling the beating of my heart
As the coach yells out all the plans
Standing in the huddle
At the end of all the games
Looking at the team
Who have been there through the fight
Walking down the halls
With the jerseys shining bright
Awaiting the game
And another win tonight
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Think Fast
Fall hard.
Face splintered
Grass pillow.
Heart dropping
Body contorts to
Unnatural style.
Curl up.
Grab tightly
To the pain.
Sweat tears.
Bruises turn colors
To match
War jerseys.
Cheers to gasps.
Bright lights illuminate
Broken enamel.
Scratch
Break
Jolt
Tear
Wince
Clench
Smear
Grind
Burn
Sacrifice.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 11:41 PM UTC
Hail John Elwood, in his prime, caught in rooms flesh-colored
Pinned beneath his father's roof, alone and with no money
Looking for a fix, or flesh, or rhythm in the halls
Low John Elwood, creeping off, in women's clothes and make-up
Snapping twigs and branches, bent on internet pursuits
Tapping out a destiny in pitter-patter keystrokes
Seasoned in the unkempt dust of laundry-room decay
Soft, soft, soft John Elwood, crying out in fever
Bent a back toward a screen to fill the world with lights
Consuming stuff in subtle ways, a pizza clown in candor
Shiny, shiny Elwood, John, the man of lowly passions
Holding open doors for joy of disembodied jerseys
Strutting through the dog-food walk, geometry of angels
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
I remember the first shot.
It was one of those silly bank shots.
Right on the corner,
From my favorite spot.
My first real shot.
I remember the game.
It was one of those movie-like games.
All tied up,
and a buzzer beater take.
The best kind to make.
I remember the jersey.
It was one of those real baggy jerseys.
Number on the back,
and the matching shorts.
Playing on the bigger court.
And I remember the shot.
It was one of those three point shots.
I knew it was my last one,
So I had one last wish.
I watched that shot go in with a swish.
It fell through the basket,
all scooped by the net.
And I finally realized,
that this was the end.
The endless crowds and shoes and shows.
But tonight was the final of five good years.
and I watched the door
close.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
I wrote these poems on a summer night.
I was high off life.
Grinding making better music;
out here trying to spread the movement.
Want to show love, but you need improvement.
Don’t even know the real meaning, you need to hit up google.
People are really dropping out on both sides.
But I don’t worry, our team has mob ties.
My pen’s been working, I write your recent rhymes and all mines.
Speaking on me is something that they all tried.
I guess y’all just making moves on y’all own time.
Just know, this coming January there will be no replies.
A short poems for once.
No more story telling and 30 for 30’s.
But I have banners around room to retire all of your jerseys.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
Day in,
Day out.
Gambling pool of what I aspire for,
But I don't
Money on the table for what I could be,
But I won't
6 foot 3,
But a home full of Jerseys,
Isn't what I want
A felon with a rap sheet taller than him
Words with meanings, much smaller than him
Who am I?
Can we start over again?
Gentle,
But still a Giant
Has a temper,
But still compliant
Heart of gold,
Always defiant
Eternal war waging,
David Vs Goliath
Proving my mettle,
Harder than it seems
Maverick, something like Kanye,
* Getting Out Our Dreams *
Feeling powerless,
But fighting on.
Chasing goals,
Dodging wrongs.
Fuel for today,
Headphones On
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Before you my future was a blurry extension of me that I failed to complete.
I imagined myself getting married to someone, having a daughter, taking her to ballet and giving her advice for college cause she would be a doctor like me.
I imagined myself wrapping presents for Christmas, going to my parents house for the Holidays and celebrating mothers day.
And she would have my smile and be boyband crazy like me and she would grow up with The Beatles and I saw myself teaching her to ride a bike.
But after you (and for the first time ever) my dreams changed and now I can´t see myself getting married if it isn´t with you. I don´t think about the wedding anymore, instead I think about the crazy mornings running around the house, trying to get our kids ready and making coffee for both of us, because I know you are lazy in the mornings and I have a tendency to let time slip by when I´m watching you sleep.
That daughter I dreamt about now has a little brother, because I want somebody to look exactly like you, and play football like you.
I still see myself wrapping Christmas presents but now I see you next to me trying to fit into a Santa costume.
And we would have Christmas at my place but New Year´s at yours.
And maybe she doesn´t like medicine but architecture and I will not only buy her Operation but also tons of Legos.
I can still teach them to ride a bike, but it will be your job to teach them sports. I´ll take care of Biology and English, but Math will be all yours.
The beatles are still the music they´d hear growing up but I promise they will watch every NFL season wearing tiny red jerseys on the sofa next to you.
For the first time my imagination of my future doesn´t stop five years from now, it not only covers my career.
Meeting you gave me a perspective and showed me all those invisible parts I didn´t know I wanted.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Someone recently wrote that ‘Love Has No Color’
I disagree:
Love is the deep blue of the ocean
It is the pink of my dog’s tongue
Love is the orchid colors of my daughter’s bedroom
And the blacks my son wears to theater
Love is mocha, pale, ebony, and tan
It is emerald, sapphire, chestnut, and jade
Love is honey and straw, pitch and caramel
Love is cherry blossom walks
It’s painted deserts
It’s shimmering skyscrapers
And the intense greens of triple canopy jungles
Love is the color of your first car
And your girlfriend’s prom dress
Love is stained glass
Bright green Christmas trees
And the Easter dresses
Of the church that you call home
Love is your alma mater’s jerseys
And NOT your rival’s
It’s shimmering fireworks with friends
And the long rays of the sun from a folding chair in the sand
Love is not without color
Love IS colors
Love... is colors
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Standing on the the ridge.
Staring out to sea.
Knowing at last that you love me.
Love lasts a long time.
Life time unsure.
A short time may be all we have left.
Mere seconds from all eternity.
Eternally yours.
You know I am indeed.
Knowing is not ours to say.
Such knowledge belongs to no man.
Stood on the cliff tops.
Thinking about two lonely souls.
Rafts riding the tide, unsafe.
Shoreline's too rocky, our love may be dashed.
The tide and time are ours alone.
may waves roll onwards over the rocks.
Rock pools, full up with memories, memories overflowing.
It's winter now.
The ice cream vendors left.
The croissants became porridge and bagels.
The straw hats and tee-shirts became jerseys and raincoats.
Umbrellas and friendly fellas.
None as wonderful as you.
(c) LIVVI
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
Are you a football fan?
Are you into BIG TIME college football, where my
home town, Georgia Bulldogs are defending, two-time
national champions? Their season began last week
or maybe you’re an NFL fan (they start playing this week).
Ivy league college football starts next week and if you're
not excited about it, maybe you don’t understand it.
Before games there are parties with pizza and chicken wings.
Do NOT go to a frat house on a game day - just don’t.
If you’re going to throw a college football game
you’ll need two teams of players in safety uniforms
and at least one football (that’s what they fight over).
You need a crowd - two crowds really - and a stadium
where everyone could, in theory, sit. There should be
flags, banners, hats and jerseys in riotous team colors.
You’ll need two marching bands and school mascots.
A bulldog will do (Yale), or if you can’t afford that, you could
dress someone up as a huge-headed pilgrim (Harvard).
Of course, as with any big sporting event you’ll need skimpily
dressed girls to toss in the air and assorted food and drink to sell.
There will be lots and lots of cars, and police and ambulances
standing by in case it’s all too much or someone gets hurt.
Cheerleaders are there to whip the crowd into a vocal frenzy,
soon everyone’s yelling things like “DE-fense,” “push em back,”
“Harvard ***** and “No, really, Harvard *****
The ideal game should include a bitter rivalry like Yale vs Harvard.
While everyone knows Yale is better academically, there’s a small
chance that Harvard could win the game - which makes it scary.
We won last year and we’ll play them again this year, in November.
Anyway, whatever flavor of football you like:
It’s football season people!
Sep 8, 2023
Sep 8, 2023 at 3:00 PM UTC
you are my people!
i shout it from the tops of these absaroka mountains
to the bottom of the canyons and beyond
i know you can't hear my bellowing
but it comforts me to let it out
and i know in the depths of your souls you feel it
because you are my people
we are tied eternally
in a web that will never be broken
from our days of yellow jerseys
and sunday school with bowl hair cuts
to smoking cloves and cutting class
you were always my people
when we lost control
we would come together again
and there the balance would be
the world would keep spinning
but our world would slow down
you will always be my people
when we're old and grey
wherever we may be
i will reach across continents
and hold you close to me
our love will span the land
and i will say, these are my people
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
Springsteen sang about glory days
and I laughed
and swore that wouldn’t be me.
I looked around this small town
at these large fishes
and knew I’d find a bigger pond.
But here I am
holding up jerseys
reading newspaper clippings
looking at old pictures
corsages
valentine’s roses
yearbook autographs
picture day poses
and can’t stop talking about
glory days.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 2:26 AM UTC
The image you show is one of a happy boy turning into a man and yet to learn all the crosses of life . Tall dark skin that egg shape head that I can't seem to get the image out of my head from between my legs .. But let's give you a glass of whiskey in fact that not enough heads up this bottle of bittaz just to make sure take two shots of tequila and I'll have you right where I need you to be . Telling me everything ,everything that hurts you everything that makes you feel some type of way . Telling me about girls you pass true and the fact that they made you feel whole for that second but you mind some how finds it's way back to the smile on my face that brings you at peace . Stories about lectures that teaches you nothing that you already haven't known but yet it reminds you of me .. Back to the times we would sit for hours talking about life and the world and the people in it and every time you would ask the question did you know? I'll look at you and smile and say no I did not just so you can shake your head and continue thinking that your teaching me the world . Even duh everybody told me other wise I never dough yet for a second that you weren't the reason for my smile. Deep in your stories you said her name Mrs boo and you smirked a smirked you never did when talking about girls that reminded you of me . That very moment my heart sunk so far down I did not hear anything that you said after that it was like I am at the bottom if the ocean searching for air to breathe know there was no way out but up , up seems so impossible to reach to I fight . Fight back the tear the anger the betrayal the disappointment . Holding my tongue and looking the other way . That night I found myself laying on my back with you on top and I felt nothing and usually we zing but yet i wanted to feel something but instead I stopped and looked you in your eyes and realize after all these year I still couldn't get you to look me in my eyes , I still couldn't get you to kiss me with your heart or touch me with your souls . But yet I fight back from leaving for my heart I was trying to store but how could you store away some you can't find . You lucked me behind jerseys and friends . You feed me to ******* and hoes , but I'll tell you this it won't be no more it my take sometime for me to get over you but lord knows I'll linger your mind for years to come because everything about her reminds you of me so try to leave try to forget you've place yourself in a trap and I wish you the best of luck for the original is on her way out while the Copy is putting you throw a drought...........
Yours truly
Justice
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC