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Jimbo rode the tri-county circuit
Holdin' on to the seat of his pants
(They gotta lotta nice gullza)
Ax slung way down low so he could feel it
Bumpin' the ******* grind
Feels so good when the wood rubs against the 501 metal buttons
Scratchin' up the back o' dat Fender P Bass
High on the stage
In front of crowds or in a cage
There's a kinda woman who'll dance all night
Same kinda woman lookin' good in the spotlight
That kind of woman show her ******* if the price is right
For Jimbo and the band it's free
Three sets in and she's just now ready to party
What most will call a party
Somebody yells "Play 'Free bird'" 10 times
Jimbo can't let that go on
He takes his **** *** bass from his sexier shoulders and he walks all the way to a dead end drunk soldier
"Listen man, like you listen to the band, we don't much like playing 'Free Bird'.
It's too **** long and
It's a Skynyrd song and if we was gonna play we'd wait until the encore
When everybody's drunk and shoutin' for more, too wasted to care how bad we ***** it up"
Well that drunk got the gist and he might have been ****** but there weren't no denying the logic
"Free Bird"'alright for the end of the night
Third sets just too **** early
Jimbo kept his promise, he played that song and it ****** sure sounded like ****
But he'd been right cuz all the night they drank whiskey and rye and nobody recognized it
They put it to rest, packed their gear up as best they could
They went lookin for marijuana and women
Jim couldn't tell you what the other boys found but he bought some Zig Zags and he lay right down with a
Heifer who had her eyes for the guitar player
Who wasn't interested in heifers
She was gonna show Jimbo what this heifer could do
Then ask him to tell Mel the Guitar Man what was in store for him if only he'd change that red light to green
This is what the tri county circuits all about
Yours for the asking if you've got a
Shred of talent
Jimbo thought that heifer was fine
Thanked the little lady for a mighty good times
She said, baby tell that *** picker I got a surprise
Jim told her, sorry sweetcheekers, Mel only likes guys
At which point she seemed defeated
Maybe she'd been a little too conceited
Jimbo turned and stormed right out of the place
He went lookin' for that girl who'd flashed her ******* in his face
But he didn't find her
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
I am essentially not from around here
My values are worthless in these parts
There is no strength in ethics tying us to our lies
Individually
You listen to Wagner' operas
And contemplate eating a bird
If you silk on board with the
KC Masterpiece
And you can share well
You can come
Sneak out the back door
To the kitchen
For the BBQ chicken
I never ate it before
Not being a chicken eater
But the BBQ is delicious
And it's callin' my name:
Jimbo! Jimbo!
Can you hear it?
Jimbo
Lamar Cole Dec 2019
Jimbo the cat loved to go on the attack.
When people came over to visit his owners.
He flew like a missle at their backs.
Jimbo thought that he was just being playful.
But for people that didn't know him.
He needed to be a little bit more careful.
Eowyn Ausmus Jan 2013
You are my soul mate,
my very best friend.
What started out great-
never can end.
Without you I'm lonely,
lost, not whole.
I've given you my body,
my heart, my soul.
Please hurry home
You've been gone way too long
I miss you,  I need you
This love is so strong
A pixie marching band took their show on the road.
17 tiny horn players and a drummer
with a button for a snare.
Across the water they walked,
regimented in three lines,
playing "Has The Day So Quickly Ended" to the rhythm of water splashing
on finely cobbled pixie shoes.
Tireless they moved forward
across an entire ocean
seeking comfort and solitude of Icelandic shores.
Unnoticed by the many captains of the many ships they slipped by, their music nothing more than crickets chirping or the ringing in their ears.

It was a long journey and they never stopped playing once.
Seven hundred and seventy-six songs in their repertoire
they played each one at least twice as days turned to night
and the cycle would need to be repeated
Every pixie musician in the band had every one of those songs memorized
you could call the tune
at any time
day or night
he would pick up his pixie instrument and play it note perfect.
Not a single mistake.

Legendary songs of pixie lore, like "Call The Wild Dogs to Anglicize", "Too Many Curtains" and "Fill Your Cup With Salty Seltzer".
Popular pixie songs all pixies knew, like "Bertha You're a Hard Act to Follow", "Dropped My Horn in the Bay of Pigs", "Livestock", "Ain't No One Answerin' the Phone" and "Drop Yer Pillow, Samuel".
Sacred pixie songs celebrated their common faith in the one true God, like "God, There Ain't No Other God", "Our God Sails the Seven Seas" and "God Help the Fool Who Fools His God".
Pixie drinking songs, "Bottoms Up", "Can You Hear the Weeping Warm Beer?", "1-2-3 Let's All Get Drunk", "Pixie Drinking Song" and "Hustle That Swill".

A lot of songs.
A lot of moods.
A lot of reasons to go  home to Iceland,
as if they needed any besides the food.

The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean
when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.

"Bill, you clumsy *******!" barked Big Jim. "You just about hit me in the back of the head with that ******* trombone slide! Do I have to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you actually graze me with that spit-drippin' thang?"

Billy Joe, typically soft spoken, was not having any of this.

"It was a flying fish that whisked up 'gainst the side of yer noggin, not my slide. If I was of a mind to bean you with this here slide you'd be rubbing the back of your head right now and you'd be so shook up you wouldn't even know it was me that done it."

"You sure do talk tough now, don't ye?" asked Big Jim, reluctantly realizing that it could well have been a flying fish but not yet willing to let the trombone player off the hook. "Don't make me turn around cuz if I do you are going to be in the market for a new trombone."

"That's a well may be, Jim-Jim, but the hand that holds the pen that signs the check that pays for it is going to be yours. Let that stand as a natural fact."

If there's one thing in the world Big Jim didn't like being called
it was Jim-Jim.
Billy Joe was always calling him Jim-Jim because he knew it bugged him.
The pixies in the company had all used variations on his name when referring to him in the past  
Jimbo Johnson,
Johnny Jimson,
Little Jim Big Jim,
Jimmy Jolson,
George Jimson,
Son James the Ham Chef,
Carl Jim Has Been,
King James Version Abridged,
James Wainright Teller,
Jim the Traitor,
Jim the Christ Killer,
Jim the Destroyer of the World,
Jim the Enemy of the Known Universe  
each one of these appellations rankled him but none so thoroughly as the simple
Jim Jim
that Billy Joe would call him.

"I ain't payin' a ******* cent, trombone player."

"Then you ain't breakin' my trombone, Jimmy Jack Jehosaphath."

"Don't test me, you may have to arrest me."

"I'll bring you a file so you can get out of jail, Jim Jim".

"Well that's mighty white of you, pixie. Now what are you gonna do if that spit valve was leakin' and you got some of your nasty ebola saliva on the back of m'neck? You gonna come visit me in the hospital?"

"I might. But then again I might just wait and come visit your grave when they put you down."

"Joe, if we weren't still marchin' I swear to almighty God I would turn around and beat you so bad they'll be countin' a man short when we finally get home."

"Jim Jim, them's fightin' words but you ain't never fought nothing no tougher than the urge to **** in public. You ain't gonna do no permanent damage to me nor my trombone here. So why don't you put your money where your mouth is or keep that mouth shut?"

Big Jim turned around
hit Little Joe hard square between the eyes.
He heard and felt bone crack.

Joe looked stunned.
He'd never call that mean ******* Jim Jim again.
No,
never again
because he hit the water hard and sank down as the band marched right over him,
most not even noticing.

Jim looked for as long as he could then turned around and proceeded to march the rest of the way to Iceland.

"Don't call me Jim Jim," he said, speaking only to himself.

Then he heard a voice in the back of his head.
It was loud enough to be heard over the
music
and
the waves
and
the ocean breeze.

It was HIS voice,
but he had no control over it whatsoever.

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

...and so it was Big Jim, whose trumpet playing had practically defined the style of this particular pixie band, lost his mind, eventually taking up residence in a Reykjavik sanitarium screaming every night, keeping up the attendants and making things worse.

"Little Joe Jangly Hops! Come here you ******* I got a lollipop for ya."

"Joe Joe Deathgrip Toenail! I'm gonna light your mama on fire!"

"Little Joe Clamfry, somebody took a **** in your bed!"

On and on he went until the people in the kitchen stopped giving him bananas. Then he stopped for awhile.

But only for awhile.
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
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
i'm just bored of seeing MMXV everytime i switch
on the television, with the end credits...
i actually get indigestion...
i live in a country famed by
pedophiles rather than Liberace...
politzen-mann! politzen-mann!
homosexuality was one step forward,
and subsequently two steps back...
where are the women?
    where are the women?!
where are the women to sort this
problem out with what the Thai boys
sell: me sucky-sucky tug dollar, un' *****'s
       hour.
where's the rebellion?
               the b.b.c. became bankrupt
once the Savile affair dawned...
             even Ed Gein had more mourners
at his grave... to be honest
Ed had a grave to be desecrated...
   Jimbo? they finally decided to bury
him under a pebble... and them phoom!
mt. everest.
    but as sure as hell he made the b.b.c.
bankrupt... i'm surprised that
strictly come dancing isn't credited with
the same year as most of the b.b.c.
programmes are these days... em em ex viva forever
                as Churchill holding up the v away from
the mouth, not insinuating gulping down an oyster.
  πютр (pyootr) - who else if not peter fuchs?
alles neu - all new, central Berlin...
   achtung achtung! die zentrale figürchen tanzen!
i'll write sluttish german,
     panzer und gargantuan truce...
          i'll write it...
                     truce: in german that's chemically
worded, hydrocarbonated: waffenstillstand...
   armistice, or army standing still.
                     Gertrude Goebbels...
   don't know, just felt like saying it.
                           Brüch and snatching schnitzels...
marvelous nouns... Hindenburg...
     Bismarck -                          pretzel -
                                   schwarz wald -
now the geese... now the strutting Gucci invoked
geese... shadow defence minister?
    that monty python guy from the ministry of
      heigel siegel play-girl partly-a-girl. party-girl
with a fetish for those well-polished leather boots
that would have agreed to kicking
                              in the teeth of Lorca...
            at least we have common ground...
    or at least we had...
                        anyone remember watching
cbeebies coming back from primary school?
           anyone remember blue peter?
       there's no reason to claim that the whole
scene went underground / onto the internet...
                                      television these days is on
a life-support machine... consisting mainly of pensioners...
   and even they decided to tune-out
playing ultra-imaginative chess while watching
a brick wall...
                      20+ years in England
and i never had an english girlfriend...
                 Savile is no surprise to me...
                            what's more of a surprise is the fact
that once the b.b.c. started to become bankrupt
                        the n.h.s. followed suite -
i can't believe i live in a country that's famous
for siberian tea (adding milk to it) and pedohpilia...
and restrictive Soho...
                                  if i get sexually frustrated i'll just:
i am probably one of the few remains of
               buying ******* in a newsagent...
and the counter argument is?
         a citation from black swan -
but there really isn't an intellectual debate in this realm...
      and there should be one...
        but i guess the debate is harder to handle
when you've been circumcised...
                   i just think that once you've been circumcised
of course *** is more pleasurable...
              but once you've been circumcised you
are donning the opposite ***'s *******...
it's like: you have to be with a woman...
                   because having a **** while being
circumcised is the lowest ebb...
                   auto-suggestive of?
              i "circumcise" myself every time i ****...
i pull it back...                  but this religious indoctrination
    of only revealing positives?
                  turns out the kippah was a metaphor for
the lost "excess" skin... later replicated
by Christianity with the tonsure of monks -
     there's not a third way... Islam is not as close-knit
as these two religions... it's just a ******* annoying brat.
James McSweats May 2017
The world has gone grey.
We all live in limbo.
But out of the darkness.
"Wuss poppin Jimbo."
"Call me James," he said.
Neither Jim, nor Jimmy; &
Certainly not:  Jimbo.
Simply James, like King James,
The English Bible James,
James who authorized the translation,
James the First, himself;
Not that other James--
The James of Raoul Dahl--,
The James who got involved with a
Gigantic peach.
Jordan Resendes Mar 2015
Jimbo is awesome.
This is a poem for him.
A haiku, rather.
They -
The Wolves of Wall Street
Wanted me to shine
Their shoes;
Wingtips, loafers and pumps
Dumped in a clear plastic bag
During lunch-break

Me,
The temp from Ghana;
Me,
The HBCU fast-tracker
With a college visa
And a massive crush
On Vanessa;

Before the scandal

Me,
The coffee-hued
Marketing Mgmt major
Schlepping
In the mail-room
At Sachs;

Goldman Sachs

Where future CFO's,
Hedge-fund Gurus
And Climate-Change Deniers
Are spawned

Where Guardians of the status quo
And the chasm
Between coffee and cream
Gather, stir and scheme;

The Clansman's dream
Of a perfect latte

Just grow them beans,
Jimbo

Just be the black sheep
Of your destiny,
Jimbo

And shine these fother muckin shoes...

AYO

~P

.......
Jamesgpaulsr.com (bio/portfolio)
Facebook.com/poetrybyPablo (poetry/digital art)
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
to a very special person  this day belongs to you
time to celebrate with a drink or two
sit down and relax with friends and family
make the day a happy one way that it should be

i wish you all the best may all your dreams come true
this day is very special just the same as you
get the party started let the music play
celebrate in style on this your special day  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY  AMANDA
FROM JIMBO AND MUM
happy birthday sheena the day belongs to you
hope your dreams and wishes on this day come true
fill your day with happiness if only a while
its your special day wear your birthday smile

have a lovely day  like your supposed to do
on the day you were born that belongs to you

happy birthday to a very special person
xxxxx Jimbo
merry christmas **** and lovely sheena to
thankyou for the card that i got from you
i know it wont be easy what we have been through
hope next year will change and we can start a new

we still have the memories how it used to be
when we  were very happy one big family
they will never die or ever fade away
in our hearts for ever they will always stay  

merry christmas to you all

Jimbo xxxx
happy anniversary to des and rosemary
hope theres many more that you both will see
a very special day for you to celebrate
the day that you got married on this special date

i wish you all the best to the both of you
go out for a meal  have a drink or two
have a lovely time on this special day
hope that many more will be on there way

may godbless you both and your family
have a lovely and happy anniversary
love JIMBO xxxxx
Chuck Kean Mar 2020
Destiny

     Destiny is a video game
We play it on our Xbox or PS3
I am still not sure if it's a game
That's a good game for me

My brothers are hoping
That I become a true hero fighter
I don't know if it will ever come to be
But I did **** the giant tank spider

Time slips away as we fight aliens
On a distant planet in a far off Galaxy
It is amazing how realistic it all seems
As the three of us get lost in the fantasy

As Titans or Warlocks we fight
To save the existence of Humanity
And we bond as brothers and pat
Ourselves on the back for our false vanity

We are men with lives and we all
Have our own responsibility
We become children when we play
As we join together in a war of hostility

Me in Worthington and Dave in Gahanna
And Jimbo in Zanesville
Yet we fight together on the same planet
In the same building or on the same hill

Having a great time with out a care
Of our everyday life and stress
Taking turns being the one forging forward
With initiative and great aggress

As I pack it all into my vault of great memories
I wonder of our fantasy and our reality
And what will become of each when
We reach our final destiny

Written By:Charles Kean
Copyright 7/8/2017
All rights reserved

— The End —