What is sport to the boy is the death of the bird.
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The Sport I Love
Like any other sports
this is the one I choose,
I love, and I have been playing.
the sport I want to be belong.
That is soccer.! ! !
Playing this game
have been giving me an event
that is hard to forget.
It is exciting right! ! !
And therefore
I do not know how
could I leave this sport.
Of which is this sport
help me to build my stamina,
meet a lot of friends, and
also this sport taught me
how to act as a human being,
in order to have a discipline
not only in this sport
but also in the community
as well as in a situation.
It help a lot in me right! ? ,
therefore i must not have to forget
as well as to leave this sport
but to love this sport forever..
I love soccer.! .
poem by Patrick Pinote
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Death's Wings
Death was a bird that night
An ugly, vicious bird
Death's claws scratched at me
But flew away when I didn't bleed.
As it flew, darkness fell
Wings blocking out the moon.
Death screetched in frustration
When it couldn't break my skin
Death was too obvious
And realised.
Death swooped low that night
And caught her by suprise
Not a sound left its beak, nor her mouth
And death was silently satisfied.
To strike again was simple
Death had learnt a new trick.
And so began a time
That death shed its feathers.
poem by Danielle Guscott
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Sea-Bird's Song
On the deep is the mariner's danger,
On the deep is the mariner's death;
Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger,
Sees the last bubble burst of his breath?
'T is the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
Who watches their course, who so mildly
Careen to the kiss of the breeze?
Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly
Are clasped in the arms of the seas?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
Who hovers on high o'er the lover,
And her who has clung to his neck?
Whose wing is the wing that can cover,
With its shadow, the foundering wreck?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
My eye in the light of the billow,
My wing on the wake of the wave;
I shall take to my breast for a pillow,
The shroud of the fair and the brave.
I'm a sea-bird, &c.
My foot on the iceberg has lighted,
When hoarse the wild winds veer about;
My eye, when the bark is benighted,
Sees the lamp of the Light-House go out.
I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
poem by John Gardiner Calkins Brainard
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Two Sides, One Coin
White bird of peace,
won't you please come save me,
since I'm swallowed by grief and I need sweet release.
Black bird of death,
won't you wrap 'round my neck,
as the ace, king, and queen fall away from the deck.
The caged bird sings,
but the lone bird dies;
Set it free, let it be, let it open your eyes.
poem by William Blake Beckett
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Ay De Mi
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Death Bird
The death bird screams in the chill of the night
Flying through the tree branches
Making themselves scarse
Wind blowing through his wings
The moon being covered bu the clouds,
like a knight in shining armor
As the church bells ring, the towns people sleep in fear
Gentlemen stumble drunken giddy with the sweet intoxicating life and alcohol
Their bodies numb with joy
The people do not know the death bird sings for a lost soul
The man on the streets who has never found love
His blood pumps feriously through his body
A thousand thougths running through his mind
As the death bird screams above his head
Just waiting for death to cross over the dark fearful man
poem by Shelby Jasmin Estrada
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A piece of white flannel about cricket
Sport is popular. Fine.
Sport attracts sponsorship. Fine.
Sport becomes showbusiness. mmm.
'Pietersen embraced Collingwood on his century
like a footballer'..
I say, old chap, that's just...not cricket...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Shore Leave Ornithology
Slacks, coffee trend
I could have been in the us navy
Flapping grey, coffee smoke
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Where the hell were you?
Rough stencil, print music
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard coffee
Saxophone mention barbers, n.y.
The cigarette was burning, the flat shoes
Stool
Bongo, coffee, don't mention that black man
The leather-coat was his
Where was she?
Could have been in the us navy
Flow beating air, table-top, shoulder slung
Shore leave, no sailors here
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard
Liquor slacks twisting
The cigarette was burning
The flat shoes, the flat shoes, the flat shoes
Bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bird's Wish
The bird asks me
What I’d do
If I am a bird.
I tell him
High and high I’d soar
So high that I’d see the earth no more
I’d be a bird on the tree
I’d be a bird that’s free!
What you’d do bird
If you’re a man?
To be fair
It’d be my only prayer to God
Don’t be so hard
Make me once again a bird!
Saying this the bird sings
And spreads its wings to a sky
I can never fly!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Consequence Of A Mocking Bird
once i was walking by the nile river
i saw my friends the black smith
my folly was that i was near his shop
the sparks had a good hop
it came on my clothes what a inconvenience
thats what my wife's opinions
there came a black goofy bird
mocking was his job what a disastrous bird
laughing at me is what he did
he laugh was like a annoying kid
my temper committed suicide and now its dead
my wishes was to send that bird to its death bead
i grabbed it from the tree and banged its head on the bench deck
then i twisted his neck
his death was pleasure
my anger found the murder treasure
poem by Hady Ashraf
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
Death death
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Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Football isn't a contact sport, it's a collision sport. Dancing is a contact sport.
quote by Duffy Daugherty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dare-Devils of the Sea
The Acrobatic ‘Man-Bird-Fish! '
Man flies in air wingless, ‘bird-like’!
Man swims in water like a fish;
Man acrobatics monkey-like;
Man does most things as per his wish!
Man dives from cliffs and rocks so high,
And floats a moment just swan-like,
Taking risks, unafraid to die,
Plunging head-down, into the sea!
Cliff-diving is a thrilling sport,
Courageous and perilous;
The daring ones make it their forte;
Now swimming pools look courteous!
In three seconds, they touch the sea;
The entry-splash looking, so neat
A spectacle, incredibly.
Nick Fluge dived down sixty-five feet!
You’ve got to train for days, weeks, years,
With risks disastrous, if you miss;
Tho’ Scuba’ equipment and gears
Protect some persons, from death’s kiss!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-9-2008
poem by John Celes
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As I Went
As I went, as I went
Over the mountains,
I heard, I heard,
Through cloud-wreath and mist,
A hound that was baying -
Death . . it was death.
As I went, as I went
Over the meadows,
I heard, I heard,
From thicket, from shadow,
A hidden bird fluting -
Death . . it was death.
As I went, as I went
By rocks and by sand-dunes,
I heard, I heard,
At the dea's bottom
A silver fish swimming -
Death . . it was death.
As I went, as I went
In my house, in my house,
I heard, I heard,
A footfall, a footfall
Closely behind me -
Death . . it was death.
poem by Adelaide Crapsey
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I think the sport of wrestling, which I became involved with at the age of 14... I competed until I was 34, kind of old for a contact sport. I coached the sport until I was 47. I think the discipline of wrestling has given me the discipline I have to write.
quote by John Irving
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps.
quote by Tiger Woods
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Name this bird
Name this bird
If you are.
If you wish
Go there.
Geography
I do not like.
History
This bird
is not feathery.
See the word
Search the bird.
The bird I saw
Above the rulrs
Above the law.
If you wish
Go and tell
But please
Do not say
The bird is in sleep
And not here to clip.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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