"tackle" poems
Remember me?
It wasn't that long ago, was it?
I was so carefree
I would shine like sunlight
staight through the trees
Dance like a rainbow across
the sky
No fear of, "who am I"
I could be anything
No fences hold me
I will travel the world
I will sing from balconies
I will tackle any mountain
I will swim the 7 seas
I am not gone
I remember me.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 7:35 PM UTC
•
So
tired
I should
try to sleep
the madness
away•I know it
won't but at least
I'd be well rested
enough to tackle
yet another
day
•
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
gulls and terns spin in the air
as waves lullaby the sleepy dreamers
with grand tales and rich promise of paradise to be
found just over the horizons edge
sailors eye to the swift wind
sure hand to tackle and line
hearty men of salted liquid soil
grown to giants in the breakwaters thunder
but gentle that hands heart
when the tolling bell calls out the names of the lost
and the sea has swept away all but her witnessed tale
to leave the widows and forlorn child to
carve name to wall and mourn
past midnight now
a dead calm
and cloudless sky reigns
with a majesty of brilliant starlight
upon this sea reflecting the heavens slow march
i lay like a supplicant muted by the spectacle
to souls hunger this moment and place
shows a deeper meaning to thouse souls with eyes to see
a dead calm
and cloudless sky reigns
with a majesty of brilliant starlight
the old salt sailor breaks into deep song
that sooths and lends hardy meal to the heart
hold fast young lad hold fast
the morning rushing forward brings
the breaking wave and unfolds sail with quick wind
and the sailors eye rejoices with
merry songs to measure the hour
and jauntily bring our fair seabird
back to her warm home
sea and sand in the salt sailors blood
and a kind heart guides the way
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
I fished a movie
hoping to cast a reel
that catches a keeper
hook, line, and sinker
I waded in line
smiling
the tackle box optimism in my sights
butterfly's in my net
visions of a hotrod
I look up at the marque
with a good cast and reel
my boats singing
a song that's hooked on love
I enter the theatre
among the trees
branching towards my spot
such forestry
I race past the mainstream
hotrod in tow
I take to my seat
setting anchor to a fun outing
as the lights abate
skip to my Lou
at bay
watching the cast make a splash
Logan Robertson
8/2/2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Homework, oh homework,
I hate you! You Stink!
I wish I could wash you away in the sink.
If only a bomb would explode you to bits.
Homework, oh homework,
You're giving me fits!
I'd rather take baths with a man eating shark,
Or wrestle a lion alone in the dark.
Eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines,
Then tackle the homework my teacher assigns.
I get more and more angry as I turn the next page,
Homework, oh homework,
You fill me with rage!
Homework, oh homework,
You're last on my list,
I simply can't see why you even exist.
If you just disappeared, it would tickle me pink.
Homework, oh homework,
I hate you! You stink!
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
Satan loves the sport of fishing.
His tackle box filled with bait,
he goes out to the lake of life
to cast his line…and wait.
The devil knows us, every one
and knows which lures to use.
In accordance with our weaknesses
he determines which to choose.
Dishonesty, ***********
pride, selfishness and hate.
False witness, greed, the list goes on..
The sin becomes the bait.
Many bite and are deceived.
And in a snap they’re hooked.
They learn too late that Satan’s bait
is not as it had looked.
Our Savior hopes we choose the right
for this life is our test;
and when we choose to follow Him
we truly will be blessed.
So feed on Heavenly Fathers words.
Great blessings will be yours,
as you watch and pray, and stay away
from Satan and his lures.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:37 AM UTC
We love our motherland like our mother
We are gallant sons of our pure chaste soil
Our love is our anchor our faith is armor
We work for its glory we never stop to toil
We tackle with all the enemies of God
We will send them to their ultimate end
Life as we aspired is very tough and hard
To live head high is our ultimate trend
Life is what a gift for beloved country
We celebrate death with zeal and fervor
Defense of our motherland is a valid plea
Every heinous crime we have to answer
Salute to motherland from gallant sons
Long live my mother land till the last day
Our lethal actions are like lethal guns
Love for motherland is never ending ray
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Keep your American football
Your helmets and body armor
Rugby is the game for men
Bang on the head, a bleeding wound
Ten minutes off the pitch
Six stitches and a bandage
And the rugby player resumes
Take the hit, take the pain
The tackle must be made
The shattered bones just part of life
Worth the yardage gained
I've had the broken bones
The stitches in my head
I had the very worst
Because in a tackle I broke my neck
But it never did deter me
From the game that I so loved
I remember all the times
Shaking hands when smeared with blood
Yes rugby is a game for men
A game where pains the norm
A game for modern knights
A game where men are found
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Under the old house
cast in conglomerate mix
the cataract window
and cracked sill
broken joists
and cross beams
wringer wash
and saddle set
A draw string light
brings life
to the corner bench
fowler toads
and fingerlings
jitter bugs
and dazzy vance
dirt planks filled
with mason
crown classics
Buggy whip
and whippletree
shelved on the
chopboard
tackle and mucks
stacked at the back
horseshoe and jack rod
bend the pike pole
a sawhorse placed
for the Martindale push
Gallon jars
and growlers
prepped
for the taking
ropes and reins
for transport
and fest
goggle eye
jumps the flyer
setting up nicely
for the
Haldimand town fair
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
A dropped ball on the goal line
A tackle missed down field
It's amazing how a football game
Can make a man's mind yield
We come to tears when our teams lose
Even worse when our team wins
It's when we show all our emotions
It's when we break the MANLY SINS
But our girlfriend gets real angry
When we don't utter a word
When they want to talk of feelings
It's a word we've never heard
We're MEN and **** proud of it
We show support for MANLY things
Like football games and racing cars
Not relationshippy things
We wear our hearts upon our sleeve
When the two minute gun has sounded
When the game has come to overtime
When the last corner has rounded
We sit upon our seats edge
Nothing can break us from this trance
Not even when our **** girl
Comes and does a naked dance
But our girlfriend gets real angry
When we don't utter a word
When they want to talk of feelings
It's a word we've never heard
We're MEN and **** proud of it
We show support for MANLY things
Like football games and racing cars
Not relationshippy things
We cry when our dog passes
We get upset when things go wrong
But we'll never show emotion
To a ****** Adele song
We aren't built to be emotive
At least not when women want us to
I'll tell you more about emotion
When the football season's through
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keep the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Spirits may come spirits may go.
The only talk to those they know.
Those who have a lending ear and listen to the others here.
Usually grey haired old bags with 20 cats and 40 ****
But Anna isn't quite the same she's not what visitors expect.
She greets each one with a smile.
But their eyes can't see they miss by miles!
Instead the look upon her chest, for what a smashing pair of *******
I even think the spooks just come to take a peak at her ***
Imagine that a ghost on top with an enormous supernatural ****
Slid between her silky legs until she screams and begs and begs.
A medium she thought it was, in fact it was an XL ****
A frenzy in the reading room as more arrive to see her moan.
It's like a wiken **** now, at 44 she's in her prime.
I wonder who will "come" next time.
The psychic circle all a gasp, are playing with their mortal tackle.
Who would have thought she wore a basque, underneath a witches tac.
Now its like a wanking club, spooks and mortals all a tug.
finally she howls with delight.
Another soul has seen the light!
So remember when you see her pass check her **** and little *** imagine she's on top of you in stockings basque and heels to.
Though one thing you should bare in mind...
Unless your dead forget it mate!
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Drunken pirates sloshing along
a martini sea, looking for papers to roll some angelfish ****
Then on to Giza to gaze in amazement before we tackle
the Gates of Hell and raze it.
Swashbuckling demons we branded our feet. A duel with
the devil we had to concede
before sailing back up to our Martini sea.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
24 hours and counting,
the thought of seeing you makes me so happy.
My heart about to explode
and these butterflies, they are out of control.
I try to stay calm,
but it´s like queting an alarm.
Warning: bring a helmet,
I think I might tackle you,
sorry I can´t help it.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keeps the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
Like a football player to the player with the football
I tackle the world's problems hands on.
To stop the yards allowed from going up
Hopefully to win at the end.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
When you are very much upset
As something you could not get,
Absolutely no use if you regret
Surely worrying gives no outlet
If a great ambition you possess
Efforts must be made in excess
All your toil, success will assess
Then it will reach your address
If you simply weep and are sad
You make devils feel **** glad
In case hard-work is by you had
You turn all adversaries go mad
First learning is to sincerely try
Sweats alone achieve, not cry
All are watched by the vast Sky
From birth to that day they die
Never retreat and form a circle
As that will create no miracle
Face every obstacle and tackle
Heart of God, your efforts tickle.
mvvenkataraman
www.mvvenkataraman.com
SEARCH mvvenkataraman IN GOOGLE OR YAHOO
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 8:29 AM UTC
I patrol in my backyard
Cruising im my pedal car
I can see the Joker
Well, it's really a toy clown
Locked safely away in the toy shed
I am looking for Two Face
A teddybear that my dog ripped
So my Mum sewed up his face
But now he is out there, free
I must track him down
I search for him in the kitchen
There I spot the Scarecrow
It is a puppet, long and thin
I must stop in my search now
So I can tackle with my foe
I put the Scarecrow behind bars
My search continues, relentless
I see Two Face hiding in the lounge
I now creep up, slowly behind him
I pounce, the battle is long, but I win
That scarred teddybear is put away
Where he won't harm anymore toys
My Batcave awaits, up in my bedroom
I am sleepy, my eyes are feeling tired
I am Batman, even I must sleep
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
The smell of the oil as it's rubbed on your shoulder
The passion of the coach , we must be much bolder
The hatred of a player on the opposite side
The knowing when you'er out there there's nowhere to hide
The whistle has blow your anxiety drop
The firsts tackle made is a 19 stone prop
The taste of your blood makes it all worth while
The prop gets up and gives that I'll **** you next time smile
The old man on the score board sets our team to win
The small crowd on the side making all the din
The referees whistle calls the game to end
The prop who tried to **** you is now your friend
The hot water finds your wounds without any tear
The thought of some grub and a pint of beer
The game you so love has come to its end
The club house the banter a chat with a friend
The talk of the game the rights and the wrongs
The choir master arises and we blast out our songs
See you training
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
Clever minds that stretch
The many elements which live as our backdrop
Too often everyday is spoiled
By unnecessary people, gathering ammunition
For climbing invisible platforms of command
These are cast aside by simple smiles and welcomes
And it was.
Even if the task was invisible to me at first
My soul felt at home amongst these new work mates
My responsible position was underwritten
Given gravitas and a freedom to which I wasn't quite used
The time was charged with familiar but different
It was fraught but strangely healthier in paradox
The honest fight was taken with gestures of family proportion
Success had waned but the unity of 'knowing' was the strength
That continued to support that Company
In spite of the turmoil my personal facets were given air
To run and to adjust, to temper and to manage
Poor communication was completely disastrous
The confusion of three currencies
And the balance of understanding left us guessing
Never mind agreement or translation
Through all this, looking back my heart is lifted
Not by the freedom or the ability to achieve ...mostly,
It is the strength from our leader,
That calm, silver haired man
When many were distraught you kept us going
And fed us with hope and built our confidence,
Not always with the obvious
But gave us the ability to win through by believing ,
Believing in us and building back our motivation and teasing out
The raw infrastructure of our true capabilities
Never before has anyone, apart from my Mother
Believed in me as you did. To tackle the toughest of tasks
Anything that the industry, the public or our customers
Could throw at us, we dealt with it.
Sadly you could do nothing at the final demise but take the role
Of a father giving news of an aged relative sadly moved by
A force greater than yourself
I know had you the influence, the power and the funding............
You were always more than a boss Chris
Your transparent enthusiasm raised our spirits
And in times of worry I hope we lifted yours too.
I think of you often, thank you for being a friend
After we were no longer professionally connected.
I see your generous smile and your warm handshake
I can hear your laugh now
It's always a treat to catch up over a beer.
I now find you in my phone, in my photographs
But mostly in my heart for being a great bloke
You taught me so much.
Speak soon, with love, Max
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
Early morning comes too soon.
Fish are biting by the moon.
Father and son make their way
Out of the house to meet the day.
The men of the house are outward bound
Seeking their fortune on the water sound.
Fishing poles and tackle boxes in hand
Off they go, to the dock to be manned.
Eyes gleaming bright, with the wind in his hair,
My son grins wide, and says, "Dad, Look There!"
Sure enough my son sees, fish to be caught,
Their trip is promising, will not be for naught.
His father smiles at the look from his son,
Saying, "Yes, son, you've found them, quite well done."
Bringing their boat to a stop they let glide,
Unpack their equiment, and come along side.
Taking their time and setting their hooks,
Plenty of fish here, judging by the looks.
There's sunfish and carp, some salmon and trout,
Walleye and crappie, and catfish so stout.
As the sun rises higher, they reel those fish in.
There's plenty of fish, with tail and fin.
The father and son are laughing together.
Can't believe their luck, or such perfect weather.
Returning home from a long day of fun,
They unload their catch and in they run.
Fish stories abound, They can't say enough,
The fish they missed, get bigger and rough.
I watch my two men, with quiet delight.
Enjoying the warmth, they create in my sight
Fishing is fun, fishing is great,
My men bonding, makes my heart elate.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
Some people think that as an
Adult
I can be a tad rough
Rock solid skin
But as a
Child
I was exponentially
Worse
Kicked
Screamed
Cried
Teased
Scratched
A walking terror
My father deemed me
"Crab-Apple Lynn"
The neighbors would
Whisper
Of that horrid five-year-old
Girl
That would push and
Tackle
The boys down the street
And on the night
That I kicked my
Brother's friend in the
Groin
And he tumbled
Down the stairs
Word spread like
Wildfire
That Crab-Apple
Had struck again
Notorious bully
Walking with balled fists
Kicking over Lincoln Logs
Smashing Play-Doh sculptures
Sneezing purposefully
Spewing out green phlegm
And wiping the boogers
On fellow peers
Half-grinning
At their cries
Feared by all
But respect
Was the one thing
The miniature version of
Me
Could not earn
And despite my youth
Despite the over-sized chip on my shoulder
Tiny me
Found a way
To flip around
Turn a leaf
Turn a page
Turn a head
Completely change
Altogether
And suddenly
Crab-Apple disappeared
And Sarah grew in
View
It was as though
Somehow, someway
The little me knew that
Fear is worthless
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 9:55 PM UTC
No parenthetical this time in my rhyme, I'll lie flat the baseline like, Here are my cards, bro. Take a look at them all, bro. Get started with just the light kinds of gospel like, Bro, did you know I got a **** down there? Taken aback you say, What? Bro, did you know I'm packing a tackle, though so modest in stature, bro, instead of a package I joke split/second to cope and still manage to crack a satanic smile as I call my most modest hose a gigantic, titanic ****
Word. You got nice lips, still, though, how bout you look up and get down on me, yo? Word is that I handle it with alarming aplomb considering how I present myself to the world. So what I got a culturally appropriated slab of ink tattoo yo. Just a guy trying to get along with the little he's got, and then on top of that I like to slide my **** n stuff. How about me too? Cause I can get down on you if we both repeat **** like we believe it. You got ***** bam, and plump curved fat just as all the girls growing up had, fashionable hair and even a soft face. You, girl, I can bend you over. Sure, be glad to bend you over.
Rough riding baring face to the wind on highways
I never thought I would be here deciding
Do I believe in others' abilities enough to believe that they know me as
If they would know a human?
Get close, pry in, to my life,
you'll find a lion, lonely, dragging coats of molted skin
with wire stolen from her other lives,
the desperate lioness devours the food she can.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
1. You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.
2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)
3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)
4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.
5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.
6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.
7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.
8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.
9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.
10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.
11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.
12. You write Peyton Manning farewell poem.
13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.
14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.
15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC