"linebacker" poems
Ever felt like you had the one
for you, and
you just let her duck out?
See, I got this girl.
See, I had this girl.
See, this girl really ****** me,
see?
This girl was an island girl.
This girl ****** in torrents.
Argued in cannonball barrages.
And hugged like a linebacker.
Those island girls are thick:
all thighs,
all ***
all fire
like the volcanoes we all come from
and forget to remember.
But they remember.
And they live it.
See, this island girl, was a bigger, thicker one,
and I could throw her around any way I wanted.
And she liked it,
and I liked it,
and,
I'm telling you,
this island girl could take an ass-canning whooping
like nobody.
I mean, I'd make sure her ****** became
a bruised rose
and she felt it.
But,to talk about love,
the *** was a good thing,
but she could argue,
and I think I like that
more than I'm beginning to realize.
Just like a short poem on a ***** day.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC
Clem, the rodeo clown
wears a bold painted smile,
a bright plaid shirt and bib overalls
with cuffs too short for his legs.
Between the rides and roping -
Clem banters with the emcee,
wheeling off groaners and
scrambling in and out of his barrel-
playing the air-headed bumpkin.
But Clem is nobody's fool;
when that gate opens, his real work begins.
Bull and rider explode from the chute
and the game is on.
The cowboy weaves and writhes to stay on top
for that eight golden seconds
that will earn him his pay
against a half ton of feral energy
stomping and lurching to fling him to the earth.
With eyes as keen as a hungry hawk,
Clem tracks every buck and lurch
for any peril sign - and then it happens:
the rider is hurled airborne,
landing inches from the driving hooves.
Clem seizes the cowboy with
a linebacker's grip
and swings him safely over the fence
as wranglers speed the bull from the ring.
The show goes on and Clem
has plenty more jokes for the crowd
who knows he's never a barrel of laughs
when a rider's life is on the line.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
I hear the screeching sound,
Of the rioting crowd roaring like a lion,
When the weathered football is kicked,
Falling down like a missile,
Touching earth.
I see the opposing offence,
Passing for desperate yardage,
As our insane defense,
Forcefully sacks the quarterback,
In the backfield,
Providing our team with momentum.
I feel of the cold,
Icy wind as the ultimate play is about
To unfold,
As we play the fourth quarter.
The excruciating pain,
Of deliberately being bowled over,
By a linebacker with such vigorous
Power,
That your helmet is knocked off.
The relief of winning,
A difficult ballgame,
As we celebrate,
Another outstanding victory.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
I like to wear tiny shorts
On my big fat ****
And little tiny tops to make
My ***** look big.
But if I catch you staring at me
And ogling my *******
I’ll suddenly get all proper on you
And call you a pig.
Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.
I love my hair bleached orange
With lots of dark roots.
I keep it long, and badly cut
Then wear a pony tail.
I walk like a linebacker
On the scrimmage line.
I think I look extremely cool
Like I just got out of jail.
Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.
If I wear a hat it is a stocking cap
And some boots I stole from a boy.
It all goes well with raccoon eyes;
The makeup makes it work.
I am so **** hot that I am sizzling.
If you object you are jealous.
So, I ignore your comments and sneers.
You must be a bunch of jerks.
Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
I run with a very different pack.
So don’t come crying on my shoulder.
I’ll tell you to step your *** back.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
I don't watch anymore
when the quarterback goes down
I know beyond a doubt
there's flags upon the ground
PC is now the rule and such
the game a sham and joke
not worth watching, all that much
rules and penalties now broke
I'm glad I'm not a linebacker
confused and so unsure
hit or no hit the NFL
brown is the PC flag
of ******** and
manure
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
I can't remember the last time i had a real smile.
I lost it somewhere back in 2007.
It hitched a ride on the back of someone's fist and was gone for good,
ran out on me, like a linebacker for the pro's.
I have a smile, i made.
I found some superglue, and some matchsticks, and held it together with my eyes.
I used it to describe the way i wanted people to see me.
It was like a stretched piece of gauze,
because the original scars still cracked through,
and i didn't want people to see,
the real me.
I carry this smile with me everywhere i go,
It's only for public use,
at other times, i hide it away in the kitchen drawer,
with the bills, and important letters,
that i will deal with,
one day.
I sometimes wonder what happened to that smile.
Is it coming back?
Is it taking a holiday?
Is it teaching me a lesson?
Is it fighting through the hard times to get to me, desperately?
Is it waiting until it is, well deserved?
But still, i guess, i will keep the glue,
as this one seems to be working,
and no-one seems to notice,
the difference.
And i appreciate that its not easy to be a faker,
but at least when you get so good,
you don't really remember who you really are.
And that's really ok,
because no-one needs to find that out anyways,
when you become what you believe,
and find it really does come true.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
He wished he’d been born tough
instead of already broken down in ways.
Raised by an English teacher;
he didn’t complain about it,
but sometimes wished
it was by a linebacker
or first baseman instead.
Jesus Christ, just look at him!
He was a yard across at the shoulders
yet a good shove would’ve
put him on his ***
He resented it sometimes;
especially considering the way
he was wired.
Like a pilot light
that’s always looking for a reason
to fire up all four burners
all at once.
Sometimes he wished
that he could fight his way out of a bar,
just once.
Spend the night on a jailhouse cot.
Go to the ER with a broken nose.
The adult in him knows that these are foolish thoughts.
He’s too old for that **** now,
pushing 40.
Sometimes he feels 25 and powerful.
Sometimes he feels geriatric and slow.
He likes himself better now than he did
10 years ago.
But, then wonders what could’ve been
and who he’d be if he’d been able
to draw his first breath just
15 minutes sooner.
In the end, he figures that
maybe he’d like himself less than he does
right now.
That’s the only thought
that saves him
now and then.
***
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
We had a special play for the game against Highland
Park. It was called 36X. After some razzle-dazzle in
the backfield, Mike Gentry got the ball and ran 65 yards
for the winning touchdown. Frank Sewell was a power-
ful lineman--the center, actually. I played linebacker
on defense, and I was lucky, because I played right
behind right tackle, Ted Melinick, who wound up
getting a full football scholarship to KU (the University
of Kansas). My best friend, Ralph "Sandy" Sandmeyer,
half the size of Melinck, but the most tenacious lineman
on the team, was elected co-captain. I was the other one.
It matters not at what level you play. What matters are
the memories that stay with you for a lifetime--the snapshot
memories of special moments that flash through your
mind for the rest of your days. The camaraderie of your
teammates, particular plays--tackles, touchdown runs,
interceptions, even injuries you sustain--all form an
indelible montage. My favorite memory was the one
where, as a wide-receiver on offense, I went into the
flat to catch a pass, but was intercepted by Loyce Bailey.
I jumped on his back to tackle him, but he rode me like
a saddle for 40 yards. Loyce happened to be black, and
therefore lived in the black ghetto on the east side of
Topeka. He was also the best athlete in all of Topeka.
Bailey, like Melinick, got a full ride to KU to play foot-
ball. He was their starting saftey.
Several decades later, I saw Loyce again, this time at a
reunion. I reminisced with him about my futile attempt
to tackle him. He remembered the play, and we both
laughed loud and hard. We gave each other a big hug.
Another indelible memory.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 5:38 PM UTC