"scored" poems
Bravery is not,
Easy to find,
In a culture such as mine,
We often define,
An incorrect view of what is good,
What deserves praise or should,
Be acknowledged by those who could,
Hand out honours.
Bravery is not,
In shooting a gun,
At another man's son,
Or in knowing you've won,
So with a buffer going for the glory,
So you can have the best story,
Of how you scored the key,
Winning blow.
Bravery is not,
A foolish choice made,
That through luck somehow paid,
Off but always weighed,
Down your chances of success,
Though you always said: "Yes",
When asked: "Was it for the best?"
After time passed.
Bravery is,
Admitting to yourself that you,
Might have been wrong to,
Assume what you always knew,
About yourself was definitely right,
And that things might,
Not be as black and white,
As you thought.
Bravery is,
Telling people you were wrong,
That you don't belong,
In the category you were in all along,
And in fact there's more to the truth,
When it comes to you,
And getting to know who,
Lives in your skin.
Bravery is,
Disagreeing with normality,
Arguing with the morality,
Put forward by the society,
That thinks its way is above,
All else, And loving who you love,
And being proud of,
**WHO
YOU
ARE**
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
"Now, butterfingers," they would call,
And such-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
- They had no hands - but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the West prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
"It's do or die!"
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, "Keep it on the toes!"
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
On native pear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck - their referee -
Had taken flight.
9.7k
You scored the leading role
A liar in London! the title appeared
Perhaps you studied for this part
Perhaps it was an accident
Perhaps it was the past ignited
Liars never reveal their sources
Out loud
Their sources reveal them
In silence
Rotting their souls
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
I'm feeling kinda hollow,
It's a little hard to swallow.
Still Im in the lead,
So everybody follows.
Hate it all you want though,
There's no time to wallow.
tell me what you need,
You just found that ****
Waldo.
I don't even buy blow.
I just ****** snort it,
Gatta cop it from the *****
That always seem to hoard it.
know they can't afford it.
I Wonder how they scored it.
Then I took four hits,
Got drunk and stole a forklift.
I don't give a horse ****
I just want some more ****
Got weird for a
few days,
Brain fried till my
eyes glazed
Smoked a little
more haze,
Screamed **** the pigs ,
Got tazed
strapped on my rollerblades,
And streaked out,
the VMA's
I don't give a ****
Like a ******* Atheist
don't believe in luck,
Call me the ******* catalyst.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
always the child
who never got appreciated
just an unwanted child
trying her hardest
to be the perfect one—
just once.
trying her hardest
to be appreciated,
dying to hear:
“you did a great job,”
“the dish you cooked was very nice,”
“i’m proud of you,”
“you scored 98% in maths,”
“i’m proud of my daughter.”
she just wanted
to be loved.
to be seen.
to be appreciated.
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
like a song,
my fingers scored
I touched your keynotes
by pressing your buttons
your moans were music
to my ears;
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 11:56 PM UTC
I tried to be white but still I am black
Black sheep In the past, and I still am
My siblings scored straight A’s
Mom and dad smiled ,
stood proud on stage,
applause, standing ovation from audience..
What I did? I failed throughout...
Burnt my report cards...
Tarnished their good image
Not fame but shame I am black sheep to you..
A flame in your heart , I am a burden to you..
So again I am black, black sheep until my last..
I feel sorry...I truly am..
I am simply hopeless and helpless child
No matter how hard I ever did Try...
Still I am black.. not white and true..
I'm the Black Sheep in the family
Mom and dad please forgive me...
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
In January,
I had fun.
In February,
I ****** up.
In March,
I was in a dream.
In April,
I woke up.
In May,
I wanted to die.
In June,
I even tried.
In July,
I also scored.
In August,
again got bored.
In September,
I missed her.
In October,
I wished her.
In November,
I felt alone.
In December,
I moved on.
-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 4:19 AM UTC
Albert Camus
Kept an Emu
Tied to a potted,
Portable wisteria
To keep him company
Whilst he kept goal
For the University of Algeria.
As Albert was fishing
The ball out
From the back of the net
The Emu mused
On the conversations they'd had
About The Oprah Winfrey Show,
The significance of suffragettes,
Adam Smith's Wealth Of Nations
And the ****** orientation
Of Sir Galahad.
Whilst discussing the plots of
The Plague and The Outsider
Warm feelings would suddenly
Well up inside her.
Why should such intellect
Elicit so much love
And even more pain?
My thoughts for this man
Aren't getting any vaguer.
Then Utrecht University
Scored again.
There are no happy endings
With Albert Camus -
Decades later he dies
In his publisher's Facel Vega.
When she heard of Albert's demise
Her initial reaction
Was hysteria
And it comes as no surprise
That a few weeks later
She died of diphtheria
Which is so much easier to do
When you're an existential emu.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
That day, something got into me.
Approaching the corner of 155th
and Broadway on the Upper West Side,
my friend and I were only a block from home.
Either we'd been on a mission for candy necklaces
or bubble gum cigars, from the place where the guy
was always grumpy, never actually scary,
and the sawdust on the floor, the real cigars
in fancy boxes, were something to wonder about.
Or we had just scored our first fresh sugar canes,
one each, and much taller than either of us.
The kindly Puerto Rican green grocer, proud
of his new shop, hoped we'd try the plantains
too, getting a kick out of our delight
in what he'd always known.
The light was red, and we weren't in a hurry.
I just got curious about this trap door on the side
of the old cast iron signal post,
and decided to see
if it would open... and it did.
Smiling to myself, an uncommon, delicious
sense of mischief lighting me up inside,
I calmly flipped a switch.
Instantly, all four lanes of traffic, heading north
and south on Broadway came to a screeching halt.
The feeling of power was intoxicating.
And unforgettable.
Had I been an older kid, had the policeman
who happened by been less lenient, had anyone, God forbid,
been injured, I could have been in some serious trouble.
Injury never entered my mind, and maybe the officer saw that.
All in all, I got away with the only really naughty thing
I did as a child, and still get to smile.
And remember.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
~~~
My memory of grandpa
Was that his hands were red
Showing me some pictures
A kid's book before bed.
The bones were raw and gnarled
The sinews looked all sore
The skin was thickly callused
Spotted, lined and scored.
They showed wear and tear
They echoed his toil
Grandpa was a farmer
A tiller of the soil.
Grandpa couldn't read
But we could laugh and look
His hands delicately turning
The pages of a book.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/12/2015
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
Just to big up my team, my favorite team.
Hala Madrid! they would shout and scream.
Winning the most La Liga titles, 33 they won.
And 12 champions cup tiles, I know they had fun.
The team that Barcelona hates the most,
And the most goals they scored on RM was 7-0, that range wasn't close.
But Real Madrid had the same history of beating them by seven.
Also when we made them a fool by beating them eleven.
I mean we're not the best,
But the best of the best.
And out of the rest we stand alone..
Because we're determined to bring a trophy home.
Don't worry, this year 2018 we're looking forward for more.
I hope they don't let me down because I'm positive and sure.
Imagine we won La Liga and champions cup this year again.
The world will no longer watch or talk about Real Madrid my team the same.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
We fell in love over a game of war.
With others the game could have lasted for hours,
but with you I scored because I won in only a few moves.
What I didn't know
was at the same time I was winning your affection.
You saw me at my worst
and yet I faced no rejection
of me being tired, crazy, and probably cranky
but you still liked me like the best you could see.
I wish I had known then that I would fall for you.
I wish I had known all about you.
But I'm getting there.
Slowly.
And people who don't know you say I could do better.
And I laugh, smile, and play along,
but no.
Maybe I could, but I wouldn't want to.
Better is not always best,
but you are the best you can be
and you may not be perfect
but you're perfect for me.
And that's love.
You’re the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep
and you are my first thought when I wake
and I'm longing to keep
these memories of you close,
because quite frankly long distance *****
and you and I both agree
but when our four year stretch is finally up
you and I will be free
to have and to hold to love and to cherish
until we are old and when we finally perish
people will know us,
not me,
not you,
but both of us together
and I know the real truth
that love can sneak up like in a game of cards
when the two people playing accidentally play only with hearts.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Sun swollen
reddening as it sank
that brutal ****** disc
scored by church steeples
and chimney stacks
almost lost in the drifting haze
of sulphurous yellow
and char-black smoke.
Duck boards dip
into the sodden earth
as men ***** along in conga lines
holding tight the pack of the man
in front, lest they should slip
lose quick their footing
be ****** down and smothered
by mud.
The walls of the tunnels
are packed earth
rich with blood and bone
bits and pieces of human
anatomy dangle and hang
as if posed by an artist
with a strange and cruel eye
for detail.
The scrabble for fox holes
and rough scraped ditches,
anywhere, below the line of fire.
The ting and whiz-bang
of a night of action
The whistle, the dash
and the forward push
counted more in men
than metres.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
we play with a retired professional but
none of the other kids mind—
his alcoholism has gotten the better of his muscle
memory and god doesn’t he look bad
the ball is an old piece of garbage made from
a kind of industry plastic
half-flayed alive by loving kicks
that expose the moldy gray rubber inner-
sphere like some soft eyeball
and, behind one of the goals, the
boy who plays goalkeeper only on Wednesdays
lounges like a pimply Greek sculpture—
unable to move as an epileptic fit lazily
puppeteers his body while the players pass the ball into his gut
and I step aside, too—
my stomach aches so badly for the crispy joy
of cold cereal I can’t play—
some days are like that—shed of their seriousness
because it’s more fun to play without a defense
even though we’re always losing **** it I just scored
a goal!
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Imagine all the things I could have been
And all the places I could have seen
I should have married that girl
From Bethnal Green
A beauty queen
So serene
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
Imagine all the books I could have read
All those words now left unsaid
I went out and got ****** instead
Fell down the stairs and broke my leg
10 pints and I’m ready for bed
The day alcohol ruined my life
Mad for it Mondays
Two for one Tuesdays
Wet your whistle Wednesdays
Thirsty Thursdays
Back on the razz on Friday
Just some of the days
Alcohol ruined my life
I could have been professional footballer
One of the greats
And the League’s top scorer
Up there with Bobby Zamora
Sponsored by Adidas and Diadora
Scored an overhead kick
From a ******* corner
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
I should have been a movie star
Champagne and caviar
Me and Arnie in the Terminator
Sunset strip and the boulevard
******* hookers and fast cars
Enough money to fly to Mars
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
The day alcohol ruined my life
I lost my kids
And lost my wife
I woke up in East Fife
On the day
Alcohol ruined my life
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
A truck driver from Tupelo
A pop band from the 'pool
A superstar from Hoboken,
And one...the King of Cool
The superstar from Hoboken
Became the Chairman of The Board
If you made it into his 'rat pack'
You knew you'd really scored
His movies and his music
Made him the world's number one
But he had to minimize his world
When someone stole his son
His boy was kidnapped, truthfully
Back in 1965
And through his contacts in the mob
He got his son back home alive
This is the price of fame folks
Behind the glitter and the glam
They've got to have their safety
But the fans don't give a ****
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
The Memphis Mafia gave protection
To The King of Rock and Roll
But, by choice his world got smaller
And he went into a hole
He built a house in Memphis
To protect him from his fans
And thanks to Dr. Feelgood
He died a lonely, broken man
He couldn't live the life he earned
He was a prisioner instead
It's a shame he has more value
Now that he is dead
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
He'd a partner and was cool
He was suave and sang songs
And he worked with a "fool"
They conquered the nightclubs
They were known near and far
But his created alter ego
Lived his life at the bar
He ran with Frank Sinatra
He was the King of Cool
But when The Chairman started lessons
Dean was right there in his school
The Beatles broke in Hamburg
But way back in sixty two
Their bubble was just forming
There was nothing they could do
They lived their life behind the scenes
For when they did go out
The girls would all go crazy
And the world would twist and shout
Privacy came hard for them
They went four separate ways
These four young men from Liverpool
LIved life inside a maze.
It's sad that adulation
takes their freedom, makes them hide
But they're safer locked away from us
They're safer locked inside
Prisoners of their own success
Their world's now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
My heart is pounding
I rush forward
Faster than a cheetah
I jump
I drop like snow
The ball rolls around the hoop
Tips on the edge of the rim
All eyes are on the ball
Titters into the net
With a soft swoosh
The crowd erupts
Whoo-whoo
I just scored
The winning shot
I toss
I turn
It was all just a dream
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Goodbye , . . .
Yes goodbye . . .
(Blah , blah , blah)
In the shortness of his breath
All desperation was taking place
I walk off
Looking at the far off , into space
The game is over
Nobody . . . no one
Scored and won
We all lost . . .
The then ,
In a notebook
While sitting on the park bench
Where he once was
A poet king
The old man jots down
(A poem about lost youth
Past days and dreams of
better days to come)
Meanwhile . . .
The sun crossed the sky
East to West
And the day was never seen
Or heard from again
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
I don't want to talk about the weather
I don't want to talk about how humid it was today, or how it rained some time last week
I want to talk about if you think the aliens are real
I want to talk about which type of flower reminds you of your mother
And I want to talk about what song from the last five years reminds you of summer
I want to talk about the pets you had growing up and their names and the marks on their coats
I want to talk about the first time you fell in love and what her smile looked like
Did she have crooked teeth?
Were her lips painted red the day you noticed you loved her?
I want to talk about what kind of toppings you like on your pizza
And I want to talk about how you like your coffee in the morning
Do you prefer more sugar, more cream?
Black coffee, or no coffee at all?
I want to talk about your stance on immigration laws or abortion or gun control
I want to talk about where you have most felt at home
Was it the basement at your mother's place, where you first got laid?
Or maybe it is the baseball field where you scored your first home run?
I want to talk about who you are when no one is looking, because that's when it counts the most
Do you always spare a dollar for the homeless man under the bridge at the intersection by work?
Do you hold the door open for old ladies with six bags in their arms and a coat full of cat hair?
I want to talk about everything and anything except the weather
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
I wait alone
wrapped in paper
shivering amidst cold
the door pressed hard
against my chest
this time a year ago
I met a similar fate
the verdict returned
cancer
a word my mind
has deconstructed
reconstructed
discarded
as my past
tears erupt behind
my eyes
how can I afford
to fight again
at what cost
and during
a pandemic
the door **** twists
as she emerges
eyes averted
my throat scored
in pain
"It's benign,
come back
6 months from now"
unable to move
I peer through haze
minutes tease silence
then with
trembling fingers
I dial his number
Aiden answers
"Mom, you okay?"
nodding tearfully
with newfound certainty
I finally whisper, "Yes!"
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 6:00 AM UTC
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.
Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.
Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.
Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.
The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.
Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.
Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.
The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
trapped in a ribcage
frail and fretting and fettered
hummingbird heart beats harder and harder
your skeleton fingertips tilling the ground
combing for the catacombs
of all your past lives
look what i have done for you
teeth marks to chart your growth
black red purple sky no stars no light no
for thine is the kingdom, the dead leaf diadem
battle-ready raccoon eyes, scored and scowling
if you do not run you will be left behind.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
With Lackey and Heyward both turning blue
The Chicago Cubs scored a mighty big coup
Kind of a payback for Brock, comma Lou?
What, oh what are the Cardinals to do?
We’re pretty sad, say the fans dressed in red,
That both of those guys chose Chicago instead
But a person would have to be daft in the head
To give up the St. Louis Cardinals for dead.
Yes, the Cubbies think that they have enough
But the whole NL Central is pretty **** tough,
Which team do you think will have the right stuff?
To win in September, when winning gets rough?
2016 will be pretty fun.
There’s quite a Division race to be run
When game 162 is finished and done
We will see which team, the most games, has won.
Yes, next year the race will be closely contended
During the season you might have me un-friended
But in winter time, our rivalry suspended
We can cheer for the Bears till their season is ended.
Phil Lindsey 12/12/15
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Axiom does not lie upon the
plush bed of the words I've said.
It doesn't flourish under influence of the
flowery texts I've written.
Axiom does not fully exist behind the
actions I've deliberately displayed.
It is ingrained within the subtle folds,
inexplicable nuances
and playful innuendos.
It is present in the lull you find in between
fleeting memories and faltering heartbeats.
It is scored into the unlyricised songs,
sung when our breaths do meet.
It's in the unplanned gazes that
stray into nothingness
only to be caught by yours.
It's evident in the void... The silence we've shared
without ever feeling awkward.
Axiom...
Is the fall that you had anticipated
only after having taken the leap.
It's that feeling of not knowing where the bottom is
but yet still certain that you are safe.
Axiom is...
My unseen heart as it beats hard
for none other than you.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC