"tackles" poems
It's the lights, the crowd,
the fight, the brave,
the proud.
The two a day practices in pads in the heat without a single cloud.
Its the lines, the grass, end zones, and the field.
The offense, the defense,
The sword and the shield.
The heart, the hard work, determination, the glory.
The present that will become your kids' bedtime stories.
The storm, the during.
The euphoria after,
The before with the fear, practices and learning.
The sacred flag you wear on that helmet,
It's your cleats, your pads, and the gloves.
The tackles, the picks, the runs, TD's and the hugs.
That air that you inhale and the h2O in your cup.
That feeling of pride, knowing you'll never give up.
Cause you came to do work, and get a taste of that winning heaven,
We'll see the conclusion,
Bring out your 11.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
You have grown up but Baby, you ain’t no man.
I want a man. I’ll be fine on my own if you don’t wanna be mine.
I can manage the bills, fix the car, and cut the lawn.
I want a man. Who wants to be mine and hold me when I’m not fine.
He can help make the bed, fix up dinner, and cut the crap.
I want a man. Who’s honest and not afraid to speak his mind if
my hair looks like a dead animal and my dress, a garbage bag.
I want a man. Who gets as excited about what I’m doing as I get
with what he’s doing. Even if it may just be over a silly poem.
I want a man. Who doesn’t need me. But wants me.
He isn’t a mess and can take care of himself without me, yet allows me to care.
I want a man. Who I can punch in the arm, and he tackles me to the floor.
Someone to make me laugh, to make sure I’m never serious all the time.
I want a man. Who respects what I see is beautiful, as I see in him.
He must understand we can love one another, as well as other beauties.
I want a man. who’s my best friend. So when we have disagreements,
we’ll find ways to satisfy all intentions. And to treat me like ‘one of the boys’.
I want a man. Who will lay with me, all warm in our bed, arm in arm,
and listen to the rain outside. Because I love these silent moments.
I want a man. To read this and realize this man is him. I feel I need that man.
To be you.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:31 PM UTC
When a mountain
I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles
are in abundance
In great shape
my body and mind
Not a weak link
in the expedition
But when a mountain
I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
are often misplaced
Out of shape
my body and mind
Weakness as a
spell does bind
Hopes and dreams
of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
in the spiritually aged
Strength the glittering
cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
jaded resolve
But in me common
traits dissolve
The bucking steed
will never be tamed
Pigeon-holed the
misfortune of other
souls has not been
allowed by my resolve
But this determination
is not without cost
The foothills of youth
are far removed
by erosion caused by
unstable belief systems
washed away into
the Sea of Ambiguity
A distant mountain
I often see
(distance the deceiver
of proportion)
Challenged at the foot
of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
only to slip and fall
Does this mountain
need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
need to be fulfilled
When these dreams
are all you ever had
you wake up falling
or climbing higher
Driven by dreams
and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
in the driest desert
calling home what
must come home
holding on to what
must be fulfilled
Obstacles that have
become landmarks
seem to fade
into obscurity
like threats that
always remain empty
laughing at what
used to bring tears
I remain standing
through all these trials
not unscathed
and a bit weather beaten
halfway up another
formidable mountain
making up for lost time
from a major fall.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
Last night Gary Facebooked me:
11:03 PM
"Can I ask you to be crazy with me?"
Gary said he had been flirting with this girl, May
for six months.
She wanted to see him in person tonight,
And he needed a ride.
Gary and I met 11 days ago.
Strangers brought together in the streets of Freeport by pokemon GO.
he spotted me holding my phone out from a mile away.
"Team Instinct?
TEAM INSTINCT!"
Lightning cracked above us
as we cryed in harmony:
"THERE IS NO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!"
My knowledge of him consists of three things.
1. He works as a security guard
Is first responder for medical emergency
Tackles felons and escorts people with restraining orders.
plays it up like he's a security guard for something mysterious
He is a security guard for Wal-mart.
2. Gary buys peoples affection.
Throws his money aimlessly
Pointing at his trophies
Prooving he too is expensive
3. To Gary,
there is nothing better to do
from 12 - 5am
Than wander Looking for pikachu.
With me.
besides visiting this May.
"A taxi would be $80
but I'd rather pay that to you, Bro."
On the drive there,
He is Squeeing, Singing,
Flipping out.
"I've got knots in my stomach Bro."
Upon arrival,
He readily jumps from my car
"Go catch 'em Brock" I say.
When I get back to Freeport
he sends me a messege.
1:04 AM
"Dude.
I think she fell asleep waiting
I'm not inside yet."
I park my car in Freeport,
Finish catching a Weedle.
"I'm on my way, stay safe."
"Man I'm so down."
"She's not coming to the door Nick."
"I'm just gonna curl up on the ground and cry."
"I've called her 24 times"
He heavily thumps his backpack into my backseat
Slumps down into my car.
"There is"
"no shelter"
"From"
"the storm"
"In my heart."
We stare out the window.
At the two homeless men
With no teeth
That he didn't beat.
He's holding night vision binoculars
And a clean Knife.
"I'm sorry I got you involved, Nick
I asked you to be crazy with me."
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
I wander into this dark, misTearYous room
—and there he was...and wow! What a Fig!
He with the long, lustRuse hair,
sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of hot cocoa.
Dang. He has better hair than I do!
“I’m a gin at Ion’s,” were his first words spoken.
“I’m a gin at Ion’s.” And then sighlens.
I was trying to look through his lens, and figure out his sighs,
when he utters, “I can see you are number—“
“Huh? I am number what? I don’t see any lines here..."
“Ah, yes you are, as I was... NumBer as in more than numb.”
Epicfunny!
He definitely got me, he with the misTearYous eyes
so I sit down and ask him what he means
(but I refused to ask how he saw through my numbity)
“What do you mean that you are a gin? And where is Ion’s?”
“Exactly just that. I’m a gin at Ion’s. A **** t’Eve.”
He tells me that Ion’s is nowhere, everywhere and knowhere,
of how anyone who takes even a sip of that gin can hold on to it—
too much, so much so, as to lose that grip on ReAhhlity...
I ask him what he does there.
Seemingly one word, two meanings—
"aMuse," says he...
He reveals he is also part-tickles, part abs-tackles
then he also exhails at wind ‘o pains,
to fog or clear up views and relayshunships...
But oh! How at one point he felt tieurd, of how he had so many callUses—
numb, tired of how it reCurse, of always being called upon, of being used
Sighlens.
Been used So many times, he didn’t know who he was anymore...
a Duke at Ion’s,
a con’s front at Ion’s,
an ex pecked at Ion’s,
a lucid at Ion’s,
a rebel at Ion’s...
Oddly enough, even if he has been ‘d sign at Ion’s,
he still felt blahtantly invisible,
even if at one point he wore only a V-bra at Ion’s!
He chalks everything up to exPeerience, and has learned from it.
And that's why he's also known as a sensei at Ion’s (his personal favorite)
He says even if he can go beyond infinity, he—
He stops (ah gain!) and yes, there it sneaked in...Sighlens.
Telling me through the void, through his sighs, through his lens
To close my eyes, and figYour out myself.
And then I do...
ReAhhlieZing how much I could relate,
how I have been in DenyAll of my possiBElities.
It is all a matter of perSpeck'tEve, of looking at each tiny speck of life,
of creating something from each of it, entire universes even—
boundless
How odd that I myself felt like I'm a gin at Ion's...
Scrunchscrunch...Imaginations.
Addictive, yes, so I best be careful with where I take it.
I oh!pen my eyes and the fig meant to show me ReAhhlity had gone...
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
The innocent pig! Slaughtered in the blood stained room.
The man stands over the corpse and laughs.
Slowly
he peels the skin off the pig,
scolding the dead for pig her small imperfections.
For some game, that needs fresh skin.
The surface of her body and soul, in
a grey factory fit over a mold by a
person who has delt with tens of thousands
of innocent pigs and can only see the skin.
A conveyor belt takes thousands of animals,
whose only fault was being too heavy, into a drying room.
The pigs not animals but objects now, slaughtered
for entertainment.
The “vegetarian” football player takes
the skin of the poor mama pig and chucks it to his friend.
The misguided soul! Taught tediously to truly think that
the typical time of the gentle piglet far better spent dead
than to live a hellish life, nor will this soul know the
pig is both dead and lived a hellish life.
A hole in the pigs skin and hollow air rushes free.
Punted away into the woods.
Again and again.
The game starts.
The chubby guys line up and smell each others breath,
both sides scream like monsters and charge at each other,
they don’t punch each other, so it’s civilized.
The skinny guys also line up next to each other,
trying to outrun the other guy, yeah
I say guy because society is sexist but moving on,
so they try to outrun each other, one guy in an attempt
to not allow the person to catch the thin layer of pig skin.
The guy running forward tries to get the quarterback (basically
the star of the team the guy with dreamy hair and a nice body
who is either a cool guy or a ****
to toss him the hollowed out pig skin, so can run and look cool
until another “light” 180 pound guy tackles him to the ground.
The stands, all criminson red, go wild,
Fist bumping, jumping up and down, beer drowning the floor,
at the sight of the guy with the dreamy body
tossing the misshaped ball,
to the guy who just hand the wind
smashed
out of him.
Yes this is all football.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Change tackles a broad spectrum of life.
You change your hair, you change your underwear, you change your shoes.
How the hell could someone change their Personalities in the blink of an eye.
Can some one so thoughtful and sensitive turn into such a **** with the turn of one sentence phrase and punctuation.
She storms in on her high horse ready to take the world by storm with her fury.
She may say im her world but what have i done to deserve such punishments.
I asked a Question.
The fatalities of words and sentence structures leave a gaping hole in the ego and sense of trust.
Sense of what is right and wrong cuz what is right by all does not apply to her.
Her mind twists and bends to form views and morals that not even a twisted fairy tale can concoct.
What she fights for doesnt fit the way of the world.
She believes in things that will never happen, that make no sense. She fights for views that will leave her fighting forever.
She is a non conformist but she conforms to stereotypes that go against her better thinking.
The way she used to think.
Stress has got her in a headlock, cutting off her brain's circulatory flow of intelligent words and clean blood.
She inhales.
Breathes in a mixture of smoke and unclean thoughts.
Yea, she can stop.
She's walking corruption.
Digesting poison in the pit of her stomach killing the butterflies she claim died.
Yea they died.
In a fiery pit of lies and hypocrisy that gets you nowhere.
She tells me her worst thoughts and wishes but her honesty doesnt justify the unjust actions that go against who she was.
Who is she becoming?
Someone who is dependent on drugs and drinks to make her happy Cuz she doesnt have the ***** to go against the grain and
Stick to her guns and stay clean and fresh,
Keeping her lungs pink and her brain free,
free to believe and grow with each intake of air not smoke.
I hate to see it happen but she is just like the others.
**** views take the form of rolled up paper.
Not an application but a temptation.
Non conformists need not apply.
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
The two boys.
Of course, they know.
But all they do is laugh.
At the players.
At the tackles.
At the appeals.
And everything else.
Mother.
Always the one who sympathizes.
If the Reds are up by two.
"Oh, I pity the opposition. May they score one."
She says.
"Awh, MUM?!"
Same goes with the eldest.
It would make it more intense.
She thinks.
Me thinks, I should pray for a cleansheet.
Hah!
The two blabbering baboons.
Knows nothing.
Gives running commentaries.
Predicts that the others win the match.
Such support I get.
The next one is a Kop in the making.
I-am-darn-proud.
The lil one thinks Ozil is good looking. -_-
-Doey
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
Do you go home and shower that
dried mud and stalks of grass off
after a rainy game of football?
Do you blast the AC on the drive
home-because while on the field,
everyone around you can see the
heat escaping from your head?
Do you get a rush of energy
from those tackles you made?
Do you get pumped up from
that win you just got?
You've got me interested in
your football experience.
Tell me about it as I sit
here, interested.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
A striped field on the screen.
Late Sunday afternoon--
preaching your adored game.
The tackles, the tight end, the safety,
the touchdowns, the fumbles and field goals.
All your precious babble
into my ear--then gone.
Burly-beef-boys charging
are not in any way my motive.
Your urgent concern to inform of
the game I'll never know.
Terminology spat,
your message lost in clouds.
My eyes are attentively listening,
but only to your charming presence.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
when a house on the fault line begins to shift, it isn’t really something that can be seen with the naked eye. It only becomes noticeable once the door itself is off its hinge, forced indefinitely into its frame, never to open save for your daily tackles. it becomes playful, and thinks this is how doors must behave.
your house’s bones, the wood frame of your body leans just slightly to the left, throwing off all balance. windows look down instead of forward, eaves appear concerned, a house’s ears hear you mumble softly into night, concerned about trivial things, and how you will honor it.
climb seven deftly and feel as if you were at sea.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
The air rushes out of my lungs,
Making an involuntary exodus;
Or rather, this bad news purges the air from my body.
Purges?
It tackles my breath and-
It grabs the oxygen and forces it-
It shoves the wind right out-
This calamity leaves me unable to say how I feel.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
When you lay down
And your phone falls
And literally tackles your face.
I feel as though technology.
Places a point on it side
For us thinking we have controlled
Every advancement.
Its not a coincidence,
Its a slow, groveling battle cry
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
A crush arrives like a crush
at first
in the literal sense
It surprises you and
tackles you
like a wild animal
But the word really doesn’t represent
it completely
in the fullest way
Because when a tree falls on you
it hurts
with a sharp pain
When you are the one falling
for someone
it’s a dull throbbing desire
While a tree can be easily removed
a crush
you can only wish for its departure
Then again, you don’t actually want it to leave.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
The wind it tackles
the leaves and the litter
the leaves and the litter
the leaves and the past.
the sun it is drying
the paint and the puddles
the paint and the puddles
the paint of the past
I saw the bend coming
the bend was approaching
the bend in the road
that soon would be passed
I saw her look sadden
she feared I was leaving
the leaves and the litter
the pain and the past.
words and foto Tommy Carroll
re-edit
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Dark clouds on the horizon,
wind razors through my hair
The darkness flying tackles me
And I have no air.
You are my lighthouse,
The smile for my storms
With you I am protected
Beneath arms so warm.
So much have you done for me,
With just one smile,
You erased all my monsters
With there cunning and wiles
You dance with me,
even when theirs no beat
And through the woods you run with me
So fast, so fleet.
Your laughter is contagious
its so quirky and weird
Your hands are so tender
When they brush away tears
you went and bought earplugs
so I could sing.
You encourage my dancing
and that acting thing
I want to sing out your praises
For the rest of time
but I know you would hit me
so I guess I won't try
You're the everything, to my nothing
My water and my air
Gosh this sounds corny
But you are everywhere!
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
The aggressive wind,
Doesn't knock softly on the door
He doesn't check to see if I want company
No, he's not that considerate.
The aggressive wind,
Wants his presence to be known.
He tackles my house,
My fighters spirit
And every last ounce of joy
To the cold hard ground.
Leaving me no other choice,
But to claw and drag
My way out.
The aggressive wind,
Is paying a visit tonight
Spitting hail in his wake
My body starts to quake.
The aggressive wind,
Never comes alone,
He's always joined by his
Dearest friend.
And I'm willing to bet
That the ice is going to set in
On the once sacred grounds
Of my heart.
So, aggressive wind,
Come on in,
Slide off your jacket
And take a seat.
Make yourself comfortable,
Because it's going to be a long night!
l.v.s
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
This Valentine could be written
on each day, each hour, each minute
you are by my side...
I bask in your glow
your eyes telling me
I am loved, I am whole,
I am overjoyed.
Your voice velvet
embracing me,
playful taunts,
and unexpected tackles,
and bursts of laughter!
You remind me of who I am,
you are my love, always and
forever,
I extend my hand, my heart,
all that is me,
and say happy Valentine's Day!
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
I am not alone
and neither are
you.
Feeling sad or angry?
Feeling lost.
This is for you.
(Tackles and hugs)
Now smile please
:D
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
*Spinnin’ runnin’ circles on my mind like a roller coaster
Feelin’ feelings of fumbles and tackles I ain’t supposed to
Facin ‘ the loss of a good person just like I remember
In December suspected the fallin’ out but things were simpler
Happier times and facin’ the world – we were together
Smiles and happy vibes all around – birds of a feather
Can’t seem to pinpoint the exact moment within our history
When everything was fallin' apart like an unsolved mystery
Connection so sacred, how can this love turn into hatred?
She ain’t the one? I’m guessin’ it’s time to exit the matrix
Face the world at its bleakest gettin’ tired of all this fake ****
Cupid’s venom radiatin' on a regular basis
Stasis at its most basic got me feelin’ like an instrument
Gettin’ played by many different women - a state of detriment
Turnin’ to Howard Hughes – isolation within the bachelor pad
Couldn’t accept the division of us - guess this is the aftermath.*
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
star-fall
my wings far flung
somersaults
catching
raven diamonds
evening dew
on the tip of my tongue
eternal companion
so full of divine pranks
tackles me
a pillow fight
peacock feathers everywhere
heavenly Blue boy
tickle me giddy with Love
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Terry Maguire was fond of a fire.
He was a kilnman in days of yore.
But not he's changed to drawing cream
To Tugmans of Teemore.
When Terry gets up in the morn'
he eats his crumbs.
He tackles the mare,
There's no time to spare
Till he reaches Doonans and Gunns
And when he reaches Tugmans
He's in an awful plight.
He says "Be jeepers the horse is mad,
I'll not get home tonight."
There were ***** carts and horses carts
And carts from all around
But none to compare with Terry Maguire
The pride of sweet Milltown
(author Gerry/Shem Gunn)
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
When a mountain
I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles
are in abundance
In great shape
my body and mind
Not a weak link
in the expedition
But when a mountain
I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
are often misplaced
Out of shape
my body and mind
Weakness as a
spell does bind
Hopes and dreams
of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
in the spiritually aged
Strength the glittering
cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
jaded resolve
But in me common
traits dissolve
The bucking steed
will never be tamed
Pigeon-holed the
misfortune of other
souls has not been
allowed by my resolve
But this determination
is not without cost
The foothills of youth
are far removed
by erosion caused by
unstable belief systems
washed away into
the Sea of Ambiguity
A distant mountain
I often see
(distance the deceiver
of proportion)
Challenged at the foot
of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
only to slip and fall
Does this mountain
need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
need to be fulfilled
When these dreams
are all you ever had
you wake up falling
or climbing higher
Driven by dreams
and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
in the driest desert
calling home what
must come home
holding on to what
must be fulfilled
Obstacles that have
become landmarks
seem to fade
into obscurity
like threats that
always remain empty
laughing at what
used to bring tears
I remain standing
through all these trials
not unscathed
and a bit weather beaten
halfway up another
formidable mountain
making up for lost time
from a major fall.
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
Man moves real mountains
Conquers deep oceans
Explores new infections
While probing the stars
With God in his spirit
He tackles the mysteries
For answers beyond us
It never occurs
To doubt His Great Maker
Who opens new trails
To far away worlds
Out far past forever
And then turning inward
As worlds microscopic
Shrink smaller and smaller
Finding new questions
The farther he goes
It seems not to end
In stars or in atoms
Amazed that forever
Keeps going both ways
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 6:04 AM UTC
i sit quietly at the kitchen counter, watching spongebob
i was 10 years old then.
in the next room my parents are fighting with my brother.
they yell, and scream.
i raise my hands to my ears to try and block the noise.
but i couldnt.
my mom tackles my brother to the ground, screaming.
tears streamed down my face and i run.
i ran into my bedroom and crawled under the bed.
but no one came.
i could still hear them screaming.
yelling
they kicked him out of the house.
i cried, and cried, and cried.
but still, no one came.
because. no one cared.
i lied under my bed, hands over my ears, tears rolling down my face.
trying to remember the happy times we spent as a family.
but i couldnt.
i couldnt take them anymore.
i ran outside and up the road.
i ran until my feet couldnt carry me any longer.
and when i finally stopped i sat under a tree.
i listened to the crickets and the trees blowing in the wind.
the night breeze was cold, i wish i had brought a blanket.
but i needed to sleep and it was a place where things were finally silent.
so i slept under that tree, and no one searched for me, because no one cared.
the next morning i woke up.
the sun was shining.
it was a new day.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC