"lineman" poems
Do not utter a syllable
For the reaper lurks at the door
Dim the lights as our eyes are widened
Sit in a desperate, huddled mass
Feel the shivering, helpless creature on the left
Hear my traitorous lungs exhaling, surrendering my position
My heart pounding, screaming at my body
Ordering me to run, to fight, to ****
"Do not go gentle into that good night,"
As Dylan Thomas so elegantly stated
Yet it is not a time for romantic visions of heroism
Beowulf's idealism will not save us here
Sobbing, shivering, ***** stained American Eagle
Sweat drenched Under Amour Tees and hoodies
Feet ironically quivering in red and orange Nike Shocks
A 243 pound lineman blubbering under his breath
He wants his mother, his daddy, his pillow, to go home
Another boy, Darrel, clenches his fists, readies for attack
Cassidy sits silently, emotionless, statuesque, frozen in time
And I . . . What do I do? . . . What do I do?
Do I flinch like Sir Gawain in the face of death?
Or do I . . . . . . What do I do?
God, may I never discover the answer to this evil query
God help us stop the violence consuming innocent children
Render CODE RED obsolete
Yet, CODE RED will parish not
For society feeds on fictional fame
Fifteen minutes that Warhol never could have painted
Now it will be duplicated like so many Campbell's Soup cans
CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED
And . . . What will I do?
What will I do?
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
I'll probably go visit my parents on Thanksgiving. I'd hate to miss the way my father nods at my mother's sisters and brothers then steps backward into the shadows until he becomes them. We're having the mess at my aunt's in Seminole. Dad always drives separately. He makes his escape without saying goodbye. Leaving my mother, my sister, my brother, and I to explain the hermit.
I never ride with him. Haven't rode in a car -- just him and I -- since high school. I would lay my head against passenger window. Listen to tires press gravel deeper into the red earth. He never asked my thoughts on God, though a minister. He never asked about my classes, though a former teacher. He never asked about girls, though my father. Glen Campbell, however, he'd talk about Glen Campbell. Claimed I always looked like him. When I was a child, he'd even part my hair sharply and take pictures. What a good, little Glen Campbell. If he took his eyes off the road long enough to hone in on a power line, "Wichita Lineman" inevitably became the topic of conversation. That song would delta off into "Rhinestone Cowboy," "Gentle on My Mind," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." Soon we'd be in town, knowing each other no better than before the departure. But we arrived. That's something.
To this day, no occasion could coerce me into parting my hair. With the exception of Mr. Campbell's funeral of course.
Tim will love your family. As I did. Still do. I thought he might only be a consolation, but looks like he's a trophy. Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Anna Prine. I thank you. The fowl of the air thank you. The beasts of the field thank you. Tell them they're welcome.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
What does wind think of the encampment on North 7th
as it moves under the overpass, the bright blue nylon riffling,
work shirts on a rope, the entry flap breathing,
an old man’s head bent over a chessboard, a rook tipping over?
What does wind know? Easy to say: nothing,
to say it knows nothing sweeping the day’s trash
down the avenue. The crawl says: fires in the West;
men with AR-15s; a mother and child face-down in the river;
children in cages; the rise of this, the fall of that.
We say the wind knows nothing as it drives fire like a blowtorch
across the land. We blame the grid, the lineman, the line,
though we know better. We say the rain inside the wind
knows nothing, as mud swallows houses, houses fall to sea,
floods push through cities, the ocean takes back land.
We say wind and rain know nothing. We say there’s nothing
to do. The wind passes through us and goes on.
A gust pushes in. A tarp snaps. A rook tips.
The old man uprights it, and waits for the next turn.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
Super Saiyan like Goku
Japanese got Nobu
Got things to blow through
Soul searching eat soul food
Lineman said go blue
Know things I know too
Cough down got the flu
'Rona season ye they knew
Hit a lick and they rich now
Kobe shooting bricks now
Make music you call sounds
Shorty go two rounds
Henny Henny on the flip town
Jealousy they talk about
I don't really give a **** now
I just wanna blow it up now
Someone come roll spliffs
6ix God go views this
Air punching got no fists
I just feel so diff
Get rich and go dip
Pinking I go swim
Jelly jelly got no diss
****** like solstice
Don't want to lose connect
Dripping down like a faucet
I just want to be blessed
Late sleep feel too stressed
Situations go reflect
**** my ex" is a reflex
I just want two things
Big money and respect
East to side to the rex
Play smart got no decks
Aces up next
Need a queen be the best
Whip around in my X
Flex on my ex
Check time Rolex
Get "I miss you" texts
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 3:09 AM UTC
how on earth
could steaming squash and Brussel sprouts
be as good as Doritos and a soft serve swirl…
sure, I desire to be a healthy old man
but my taste buds wish me dead at 45
they long for sweet wheat and extra large
portions of meat
indiscrete feedings at fried food buffets
all the while maintaining the look of a fella
only slightly over-weight
…..still, I feel poorly
headaches and joint pain
racing brain and an inability to refrain
from the foods that are doing this to me
I never thought after conquering
8 years of ****** addiction
and 15 years a tobacco ******
that candy bars would be my greatest foe
forget candy bars
let’s talk bread….
loaves of sourdough golden roasted
rye to die for
and cinnamon…rolls,
banana or zucchini
sprinkled on toast with a touch of sugar …
it is no wonder I am larger than need be
the BMI calculator says I am 84 pounds
from defeating obesity
so much for my professional lineman physique –
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
There once was a *****
Who had a cousin named Mitch,
And ate and ate and ate,
She ate so much,
She ate her clutch,
And pretty much everything else.
One day this girl,
Started to hurl,
And a problem did arise,
She puked and puked and soon she started to despise,
Herself and others, chickens and mothers,
Even her best friend Siena.
Years have past and turkeys don''t last long past Thanksgiving,
A **** a ***** and quite a bore, how can she keep living?
Now you see, what a B---- she can really be,
This poems not about a lineman,
It's a about a horrible girl named Sam Steinman.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
Physics cant fix it
I need a chemist
I appreciate the limits
and entropy
chaperoning heliocentrism
I captured that cat
with whiskers painted on
like a football player
you are a quarter back
but either way a star
but I am a lineman
and take the hits.
this is all intentional.
and this isn't.
Is this seclusion or am I being seduced
I am Ostracized
but yet you move to the other side of the room
it easy to see how I am confused
when you make all the calls
and yet I’d be expected to call you.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
A ride today in Des Moines
that appraise law and counteract
any that country may enact
where Wichita lineman forthwith
and mackinaw shall really embellish
furthermore with Granny Smith
awhile down stream on a riverboat
that foregoing is never behind
where a river is always wide
and bourgeois with a paddle wheel stride
why his atropine smile
reach the delta with such desire
and let him take the home route
in an abode of parish shanty
where river dance makes day long
a simple beast, a man
with chinchilla wrap round his neck
that sweep her off flourishing deck
these stratospheric ideals now
for sovereign witness entail campaign.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Like the changing seasons
when you leave I fall
into the beautiful
Melancholy
of yesterday's rain
as Red Cap
by Louie Armstrong plays
in a dark mellow, yellow
smooth...or
rough sounding,
yet lovely fanfareish finish
sounds of a Witchita
lineman still
on the line
hanging on
lingering
heavy on my mind
reminded of
smells down sweetened
cigar smelling tracks
tastes of honey & Whiskey
forget a word said wrong
a note not hit or played
disregard word unsaid
forgive a thoughtless word
my imperfect mind
I overheard myself
or you saying
as we're laying,
playing
in the sun
Jazz....pizzazz
Oh, ah...yeah,
working
on the chain...
ohhh ahhhh....
ewwwww ...waaaa...
help me sing it
bring it
waaa..oooOo
Oh yeah,
one more time
everybody
let me here you
better go now
you can
show me
how
hey
Yeah....
Sam Cooke
singing
Gospel
sayin'
thank you
for
the
beautiful
and the
bitter
sweetness
of the
time we
shared
is leaving.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Lineman
You ride the poles of my
electric memory. I feel
your grip on the wires
of my need.
I mourne at last your
absence. The pulse
Is faint now. You will climb
the last time soon
to dry the lines, wipe
the torn wires
and stop the
pulsing
of
your
aching name.
The pounding code
of a life
overturned.
Caroline Shank
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 3:53 PM UTC
GLEN CAMPBELL HAS PASSED AWAY
HE WAS THE RHINESTONE COWBOY
HE HAD STYLE CHARACTER AND WIT
BUT MOST OF ALL TRUE GRIT
I WILL MEET YOU AT BONAPARTE'S RETREAT
I AM THE WICHITA LINEMAN
HIS MUSIC WILL STAY IN OUR HEART
BECAUSE ALL HIS SONGS WE LIKED THEM
THERE ARE SINGERS IN THE WORLD AND THEN
SUPERSTARS THAT JUST PASS BY
BUT TOO LOSE GLEN CAMPBELL
MAKES MY BEATING HEART CRY
A TRUE MUSIC LEGEND
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
*walking on a railway track
her words and gestures
never understood my love
waiting for the lineman
to unite us …. to change
the nature of our life
for a minutes
to understand each other…*
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
Sandt Amaro and Karl Spooner on the old Brooklyn Dodgers.
My 2 all-time favorite players of my favorite team the Yankees are
an putfielder acquired in a transaction Vernon Webb
and the Rookie of the Year for, I believe, 1957
an outfielder first baseman Norm Cisbern.
My 2 favorite all-time Illinois basketball players were sixth men Ed Perez and Joseph Bertrand.
My 2 favorite all-time Detroit Lions are Bobby Cayne and Pork Walker with Ces Bingaman a nice third.
My favorite all-time Cleveland Browns are Otto Graham and Frank Gatsby.
My all-time 2 favorite Chicago Bulls are Michael Jordan and Dave Corzine.
Mordern-day-wise, I like Parig of the LA Dodgers, Steven Aren who last I saw was with the Washington Nationals, and in modern Illini football I loved Monty Wilson. He hit so hard and the sound of a prize recruit who never got in on a game. D'Angelo McGary and I liked the sound of the name. Duane Brantley who was a large for the time offensive lineman out of Chicago wo dropped out before he had a chance to play.
This is just scratching the surface, I guess, since I'm not into the star system per se.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
.
I’ll fast for the right word
I’ll stay still patient
yoga moving
mesa mental
I would give it all, sacrifice the self
take the leap take the fall
grasp the dream
curtain, rail, and all
falling like the rain
collected love is a blessing
but only when it’s given freely
holding on means I’m ever stressing
Always guessing,
only known :
no͓̰͍͠ ̭͔͙̥͓̤̺̕e͈͚̩̼y̪͞és̹ ̵͚͇̼̤͈
̫̭̟̲͚̞͝
̰ͅn͎͎̲̗̼̙̕ͅo̭̲̦͓͍ ̙̬͕h͉̼͎ear͏̩͓̹̥̰͕ͅt
͞
̺̕n̫̥ó̳̩̞͓̗̪̩ ̮̹̪̝m̢̭͖̟̳͖ͅḭ̪̼̪̦ͅn̘͞d̟̜̫͇
̲̟͚̖̼
̡̼̥n̜̩͕ò̟̲̼̩̻̲ ͡i̤̥̟̤͠
When we write are we fighting
against emptiness, Qi lightning
spreads through pages hand signing
Put it all on the line
like the Wichita lineman
Now you,
finished the entire line
Literate
like you the one who wrote it
Deliberate
like you the one who chose it
Free State
cause nobody can own it
Divine Griming it
trophy pwn the tone man
I admit
I’m a goofy grown man
life set to simple stages
meant to understand
here for truth nothing less
water solvent drip away fantasies
On a quest
I’m a stones throw from
ingesting strategies
breathing in breast
breathin' the best
Never miss
if you stay on point ,
laser made joint
pearled
like it’s late boy
3am
the left hand never rests
plates spinning
focus hard prayer breathe
Bhakti worship amidst the lair
screaming banshee just kissed my hair
divine shakti script the player
Pocket burning, better pay her
Direct pressure stop the bleeding
Lights appear
Lost in Meaning
....but then
just like that
the prayer stops.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
The teams were matched up and the game had been hard fought. Both sides were tired and sweat poured off of everyone. Every piece of ground and every point had been earned with sacrifice and pain. There was 18 seconds left in double overtime and the next play would decide the game. From 40 yards out a tired you man took sight of the ball. This was it, this was the kick that would tell them all. If the tie would be broken or would the game end in a draw, no one new what to expect no one could make the call. As the stadium filled with a hushed silence, the lineman hiked the ball. The place kicker set up the kick and the kicker let it fly, but just as ball was let loose spiraling into the air, it came crashing to the ground and was running away from the field. For what had went unnoticed from the sidelines and what everyone had forgot, was a Golden Retriever named Alex, that was the home teams mascot. Doing what he had been taught to do a thousand times before, it was his favorite half time trick, with it the Hunter dogs would always score. So free from his leash, he rushed the field and true to his call, Alex stopped the game as he retrieved the ball. No one will remember the hard work that went into that game, but you can be sure that they will remember Alex's name. For in that one viral moment you can almost bet, that funny dog will forever be seen on the internet.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:14 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
The Desperate Princewives in Toronto
On Christmas eve a lineman hoists herself
Far up into the blowing ice to mend
The power that keeps our children warm at night
While waiting for good Santa Claus to come
On Christmas Day a cop patrols the streets
Alone against snipers with ‘47s
Keeping us safe while we grumble about cops
She’s left her children with her mom to watch
The morning after Christmas another mom
Jump-starts her ten-year-old car so she can drive
The slushy streets to her shift at Dairy Queen
For her career ladder at the deep fryer
In a studio in Canada two men
Well-guarded by their secret services
Well-fed, well-dressed well-chauffeured in their ‘zines
Escorted, piloted, guided, scripted
Express their happiness that working folk
Are wealthier and healthier than ever
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC