Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Basketball stands for war or battle.
That's why I think about the players'
personalities, in my foxhole or squad.
Danny and Ben are fast and smart. Dan
especially can pass making him master
and commander. To defeat them as we did
is very satisfying. Ben's five year old son
is intelligent but distant. Disdains to answer
my question Why are you you?
                                                       But I'm not here
to catalogue the men's personalities.
I like them. But each of us has moved on
many times, when  _______  suddenly died
the games went on with hardly a mention
and his name has since been forgotten.

But even this, absolute mortality
of not just our bodies but our names
and souls is not what I came
to talk about. Yesterday, between games,
I asked Joe how Molly his daughter likes
the high school. He mounted an impassioned
defense of reading as the indispensable skill
when I suggested math, the scientific method
and history are essential too.
                                                 Also between games
Bob diffidently asked why my kids are bald.
I was moved by the care he took to satisfy
his curiosity, concerned the subject might be
difficult. He's a political science teacher so
I took the opportunity to ask What ails
the republic? Of course I answered myself
wanting mostly to hear myself talk about Iraq
and how empire is self-correcting. For once I was amusing
I thought, treating the subject with a light touch
heretofore lacking.

But none of this is what I came to say.
A new guy, very big and strong, a
bulldozer under the boards with a good
outside shot if needed got into a dispute
with the other Bob who likes to tell people
what to do sometimes, about an offensive
foul Bob called which we almost never do.
The new guy said If you can't take it don't
play under the boards which is what I say
when I'm pissed and don't give a shit.
Bob said You've been pushing and shoving me
all day. I said He doesn't want to be
pushed and shoved which got a wry
smile out of Danny as I put the ball in play.
Sinex Oct 2014
A flame burns...

the optimist,
sees the light it makes,
and the heat it creates.

the Pessimist,
sees the oxygen it consumes,
and the wax turn to fumes.

which are you?

-Sx
Elizabeth Ann Oct 2013
Innocence isn't just a
Thought
Theory
Feeling
State of Mind
Age
Lack of Knowledge
Purity
Cleanliness
Innocence is more
So much more
Than I ever believed it was
Or could be

I grew up
Maybe a little too fast
And all at once
And where I once was
Innocent
Innocent
Innocent
My mind grew
And expanded
And now I know
Of many many things
I wish I didn't
And no longer am I
Innocent
Innocent
Innocent
But I lack the
Thought
Theory
Feeling
State of Mind
Age
Lack of Knowledge
Purity
Cleanliness
Of
Innocence
That I yearn to have once again
But will never have again
Because once Innocence is lost
It cannot be found
Ever
Again
And you are forced
To sit
And see
And observe
The innocence around you
And mourn over
Your very own
Innocence
Which
Is
Long long
Gone.
Tish Gomez Feb 2015
You asked me a question.  
"Why do you love me?"
I responded.
"I don't, I admire how you caught my attention. "

You asked me again,
"Why do you love me?"
I responded again,
"I don't. I admire you, and you make me forget about myself. "

You asked me yet again,
"Why do you love me?"
And this time I responded with a kiss
And I said,
"Because I love admiring you, I enjoy being with you, and I melt when you look at me "
CGB Oct 2015
He had mud his shoes
And I wondered why
He was singing the blues
When the sun was in the sky

I wondered where he had been
And what all he had seen
So many answers could begin
Why his shoes were not clean

I'm curious to know
I'm curious to care
But it's difficult to show
Through a quizzical stare
"Momma always says there's an awful lot you could tell about a person by their shoes. Where they're going. Where they've been." -Forrest Gump
the white deer Sep 2015
Shall I compare thee to a rusty basketball hoop?

I feel the same way when I touch you:

You’re familiar, constant, friendly, but apt to hurt me if I come too close.

Each time I cut my hand on you,

I’m asking everyone, Should I go to the ER?

Everyone is asking me:

Why don’t you get a new basketball hoop?
A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.
Jonathan Veres Nov 2012
What is Poetry?
Is it emotions flowing onto paper?
Or is it the tranquil sea that holds the world's tears?
What is Poetry?
Is it the outpouring of emotions onto
A canvas of beauty?
Despair?
What is Poetry?
Look around you.
The lives of those surrounding yours are Poetry.
Those feelings that extend and pour out to one another is Poetry.
What affects you, runs through your being and
Makes you who you are.
Who you are is Poetry.
Poetry, the undying form, style, wanders through the generations.
An emotion?
Love is Poetry.
An indescribable emotion flowing from the depths of the soul.
Such is Poetry.
Reader, listener, friend.
No poet can say what Poetry is.
Similes, metaphors, analogies,
All just chalk on the board of life.
A poet can't describe Poetry.
Even now I am left in the fog of understanding, contemplation, and wonder.
So, friend, again I ask,
What is Poetry?
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
How many times will you say,
‘I leave today’
And still
Stay?

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
MBishop Jun 2014
There are no questions in poetry.
Only thought-provoking, ambiguous statements that we perceive to have an answer.
Conar McVicker Jan 2013
What is time?
Time is progress.
Time is regression.
Time is growth.
Time is deterioration.
Time is beginnings.
Time is endings.
Time is everything.
Time is nothing.
Time can't be grasped.
Time can't be stopped.
Time heals all wounds.
Time ends all things.
Time is limited.
Time is infinite.
Time can't be defined.
Time can be experienced.
What is time?
Marge Redelicia Apr 2014
How
do
I
let go
of something
I
never
even had?
I lied this actually has 11 words hehe
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.

putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.

who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.

as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.

still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.
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