"playoffs" poems
Mason substaining an undisclosed injury
concussion against pittsburg
less time to think
Mason gets hit
Stunned
head buzzing
comeback produced
he wanted so bad since he was a kid
he wanted to play in the stanly cup playoffs
concussion
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Mason substaining an undisclosed injury
concussion against pittsburg
less time to think
Mason gets hit
Stunned
head buzzing
comeback produced
he wanted so bad since he was a kid
he wanted to play in the stanly cup playoffs
when he trys to stand
he cant legs like jelly
concussion
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Opening day
Is extra special
For a Pirates fan
We are tied
For first place
Even in
Wins and losses
Looking forward
To the playoffs
Go Buccos!
After twenty
Years of loosing
A world record
Of loosing
We need this
One day
To feel good
Before we
Lose again
Maybe not
This might
Be our year
Opening day
Optimists
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
you will see when you study the game film later on. You
will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I’m sure that you
would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
Now, after a rough start to the season, it’s on to the playoffs.
Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be “one-and-out”
time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
****** good run at this puppy. Frankly, I’m looking forward to
the challenge; I know that our guys are. They’ve worked their
butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I’ve never been
a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
point in the season. It’s been a pleasure, folks. It’s been a long
time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We’ve got more
bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
now. It’s time to saddle up and to man up; that’s all. Giddy up.
Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Vital tensions.
Don’t hit me after reading this saying you loved my poem.
They all hate your actions whether quiet or in the storm.
Racing but behind me, I’ve studied all of these people’s form.
Destined for success was written when I was born.
Met a lot of rappers, they’re actors but don’t rehearse.
The ones I thought I needed are really going from bad to worst.
Just for a recovery, I’d have to do magic first.
And that ain’t all real, so there’s nothing to make it work.
Took a break for weeks but it only felt like some days.
I had to learn resilience, was taken out of my ways.
How much for your soul is a question asked every day.
They don’t ever notice it’s written within their face.
Faded, feeling jaded nowadays,
No man is clean.
Really can’t keep track of who plays for any team.
Take them to the playoffs and still get traded off schemes.
Now every single good heart’s taken into extremes.
I was left for dead to question what I believe.
Now I have no desire or motives in making peace.
Forever knowing now to not trust anybody I meet.
Leaving me to know that there’s nobody like me.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
A new year is coming.
We want all the money.
Telling every woman bag back.
We was lost.
We fell off track.
Let's hope we do not relapse.
How could I worry about shot clocks, when I’ve been fighting just to make it to the playoffs.
Getting fired and hired and laid off.
You’re too focused on materialistic and pretend things.
Trying to impress your friends and these women.
I say all the time let’s move different.
This won’t fix none of the things that I’ve mentioned.
The relationship’s more like tradition.
We fight and don’t talk but we're moving on.
I still stay to myself, I’ve been traded on.
I can’t rush into something I keep my patience.
But you’re giving techs, fouls and a flagrant.
We know I can hit me a buzzer to win the game.
But why would I win just to feel pain.
Trying to fix myself and my mind-frame.
Stay true to myself in my own lane.
We all know these other women all want me, but I act expensive yet they all adore me.
To tie the knot won’t complete this story.
Better tighten up, soon they can afford me.
A couple of years of dating.
We on thin ice like we’re skating.
Don’t want to break, I’m just saying.
Believe it or not, I’m not faking.
Spent my whole life for this training.
For shot clocks...
So you can keep timing me or move along.
I should be writing a better poem and songs.
Self centered, you’re right and I’m always wrong.
If anything, you’re the one taking too long.
For shot clocks...
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
On opening day 2013
I wrote a poem
About my beloved
Pittsburgh Pirates
It's called Pirates Fan
That I am
I lamented twenty years
Of losing
And shined in optimism
That change was coming
It's now August
And the Buccos
Are in first place
Best record in baseball
Gearing up for
Playoffs in the fall
After twenty years
Of losing!!!
There is hope
For all losers
Keep grinding it out
One day you
May find yourself
In first place!!!
For the moment
We are
Number one!!!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
Redskins
Cowboys
Sunday night
Division
title
on the line.
Who will win
this massive
showdown
and enter
the playoffs
with the
division crown.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
The calendar reads March, the winter is done,
Its time for the spring and all kinds of fun!
Work your body, as the days grow long,
Exercise your muscles, and get real strong!
Things come alive, trees start to bud,
Testosterone flows, men feel like a stud.
Women look for a man to provide,
Less clothes on the body, no skin to hide
Play ball! The baseball umpires cry,
A long fly ball, hit high into the sky.
Unstable weather, warm and then cold,
It matters little, this story is told,
About the season that is loved by most,
The days lengthen, and other things to boast,
Like the hockey playoffs, at Madison Square,
Turn on the TV and pull up a chair,
Watch the Rangers play and kick some tail,
When shooting the puck, they cannot fail.
The Knicks also are home at the Square,
For years, their playoff cupboard's been bare.
Things looking better, hope the veterans last,
A ring for the team, lies deep in the past.
Easter time occurs in the spring,
The son of God and strong feelings he brings,
The story does tell, of his death on the cross,
Mankind's big mistake, what a terrible loss.
All these good things, happen in the spring,
Nature smiles at this time, and we fly on her wing.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
If our love was a sticky note,
it would be sky blue.
It would have a lot of notes, and stories on it.
It would still have room for more.
It would be still sticky,
and it would be stuck where I could always see it.
It would follow me around like a bad penny.
If our love was a pen,
it would have forever lasting ink.
It would have written this poem.
It would be dark black, and wet
with dripping love.
If our love was a text...
Well, you hate texting so never mind.
If our love was a sticky note though,
It wouldn't burn in the fire,
but it would be able to start one.
Our love, doesn't fade,
and my love for you grows
day by day.
However, our love is not a sticky note,
or a pen,
or a text.
It is much more than that.
It is expressive, and not dismissive.
It is colorful,
and has many stories involved in it.
It is going to have more stories.
It is on my phone, it is in my bed, I can see it everywhere.
It follows me around like a bad penny.
It is everlasting,
and it is as tangible as the perfect poem.
Our love can get dripping wet sometimes,
and it is usually overflowing.
It doesn't give up in the fire of a fight,
But it starts the desire of one.
I don't know how else to say it,
but we will fight the odds, and make the playoffs,
we will go through hard and nice strolls in the park.
Life and love are officially intertwined in
our two bodies.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Even as I walk past,
Comerica stands
grass illuminates like a lamp post on a winter night.
Tigers season, baby
Dad and I do our yearly tradition.
The smell of the park is second to none.
But not this year.
Dad ain't doin so well.
His knee ain't up for it.
Love you, old man.
Maybe, just maybe, the old Tigs
will surprise us and make the playoffs
and then
maybe, just maybe,
we can go to a game
and let that tradition ride on.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
No words
left--except
for how, when
I wrote this
poem, you will
be expecting
something from
me.
We can be
selfless, you
know. We've
given all our
thoughts and
wisdom to you
for free (and
our folly).
Sure, you may
have to buy
a book, but that's
only because
we are not like
our poems and
require food.
You will
watch these
lines like
your favorite
football team
and hope they
make it to
the playoffs--
each period is
the game that
destroys or feeds
your hope.
It can never
be too full,
but it is
not a flower
rooted in the
self.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
I think about the odds against me
And i know why i hate math so much
I dream of God's touch
Assuring me i'm the man my grandfather wanted me to be
He's no longer here for me to know
And now this bridge isn't as golden
And my pockets aren't holding
All this change
I wish i could properly rearrange
Without going through an uphill battle
But some people are as carefree as cattle
And hold life in a very small window
But i hate being a spider with two legs
So i decided to hold my podium higher while i speak my words
I think to not get anything accomplished is absurd
But i'm looking for a better word
Cause that's not good enough
For me
I want to be the best man i can to be the world
But i have a few losses on the road
I wonder if i'm still making playoffs
I guess i'm just crossing my fingers
As time lingers
I'm holding onto something that might or might not happen
I'm tired of cornering myself into living this life
So i'm going to solve this puzzle
While you bring more for me to solve
I got more problems fixed but many more coming up
Don't worry, i'm used to this
I'm now a professional
That's the only response you should have
To this roller coaster with no wheels or rails
You see all the details it entails?
It's loud out here but the self esteem is soft
And that's a terrible crime
I'm finding ways to rhyme
And all this garbage is happening in the world
I want to be be able to stare into a kid who has nothing in the eye and give them the world
It isn't about me
I'd brag about my fat stacks going to other people not for myself
These fat stacks have meaning now
Isn't that odd?
I like giving things meaning
It's what keeps me going
Have you ever seen a person bloom so much that you can smell the nectar nearby?
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
At five in a morning they scavenge about,
Punters at a car boot sale
Searching for bargains with torches.
Why the lights?
Because it’s still dark.
Why dark?
Because it’s SEPTEMBER.
September: the month when the kids go back
To school.
When bowls goes indoors,
Snooker starts;
Cricket draws to a close,
As bad light stops play.
Premiership football into its second month
And Rugby Superleague into the Playoffs.
Telly programmes that have run all summer
Grind to a halt
And Winter TV takes over.
“Question Time” is back
Along with parliament,
Though Boris soon closed it
This year!
The nights get longer,
Minute by minute
And soon those leaves will turn
That lovely golden hue:
Ironically the mark of Death.
Thoughts will soon be turned to Christmas
As we steel ourselves
For another Winter.
Halloween and Bonfire Night
Are coming soon.
This year we have “The Brexit Deadline”,
A new distraction
Drawing our eyes away
From the eternal passage
Of time.
Paul Butters
© PB 23\9\2019.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 6:15 AM UTC
I could no longer persuade myself to endure the pain.
I would drive a knife through my soul until it pierced the coldest edges of my heart so it would never beat again.
In my mind laid inestimable secrets, knowledge that bled from my romantic wounds & It would be selfish to carry this jewel with me to the journey above.
Previously abandoned by the soul I should be with, I felt my essence had been stolen, & as I laid on arctic rose peddles dying I now knew the answer to her repetitive question, "What is Love?"
Love is a gamble, a casino incased by a plethora of overwhelming emotions in which bets are not negotiable, you have to be all in.
You either win treasures you've only witnessed in fantasies or lose all that is you & fall into the darkest corners of your most horrendous nightmares & watch your spirit deplete from within.
Love is going to a restaurant & saying you're not hungry because you only have enough money for her to get every thing she wants to eat.
It's gazing upon God's greatest gift to me, drowning in those chestnut eyes, & to be hungry no more because the sight of her bliss is a taste that indescribably sweet.
Love is sitting and watching Pretty Little Liars when the second round of the NBA playoffs is on with the largest of attitudes & her happiness overwrites your own distaste.
It's not caring who's around, staring into her eyes like seeing my first car for the first time & never wanting to look away, to feel no shame to express my affection and gratitude for her in any place.
Love is a change of currency in which forgiveness becomes more valuable than pride, & sometimes even forgiveness isn't enough to cover the debt. Love truly is a gamble that can leave your pockets, soul, and amorous heart sore.
The absence of love can lead you to desire an absence from life, with knife in hand & tears of aura descending from my eyes I drive the blade through my aching heart & Strange, it hurts no more.
Love is.. -Dash Pinder
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Regulation time was up
and our team one goal behind.
At the referees sole discretion
Is the length of stoppage time.
How much time do we have left?
What difference can we make?
Already we’re shorthanded
And the playoffs are at stake.
We’re like a man whose heart has failed
a time or two before.
Each time nearly off with death
Until revived for more.
Or somebody whose lease is up
And headed for the door,
Waiting only for the truck
to take their past to store.
I heard my pulse race in my ears
As I penetrate their line.
I tuck the ball inside the post
And score in stoppage time.
Just ahead a shootout waits
which will decide our fate.
When playing games of sudden death
What a difference seconds make.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
Telling a lie
Always wanting to shine
When really I was polished the wrong way
My heart was really on decline
Saying her name
Used to be a praise
Now all it is
Is just a way to go down
And cry
Wishing she was mine again
When really she being gone
Was my pilgrimage to a great revival
Very vital
For my arrival that
I stay mindful
Of my trifles
Due to how I’m always tripping on the cracks
That makes everything black
Activating my brain
And making me rage
Since my temper is on edge
With my neck
That is carrying a lot of the sweat I get
From ******* tryna wreak my moderation
Tryna give me a education
In how to be substandard
And Rendered into something
Worst than America giving a Cheeto
The leveage to all of our bombs
So now I’m just thinking about what you did wrong
Instead of my flaws
I’m reminding you of what you missed on
Always catching wrong
Missing all shots
Finally hit a home run
But didn’t run
Instead you walked away
And became a snob
Who couldn’t turn a ****
As if it was Brittney telling a song
Without hatred and love
Always switching up to benefit your life
But messing with my redefined mind
Which has no space to give you my time
So I’ma make this short and give you a new comprehension
Don’t look at me
Don’t say you gonna love
Or that you gonna **** me
Because all you really doing is lying to yourself
Because I’m non penetrable
Due to my thick skull
That’s always getting dull from whenever you wanna score
Instead you fumble
Like the dolphins in the playoffs
Now I wish you good luck
Since your sorry *** just loss all your luck
When you left me taking a piece of my
❤️
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 3:18 AM UTC
The Venetian Red fish
Slithers through the magentic sky,
Sniffing the violence of electromagnetic vibrations,
I, behind the branchia, spur her/him on,
Far away, the sight of thunder rumbling and static,
Feeling the inky indigo of the mirage of toothy desire.
Hearing cold textures of slippery fishy scales,
Tasting the black velvet Jesus, Elvis, and Nixon,
Our banner.
Oh, that can’t possibly happen said Jonah,
As he was enveloped by exactly that,
A piercing cacophony of clashing color
That resolved itself into the image of his ex.
No more, no more.
The red fish jumped the river Stix,
Halting at the 7-11 from hell.
A seventh circle infernal Powerball anyone?
A hellish scratchie tempts my soul.
But my lucky number is a binary: 1-oh,1-oh, 1-oh.
That’s hell for you, unsymmetrical.
Needed, perhaps a chance encounter,
with an itinerant puzzle person
Would they sort the senses and find truth?
Could that help or should it?
He winks and I don’t believe her.
A stolen kiss thrown
At the 2018 Little League Playoffs at Southaven, Mississippi
Still echoes in their brain pans and mine too.
The dull stylus of dangerous thrills
scratched my pancreas as Jim shoveled his lunch.
But I have better manners than that.
In the chaotic magentic atmosphere,
I mount my scarlet stead,
and move on-- as you should too.
Adieu. Adieu. Adieu.
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I don’t want to be
The devil’s advocate
But Carly Forina
In the aggregate
Looks like a demon
And better yet
She’d be a president
We’d live to regret
Donald Trump
Might have made a case
When he enjoined us
To look at that face
Who would elect her
And in any case
Her Hewlet Packard tenure
Was a disgrace
Anyone can provoke
Massive layoffs
Like a non-contender
For the playoffs
She says she’s a savior
Former employees scoff
It’s campaign rhetoric
She should knock off
I’ll give it to her
She’s very well spoken
But a business genius
She’s got to be joking
Which prompts me to ask
What has she been smoking
By the end of the race
She’ll clearly be broken
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
under soft sunlight
at the beach we left
in seven days,
on our vacation three years ago,
the boat is collecting rain.
the weather is like
air conditioning
and i've forgotten
things.
wonderful things
have happened to me
and i've been happy;
i've been
weird.
i'm never used to
the keypad
and i've found
old conversations.
the color in the drawings
change all the time.
you
and the vacation,
are blurry.
i don't like
the playoffs anymore
and i don't
mind you smoking.
it's been a long day
and three years —
lazing around
in an evening-balcony
's unremembered
yet
the boat
at the beach we left
is withering
but still
collecting rain.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
Today I went to see my brother's hockey playoffs at the rink where I used to skate.
- it wasn't at all a calculated decision.
The whole time I sat staring into the screen of my phone.
Paralyzed.
Fearing that you might be in the same building.
Teaching.
Your license not yet taken away.
Flashbacks.
Parents angry that I didn't watch the game.
- I couldn't move.
Fearing I would attract the ghost of you and the horror that always follows alongside you.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC