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Number 8 Mar 2011
My father was famous for
noticing endings
admitting defeats
accepting declines
moving along
being a good, end-of-game sport.

Sometimes
he’d spark a surprise
come back—
an evening of the score.
The folks are as good
as the people
” he’d declare.

But as life
invariably turns out,
the folks are
   rarely
            as good
                         as the people
     the pitcher as the batter
     the husband as the wife
     the striker as the goalie
     the salesman as the prospect
     the child as the parent
     the ying as the yang.
In competitions someone
always conquers, even if just a bit;
the other
always loses, even if just surface wounds—
death always comes
natural or quick.

Then you
know:
It’s all over
        but the crying.


Dad,
I’ve been crying,
but when will I know
it’s over?
And, since some “folks” aren’t
so good after all, please tell:
        How victorious is victory?
        Who is defeated in defeat?
        What is the final score?
        Who won again?

The true score for when it’s over is
perhaps how
we make sense of the endings,
                                                    beginnings,
                                                                ­          and
                                 rebeginnings
                of life
shared and                                                              ­                             solitary.

So where is that game clock
that tally board, that ledger to
release my game
announce my endings
settle my scores

so I can do my crying
and
prepare
for next season?

        18.i.11
Dakota Demery Mar 2013
Welcome back!
Wow it's dusty!
Back to the attack!
With my mind so trusty!
I'm finally writing!
Writing again!
No more fighting
Now trying to win!
Hello Poetry!
Time to write!
Hello Poetry!
Poetry's bright!
Wow this  is corny!
I don't really care!
Please don't be thorny!
Ideas are popping out of my hair!
I'm back!
Writing again!
Let's begin!
I'm. So. Excited!
Wow it has been too long since I've written on here! This poem is completely improvised. Off the top of my head. Just so excited to be back in the swing of poetry!
brandon nagley Jun 2015
I hurt her,
So I took a tack to mine hands and feet
To ease her heavied twine....

If only I could turn back the hand's of time!!!

— The End —