Got The Ball
gaping head divided half-thought
half-work of my hands look straight to the eyes looking at you
a ping-pong
existence of wrinkled hands the ball stops
in midspace words attempt a beginning the ten fingers grab
reality the eyes and the nose united in partnership
something fishy and illuminated
the ball is in your hand now
you are in control of your heart keep it your fingernails stuck on the surface of her skins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ping Pong
(Dolly Parton)
Ping pong
I use to like
Ping pong
Now I'm in a ding dong, ping pong game of love with you
Ping pong
It scares me now
Ping pong
My heart is the ball in a ding dong, ping pong game with you
I serve it to you
And you knock it back
You hit it so hard, hard, hard
Its startin' to crack
Ping pong
You're smashed again
Ping pong
And I'm losing this ding dong, ping pong game of love with you
I serve it to you
And you knock it back
You hit it so hard, hard, hard
Its starting to crack
Ping pong
You're smashed again
Ping pong
I'm losing this ding dong, ping pong game of love with you
Ping pong
I use to like
Ping pong
Now I'm in a ding dong, ping pong game of love with you
Ping pong
It scares me now...
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gaggle and Tattle
Some grab a snack to sneak back to gaggle.
Super snoopers getting scoop just to tattle.
Hitting gossip back and forth as if paddled,
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Back and forth, back and forth,
As if paddled...
To gaggle,
And tattle...
To paddle it back!
Some grab a snack to sneak back to gaggle.
Super snoopers getting scoop just to tattle.
Hitting gossip back and forth as if paddled,
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Back and forth, back and forth,
As if paddled...
To gaggle,
And tattle...
To paddle it back!
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Back and forth, back and forth,
As if paddled...
To gaggle,
And tattle...
To paddle it back!
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Like a ping pong ball played in battle.
Back and forth, back and forth,
As if paddled...
To gaggle,
And tattle...
To paddle it back!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0194 A Boy's Vision
The boy walks past the window;
you can see he's
got something clearly in his mind;
walks firmly on both feet as if
he walked on grass;
his carriage upright,
a half-smile on his face;
his eyes are bright;
he swings his hands from side to side
in front of him.
He has a vision.
Ah yes.
His captain's just tossed the ball to him;
it's his spell to bowl.
This is what he was born to do;
he has the skills;
he knows he can do it; can't wait; but
no hurry, as he's confident,
switching the ball from hand to hand,
warming it with his love.
The boy walks past the window.
He has a vision.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whatever Happened To Pong?
My brother and me used to play it
Down at the bar
Taking money from guys
More used to the playing of cards
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now virtually everyones singing
A popular song
But I still believe in
In the excellent joy of the pong
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
To the paddle the paddle the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now if they take it h.g. wells
Well, Ill be on the first flight
To a time before the kong
Whatever happended to pong?
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half An Hour Of Your Happiness
Your heart is in my hand
I am looking after half an hour of your happiness
I am imagining your sad smile
It seems you depend on me too much
I can feel your heart beating
I am putting it into your half an hour of happiness
It is in a safe place in my hand
It seems you depend on me too much
The rhythm of your heart is getting faster
It is happy in your half an hour of happiness
They are in my shaking unsteady hand
It seems you depend on me too much
Your heart wants to jump out of the cage
Called your half an hour of happiness
I am holding them with both hands and trembling
It seems you depend on me too much
Your heart has gone crazy and I do not know why
I wonder if it will survive your half an hour of happiness
I open my hands and I see two embraced hearts
It seems I depend on you too much
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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There once was a man from Hong Kong
Who spoke in a very strange tongue;
He was no use at all
'Til he spat out the ball
That he'd swallowed while playing Ping-Pong.
quote by by John Carter Brown (September 2012)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Feeling Of Half-ness
i had long known that i cannot be full
i am always a glass half full.
This feeling of not having gone at length
to the place where i want to put all my legs and my hands
and let them do something that is so complete.
My cheeks are blushing.
My ears do not fully hear what I am saying to my heart.
My heart beats but always in half notes
In Whispers so that You may not hear everything
That I want to say. Always concealing.
Hiding the true color of this state: halfway
Half asleep. Half awake.
At the middle of things, I shall always be.
I am neither the beginning
Nor the End. I want to speak, but there are no words coming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Relevance: No Return to a Ping, With Its Pong Gone
Where is it?
Who hid it from opened eyes.
And why is it in disguise?
Where is it?
A relevance missing.
With few curious.
Has it been thrusted,
And crushed under a bus?
Where is it?
A relevance,
Making sense.
Where is this presence that has gone?
And the minds it stayed on?
With relevance spoken strong...
Are they too gone?
Without a relevance,
Freed from its ping!
With a needed pong gone!
Think about this...
But not too long.
If you delivered a ping,
Would you not expect a pong to belong?
Or in time,
Come along?
Where is it?
This relevance that was here,
Seems to have disappeared.
And it is very clear,
Relevance known...
Has shown to us,
It does not feel...
It belongs.
Freed from its ping!
With a needed pong gone!
Think about this...
Again if you wish.
There were opportunities,
When relevance was near.
And clear!
Now that it is absent...
Do you feel,
A bit of a tear?
And if there's no relevance,
What is the purpose...
To go on to sing unchained melodies?
Oh,
My love.
My darling...
I hunger!
Where is it?
And if there is no relevance,
What is the purpose,
To go on to sing songs without meaning?
Breaking up is hard to do.
Where is that relevance we once knew?
Where is it?
A relevance,
Making sense.
Where is it?
And if there is no relevance,
What is the purpose,
To go on?
To sing songs of love.
And...
No return to a ping,
With its pong gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gone To Your Head
It's on your mind
But you can't say it
It's in your eyes
But you can't see it
It's on your wrist
But you can't time it
It's off the top of your head
But you can't wear it
It's in your face
It's in your hands
It's in the air
But you can't breath it
You're not the one I used to know
Gone to your head
It's up your nose
But you can't snort it
It's down your throat
But you can't suck it
It's in your lap
But you can't have it
It's in your reach
But you can't grab it
And what if I said
It's in your head
You're not the one I used to know
And what if I said
It's in your head
You're not the one I used to know
Gone to your head
song performed by by Zeromancer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hand Of Love
The young woman intertwines her hands with her older man
Smiling laughing at his funny charming jokes
The cool rain is the only relief her boiling heart has
His hand softly squeezes hers
He smiles, she smiles
The sun in both of their eyes
Warming them from the inside out
He touches the side of her face
With the hands of steal
But the touch of silk
With stars in her eyes
And the rain soak their innocents
He gently presses his lips to her hand
Baby you are me unspoken princess
She sighs
Has he’s still holding her delicate hand
He be believes that is made out of gold
He knows she is the other half of his soul
He says I love you to her heart as no words are spoken
Looking into her green eyes
That night in the warm rain of mystery
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad of Bopard Defied
As I came to a playing-field on happy summer day
Two strudy youths I did espy; at cricket they did play.
One had the ball, one had the bat, and, with a right good smack,
As one tossed up the crimson sphere, the other smote it back.
Now, as I reached the bowler's end, I saw the young man quail;
His hand they shook, his knees went crook, his face was ashen pale;
Then, with a gulty kind of look, he cast the ball away,
And in a weak and trembling voice these words to me did say:
(In a tearful, pleading voice, with plenty of temolo and shivering grass.)
'Don't tell them that you saw me,
Or that I misbehaved.
Their methods over-aw me;
But I would not be enslaved.
I love my freeders, msiter, as much as any man;
But, oh, I love my bit of cricket, too.
And I dearly love to bowl,
But the great Board of Control,
They would chain me to their chariot if they knoo.'
(Adopt severe judicial manner, frowning darkly.)
'Young man,' I said, 'it grieves me this state of things to find,
For it is all too clear to me you have the crim'nal mind.
Thus to play without a licence and the noble Board defy
Is very reprehensible. 'Tut, tut!' I said, 'Fie, fie!'
With salt tears streaming from his eyes, he bowed his head in shame.
'Come, come,' I said, 'there's hope for you. Buck up and play the game.'
Then I eyed the other stripling; but, much to my dismay,
In tones most ungrammatical these words I heard him say: -
(In ringing, defiant accents, full of roughneck pride.)
'Go tell them that you seen me;
Go bowl it in their ear.
But no Board won't come between me
An' the game I 'old so dear,
I don't want to go to Indier or England with no team,
Fair Ostral-i-ar is good enough fur me!
I will never sell me soul
To no crool Board of Control;
For me favorite game is ping-pong, an' I'm free!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Greet, Meet And To Brag
My eyes never left the ball.
Afterall...
I became disciplined to keep my focus on it.
And when I joined on the field with others,
Who made claims they came with aims to play...
In a way to prove with me they could complete.
My eyes never left the ball to reach.
My eyes never left the ball not at all.
And when it was thrown in the air others stared.
But my eyes were right there to catch it...
To run with it and score a goal.
I came on the field prepared to win.
Not to say I just came to play.
Like others who came just to huddle.
My eyes never left the ball. afterall...
I did not come to greet, meet nor to brag,
With embellished exaggerations...
Of what I could do or had done in my past.
My eyes never left the ball...they couldn't.
And I was there on the field to win not pretend,
I came just to play to socialize and go away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Is A Joke
it is a joke
and it will always be
a joke
that how it is,
it is a joke, my own joke, and i laugh
when i remember it,
i send it to you and you send it back
like a ping-pong ball
it bounces and i see it coming
back to me
it hits me right in my eyes
got double vision, cross-eyed
i am hurt. It is not a joke anymore.
it is here beside
a tear, a bruise, stained and scarred.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Them Heavy People
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
They arrived at an inconvenient time.
I was hiding in a room in my mind.
They made me look at myself. I saw it well.
Id shut the people out of my life.
So now I take the opportunities:
Wonderful teachers ready to teach me.
I must work on my mind. for now I realise:
Everyone of us has a heaven inside.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
They open doorways that I thought were shut for good.
They read me gurdjieff and jesu.
They build up my body, break me emotionally.
Its nearly killing me, but what a lovely feeling!
I love the whirling of the dervishes.
I love the beauty of rare innocence.
You dont need no crystal ball,
Dont fall for a magic wand.
We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball...
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ping Pong
I killed them one by one
methodically
never looking in their eyes
gun to the head
and bang
pull the trigger
and that sound
would ping and pong around me
a musical death sound.
PAUSE
I'd been quartered near to basra
we'd got rid of most of those
sorry - god damned arabs -
wearing fundamental clothes
the truth is that it got to me
and everything i've done
i thought was for god and country
and i thought that we had won.
But now the truth is testifed
and i have to make a plea
that all those things i done to them
was on orders - don't you see -
i am not a angry man
i have not a grain in me
that would really ever lead my men
into such depravity.
OK - we did things different
in that gaol house near baghdad
OK - we may have overstepped
the orders that we had
but we were never questionning
all the orders that they gave
we had heard our president
say this country we would save.
Those damned iraquis had so much
of evil weaponry
not just guns and planes and tanks
but those WMDs.
So we could never find them
and they may well not be there
but sitting in this courtroom
i am making up a prayer
why if saddam was so evil
did we have to........
PAUSE
Ping pong those bullets raced
clean and tight behind my face.
poem by David Keig
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Old Mrs Truber
Always be yourself, Mrs Truber said,
Don’t be what you’re not. You sat
And studied her as she sat opposite
Stirring her cup of tea, took in her
Greying hair, her lined features, the
Way her bony fingers held the spoon
That stirred. People try to be like others
And find themselves out of their depth
And drown in the waters of lies and deceit,
She added, bringing her light blue eyes
On you. You began to speak, but the words
Were stuck in your throat. She smiled and
Tapped your hand. We are what we are,
She said, but often we are tempted to become
Actors wearing a different mask, trying to
Be a different person. You nodded slowly
And thought how beautiful she must have
Been once. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke,
And as she brushed her hand through her grey
Hair, you thought you caught a glimpse of her
Youthful self peering out of eyes like a child
Staring from windows in a locked up room.
You sipped your tea and watched as she brought
Her hands together as if in prayer. You closed
Your eyes, but when you opened them again,
The room was empty and she wasn’t there.
poem by Terry Collett
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When you ask me to read your poem
There is this gleaming brightness
Inside my mind
This momentary flash of light
A short flicker
My eyes are shiny looking wet with tears
The page glistens
The words move
To and fro and I have predicted where they all stop
Frozen and steady still like mannequins
I throw my glance like a ping-pong ball
Bouncing back
I only peeked in fact
I have not seen anything interesting
The two poems
The poem you write that you ask me to read
Is the same poem I wrote recently
How come?
There is a tiny, quick flash of light
Inside my mind
Did it come from the same God?
We need to sit and talk
To discuss the sameness of our boredoms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I usually stick out my hand and hope he puts the ball in it. Except the one time I went out to take Early Wynn out. I stuck out my hand and he hit me right in the stomach with the ball.