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Many times the players get in there and it's just about as well as they could have done, and other times they get in there and they favorites and they don't win.

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I Could Have Enjoyed A Very Nice Conversation Out There At The Mall

i can make choices
like i am thrown in an ocean of choices
everyday as i decide for myself
what to do really

i could have gone to the mall
shopping or just enjoying the walk there
seeing lots of people and meeting them
and knowing their names and
having fun with them

or get a date with someone else
have sex at the motel or have a ride
somewhere in the countryside where no one
knows me

i could have done all these but i am so foolish
for instead here i am writing this low key poetry
wanting to figure out what do i really want in my life

i can figure it out someday
and i will figure it out now as i have been doing
this thing everyday
every hour: i just love this stuff writing for nobody
(but you may read if you want
blogging for no one and surfing for more words
and idioms and looking for that part where i become
an idiot or the everyday moron on the screen
at You-tube or facebook or friendster)

well i guess, this is it:
just trying to be nobody but a writer like you.

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I think it is ironic that many of the leaders in technology were adopted.

I think it is ironic that many of the leaders in technology were adopted. Every one raves about how Steve Jobs put so much style into the apple; he turned his computers into an esthetic work of art, as well as into a fluid experience of joy; thus transforming both dimensions, making the out side experience as beautiful and wonderful as the inside, from a machine that was thoroughly repulsive to the vast majority prior to Steve Jobs. As people we wish the outside of our life was as beautiful, cooperative, exciting and rewarding as how we imagine it, as how we experience it on the inside as well as in moments from our depths.


We wish our inside could be understood by our loved ones. We wish to understand others seemingly incomprehensible emotional states. This is never more real than in infancy, as children, and later as teenagers. What Steve Jobs did was pure alchemy, on one level he was trying to bridge the gap from the lost part of himself, to make himself as attractive as possible to his miss attuned parents so that they would take an real interest in him. He attempted to decode what seemed to a child his parent's senseless emotional algorithm of being emotionally unavailable into something comprehensible. He also made something very distant assessable, complex codes to be memorized with great labor into a mouse and images, where one simply points and clicks.


He got the love, the admiration from many that he needed, he far out reach most, becoming an icon, but the child in him yearned and created the emotional attunement he never had, in both the inside and out side he had made himself through his products as appealing as possible, towards the end his exterior persona started to fade, and he could not maintain his brilliant performances, ironically for once he could experience the unconditional love on the out side and inside for who he was without having to physically dazzle and brilliantly perform. For once he would be loved for who he was, not for the dreams he could fulfill for others.

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Can Streams Flow Along The River Sides?

Can the streams run upto the oceans far?
Can they run along the side of the rivers known?

You were a river and I a stream
Who flowed together once.

Using the sixth sense I read your mind
The one none could read before.
Each line written on your mind
Unveiled a portrait painted never.

You were a river and I a stream..

Aside my failing senses old
Triumphed my sixth sense young.
You, the river got flooded
And I, the stream was drowned.

Denouncing the last reason left you kept even my soul off-
An act someone else could have done.
Each word spoken at my funeral often
Unravelled the mystery of your mind.

Along the side of the river of your ego,
May I flow as a stream entwining you ever in the next life too?

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They Don't Think So-The Rationale of Robert

I am a bad person
At least I have done bad things
I admit it.
Lied, hurt others, cheated
and things worse.
yes, I know.
All bad.

But I don't really believe that I
am a bad person.
I am a good person
who has done bad things.

Most I am sorry for;
some I am not as much
as I should.

But what am I to do?
A good person
trapped by my own bad deeds.
Should I flagellate
repent, confess?
But why?
The deeds were bad, not I.

A really good person could see that
and forgive me.
A bad person can not and will not.
So, I guess they are bad just like me.

Now that leaves the good people
who see that bad deeds are not me
and forgive.

They even may forget.
But the fact they able to do that
makes me feel inferior.

They think they are better than me
and that is bad.
So, if they make me feel bad
then they are not really good people.

So, you see the whole world is just like me
even if they don't think so.

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Secrets

[children playing]

late in September
memories I can't erase
the shiver through autumn
the memory of your face
'cause I grew much older
I wonder
whatever I could have done
to fight all the magnets

but I close my eyes
and find truth in what I'm sayin'
they thought it was all a lie
how could they deny it when I was just a
little child

secrets I kept inside me
no one can understand
secrets I had to hide
'cause no one would hold my hand when
secrets for me to know
and never for you to see
secrets for only me

emotions so bother my soul
to know that I felt much pain
I thought it would go far away
it did for the moment

find truth in what I'm sayin'
they thought it was all a lie
how could they deny it when I was just a child
baby

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My Mind Had Been Wasted Many Times

The mind is a terrible thing to waste.

'How would you know? '

My mind had been wasted many times.
And the last time I remember being wasted,
It took me at least three weeks to recover.

'How have you managed to stay sober? '

I remember kneeling in front of a toilet.
Professing my undying love and marriage,
If I was ever able to get back up on my feet again.
To have my head stop from spinning...
To enable me to find my way home.

'What happened to that marriage proposal? '

I don't remember where I was or how I got there.
But I do remember waking up feeling terrible.
And hoping that toilet forgets anything I promised.

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How Many Times

How many times must I get up
Look out and see the same old view
How many times must I wear the same old things
And hear the same old things that I do, I do
How many times must I clean this face my face
And how many times must I shine my shoes, oh lord
How many times must I drink the same old drink
And dream the same old dreams that I do
Because i, I know one thing
There aint nothing that could ever ease the pain
But for your line and mine
I want that loving again
How many times must I pass your place. your place
And how many times must I follow you, you
How many times must I see the same old things
When all I should be seeing is you
Because i, I know one thing
There aint nothing that could ever ease the pain
But for your line and mine
I want that loving again, again

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When The Blues Get Me

How many people get the blues like I?
When bad things happen I want to cry.
But when I cry the blues don't go.
They stick around for too damned long
and so
I shake my fists and say, 'what's wrong? '

Sometimes those blues go away for days.
Sometimes I'm happy like spring bouquets.
And when those blueless days appear
it makes me want to stand and cheer
'Hurray for life.'
My fists are unclenched and I persevere.

I enjoy these times when the blues are gone.
I praise the sunset and the light of dawn.
I expect the best out of myself
and place those blues in a bottom drawer.
But the blues aren't satisfied.
There are more in store.

Blues, you make me hate how I feel.
You settle in and then you steal
peace, contentment and harmony
like a cascade of dissonance
that comes over me.
So I clench my fists and cry.

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How Many Times Have You Kissed The Earth?

How many times have you kissed the Earth?
And wished it peace?
When you last walked quietly in the forest...
Did you connect with the trees?
Or communicated in silent meditation.
Were you there wanting nature to be pleased?
And you desired to prove you could do it!
How many times have you kissed the Earth?

If you fed on me.
Sat and complained...
Like you do.
And not expressed a gratefulness?
And...
I am here showing and giving my support to you too?
Which one of us do you think,
Would be better off if left to live independently?

How many times have you kissed the Earth?
And wished it peace?
When you last walked quietly in the forest...
Did you connect with the trees?
Or communicated in silent meditation.
Were you there wanting nature to be pleased?
And you desired to prove you could do it!
How many times have you kissed the Earth?

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How Many Times Have You Asked Yourself

Finally...
You reach home.
Believing you are sheltered.
And will get deserving rest!
Then suddenly the phone rings.
To leave you wondering,
If the caller is someone you should address.

And with unanswered questions,
You unleash from your mind...
What should be done next!

You want to know...
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!

How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
When you have issues you have not yet to address.

How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!

Relax?
You can't!
A tension is enhanced.
The phone keeps ringing to erase the chance.
And...

How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
When you have issues you have not yet to address.
And that somebody wants to disturb your rest.

And with unanswered questions,
You unleash from your mind...
What should be done next!

You want to know...
How many times,
Have you...
Asked yourself,
How many times...
You've asked yourself,
How could you find...
Yourself in the middle of somebody else's mess!
When you have issues you have not yet to address.
And that somebody wants to disturb your rest.

How many times,
Have you asked yourself...
How many times,
You've asked yourself....
How many times have you done this and did nothing else?
To be there to please somebody else...
And not yourself!

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MOST PUBLISHED POET = THE WORLD of MEN AND SPORTS!

BASEBALL

A game called prison ball was enjoyed in France
while English boys played rounder in short pants.
Town ball was the game that Americans played
While friends and family watched from the shade.

American baseball became alive
With Cartwright's rules of 1845.
Civil War soldiers played behind the lines
To help pass time and soothe troubled minds.

Professional baseball got its start
When the National League performed its part.
Soon after fans would pay to see the games
As the players traveled by boats and trains.

From April to October, players play.
Half the time at home and half away.
By thirty, it's time for most to retire
Before they're consumed by game time desire.

FOOTBALL

The stands are full of eager fans
Who say, we're paid too much money!
But if they would put our suits on
They'd find football isn't funny.

Twenty-two men and five referees
Chasing a pigskin, air filled ball.
Mashing and bashing all the way
Till the striped shirts whistle their call.

All the generals on the sideline
Are waging their athletic war.
And the letters in the words they use
Never amount to more than four.

There's no substitute for winning
As the punishment begins, behold the test
Soon the fans will know, Who's Best.

BOXERS, PAST & PRESENT

The Greek and Roman athletes
Wore studs of iron on each hand
Beating and clawing each other
Like two tigers on the sand.

The English called it boxing first
To pound someone with your fist.
Mostly it was done for money
But sometimes by those just pissed.

Matches of the bare-knuckle days
Lasted fifty rounds or more
Till one man's towel would be thrown in
As he lay upon the floor.

Boxers now use soft leather gloves
With their hands wrapped in cotton.
Wearing a mouthpiece for teeth and lips
They fight like those forgotten.

BESIDES LOVE MEN NEED FISHING

Besides love men need fishing
And for both, most are wishing
Catching trophies chosen best
To be envied by the rest.

Fishing is a game of sport
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish's eye
If we plan to stir and fry.

Some use boats while others wade
As they fish the sun or shade.
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day
While life's troubles fade away.

Most men feel they've everything
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake
We all pray our line won't break.

GOLF

Many games were played with a stick and ball
As far back as the early days of man
Till the 14th century, golfers teed off
At St. Andrews, Scotland with clubs in hand.

Today men and women both play golf
As a group or just one or two.
Players, rich, poor, pro, or in between
Practice their swing with clubs, old and new.

They don't go thirsty cause they bring their own
Whatever it takes to enjoy the day.
Sometimes they play several games at once
As they win money or give it away.

There's nothing better than a green golf course
With the sweet scent of spring in the air.
To escape the drudgery of the workplace
Where you can laugh, joke, brag, gamble and swear.

Tom's 480 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
'To book Tom Zart for guest appearances, product, or services, contact Raymond L. LaPietra-Exclusive Personal Manager,913-681-7750 (office) , modelman@careerimages.com (e-mail) ,

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How Many Times Have I Written The Morning As A Poem?

How many times have I written the morning as a poem?
This morning too is a poem-
How bright and beautiful
How filled with light
How flower- rich and spring scented
How quiet and calm
How new
How fresh the world beginning again
The morning is the poem today also
though I cannot know what will be
in the day to come.

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Who has the heart and courage

Who has the heart
And courage
Wins at the end
To the top
We don't stop
Man was born with a vision
Through that his mission
Yes people ever did it great
But you can do it greater
There are people out there
Doing it good
You can do it better
There is none greater
And none is lesser
Everyone has it
But no one has has it
Make good use of your time
For who you become
Is beyond understanding
For that we still searching
Be who you are
Go as much as far
The storm might hit you
Life might be crooked to you
The battle might be sore
But be courageous
Be serious and get focus
For winners don't quit
And quitters don't win
For who has the heart
And courage
Wins at the end.

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How Many Times

Well it takes a long time
To find the right woman
The best one there is
Not the best you can do
It takes a long time
To find the right woman
Some men never do
I spent half my life
Lying to girls
Who were looking for love
Where it didn't exist
The rest of the time
I was worrying myself
About what it was that I'd missed
[CHORUS]
How many times
I don't know, I don't know
How many times
I don't know but when it happened my heart started to go...
Ooh-aah, ooh-aah
Ooh-aah, ooh-aah
I didn't trust you
From the moment I saw you
I didn't trust you
And I know it was right
But my head and my heart
Have been fighting a battle
And my heart started winning last night
[CHORUS]
Well I'm bored by pain and I'm tired of sorrow
Give me the word and I'll leave here tomorrow
I don't giva a damn about anything else
The rest of the world can go and hang themselves
ooh-aah....(etc.)

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Let the Olympic Games Begin

Let's all celebrate
Motivate and innovate
Let's all have incredible fun
The one that will last more than a lifetime
Every four years, it is that time
Again and again, let's us sprint, jump, run
Like happy rabbits, like flying cheetahs
Let's us enjoy all sports and the hoopla
Let's witness and win the gold medals
Many records will be broken
It is about doing our best and to have fun
Let's bring the torch, the flowers and the petals
Let's bring the doves, the love and the sandals
These are the Olympics, let's unite forever
And laugh all the way to the river
The bikers are coming, the rowers are here
Let's have the party of the century
Le's watch the volley ball players
Invite the drunkards and the smokers
Who are already sadly out of breath
Let's pray that they don't see an early death
Let's win the medals
And decorate the stadiums with lights and petals
May the world remain beautiful
Where there are no weak losers, only strong winners
May the world remain peaceful and wonderful
Where there are no lousy losers, only serious winners.

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The Beautiful Game

As you step on to the muddy field,
You feel the joy rise inside you,
The crowd roars as the players take up there positions;
And your team gets ready to kick off.

As the game commence all nervousness is lost,
Replaced by a sudden adrenaline rush,
The play goes back and forth, forth and back;
But you run on still,
nothing else concerns you but the ball.

It goes on as such for many minutes,
Until your rivals get a chance,
Your goalie tries but to your despair the ball finds the back of the net;
The crowd boos in anger and frustration.

The very next play the ball comes to you,
You run up the wing blasting by defender after defender,
You see an opening in the keeper’s defences;
You wind up to shoot and
TWEET! You’re tackled by a defender,
Penalty shot declares the ref,
To the opposition’s protest.

You place the ball on the penalty spot,
And the once roaring crowd goes silent,
Thousands of eyes are upon you unspeaking and unforgiving,
As you wind up to shoot all time seems to stop;
And Suddenly time resumes to the roar of the crowd
And your teammates swarming around you,
At this moment you think to yourself,
Soccer, the beautiful game.

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How Many Times Have You Told Me That?

You have your version!
And I have mine.
One of us got hit by conclusions,
For purposes to comprehend.
The other...
Wishes to be correct!
And lays up in traction,
From toe to neck.
Hoping a mending of fractures,
Is successful.
With a wish for an embarrassment,
Not to be made this public.

And I will say this,
About your version of the 'incident'.
And your need to have it accepted.
From a point of view you wish respected.
You need no longer to protect it.
Since it is obvious who between us,
Has been more affected.
So I will leave you to get some needed rest.
With any version that conflicts,
With the one that I witnessed.
And your attempts not to be involved in it...
Will be a matter between you,
And your deluded consciousness.

Do you see me?

'Of course I see you! '

Which one of us seems to be traction free?
And which one of us 'seems' to be...
Stubbornly on the defensive?

'You just 'think' you are right ALL the time! '

You have your version!
And I have mine.
One of us got hit by conclusions,
For purposes to comprehend.

The other...
Wishes to be correct!
And lays up in traction,
From toe to neck.
Hoping a mending of fractures,
Is successful.
With a wish for an embarrassment,
Not to be made this public.

Do you see me?

'Of course I see you! '

Which one of us seems to be traction free?
And which one of us 'seems' to be...
Stubbornly on the defensive?

'You just 'think' you are right ALL the time! '

Oh,
I can be wrong.
How many times have you told me that?

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How many times has God died for me?

HOW MANY TIMES HAS GOD DIED FOR ME?

How many times has God died for me?
Yes, he’s died
And time and time again
As I’ve written in my book
How many times has God died for me?

How many times has God died for me?
A useful if cryptic phrase
Nietzsche coined in the 19th century
“When Zarathustra was alone, however,
he said to his heart:
'Could it be possible!
This old saint in the forest
hath not yet heard of it,
that God is dead! '

How many times has God died for me?
Each time I’ve had a paradigm shift
In my theological perspective
The God I had died and was replaced
Not by no God but a new God

How many times has God died for me?
A new God but still my God
The product of my heart and my head
A bit less Trinitarian
A bit closer to my own self

How many times has God died for me?
Now he’s not up there nor out there
But in there, a personal creation
Adaptable and changing with circumstances
According to my living, according to my reading.

How many times has God died for me?
I have no room for a God who is exclusive
I have no room for a God who is dogmatic
I have no room for a God, who is sexist,
Racist, anti-gay and British.

How many times has God died for me?
Yes God, my God, needed to die
And be reborn, reinvented
In a more user-friendly package.
So to make God more like me is to make God more PC!


How many times has God died for me?
Till God has become indistinguishable from me
God close to me, God in me
An undying God-sense
A God made to fit every circumstance
A God made to fit every mood

That God will never die for me
Even when I die I pray he will accompany me
The undying God
Who never died on Calvary
Who never died with Nietzsche.

©2009
James Hart

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Patrick White

White Void For The Moment, Quiescent as Paper and Canvas

White void for the moment, quiescent as paper and canvas,
a little white square in the middle of my heart
as a psychologist once said, startled and wide-eyed,
and there's no one there, as if I were the simplest
of impossibilities. Could be. But who would be there
to know what it might make a difference to, or care?
Some purposes fulfill themselves or maybe
the quality of peace goes white in the winter
as it does in the dove, so as not to attract
undue attention to itself in a snow storm of poems.

Or maybe, sooner or later, even reality
comes to realize its suprasensual ground of being
is misconceptualized from a word or a name
that has the creative power of one of the shapeshifting lords
of the dead metaphors that get brought back to life
with no idea of where they've been in the meantime.

All of genesis in the first word, the to logos,
the whole table of contents of the imagination, now and to come,
the alpha and omega like the short and long vowels
of the sacred syllables of picture music,
apple bloom playing the dead branches of its leafless violins,
and the grammar of a living medium of animal images
and the shamans who entered into their visionary agony
painted on the blackboards of our native skull caves
where we worshipped bears dressed in the hides of humans.

The happy beginnings quit and the hard-line endings go on forever.
I'm back here at Long Bay, like the long story
of a lifemask that's been passing itself off as me for light years
sitting alone around a daylily of fire
giving a private lapdance to the wind,
scattering stars and leaves and smoke around
all over the place, as if it were looking for something it lost
in a panic to retrieve it from the passage of the mindstream
like time unravelling the seams of all things
unstitching the constellations like the wavelengths
of the enfeebled threads that kept our wounds together
long enough to heal into the crude ores
of terraformed scar tissue that might smoulder
like a starmap of brown stars over the course of time,
even when it's been mined out like the open pits of the moon,
no light bulbs in the sockets of an empty skull
but never shines the way its eyes used to
when you could look through them
like reflecting telescopes into the sidereal splendours of the soul.
Before it discovered the unbearable solitude
in the nightfall of pain, and the white apparition
that comes like the silence of a nurse in soft shoes
to sow its mouth shut to keep the others
from waking up on the night ward from their dreams
to discover like a wild rose at the end of summer
that everything is terminal, our departures and arrivals,
our exits and entrances alike. That there's a holy war of one
deep in the heart, win, lose, or draw, day and night
that goes on without respite that even for survival
the crazy wisdom of a compassionate warrior will not fight,
our human divinity not something to be won,
but a birthright, a square of light like a faceless stamp
on a loveletter that melts like a snowflake
as soon as it alights like a star on the furnace of the heart
and the ghosts of our tears return like rivers
to the oceanic awareness of the bays
we sit beside listening to the spiritual white noise
of the cosmic events, in bliss and sorrow,
we once lived through like the mirages and muses
of a tomorrow that came too late to celebrate our absence.

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Lenexa Baptist Church Poet Tom Zart's = BESIDES LOVE MEN NEED FISHING & SPORTS

TOM ZART’S

THE WORLD of MAN AND SPORTS


BASEBALL


A game called prison ball was enjoyed in France
while English boys played rounder in short pants.
Town ball was the game that Americans played
While friends and family watched from the shade.

American baseball became alive
With Cartwright's rules of 1845.
Civil War soldiers played behind the lines
To help pass time and soothe troubled minds.

Professional baseball got its start
When the National League performed its part.
Soon after fans would pay to see the games
As the players traveled by boats and trains.

From April to October, players play.
Half the time at home and half away.
By thirty, it's time for most to retire
Before they're consumed by game time desire.


FOOTBALL


The stands are full of eager fans
Who say, we're paid too much money!
But if they would put our suits on
They'd find football isn't funny.

Twenty-two men and five referees
Chasing a pigskin, air filled ball.
Mashing and bashing all the way
Till the striped shirts whistle their call.

All the generals on the sideline
Are waging their athletic war.
And the letters in the words they use
Never amount to more than four.

There's no substitute for winning
And no excuse for losing.
Though after games; when we can't sleep
It's because of all the bruising.


THE BOXER


My opponent’s huge but his brain is small
I’ll bust his chin and watch him fall.
He’ll greet the mat and moan and groan
As I stand in victory, he’ll lie alone.

Boxing is a game of sport
Loved by all both tall and short.
Cheers and shouts shall fill the air
Far more than a circus or fair.

I’ll jump the ropes and respond to the bell
Engage in combat and fight like hell.
As the punishment begins, behold the test
Soon the fans will know, Who’s Best.


BOXERS, PAST & PRESENT


The Greek and Roman athletes
Wore studs of iron on each hand
Beating and clawing each other
Like two tigers on the sand.

The English called it boxing first
To pound someone with your fist.
Mostly it was done for money
But sometimes by those just pissed.

Matches of the bare-knuckle days
Lasted fifty rounds or more
Till one man's towel would be thrown in
As he lay upon the floor.

Boxers now use soft leather gloves
With their hands wrapped in cotton.
Wearing a mouthpiece for teeth and lips
They fight like those forgotten.


BESIDES LOVE MEN NEED FISHING


Besides love men need fishing
And for both, most are wishing
Catching trophies chosen best
To be envied by the rest.

Fishing is a game of sport
Loved by all, both tall and short.
We must fool the fish’s eye
If we plan to stir and fry.

Some use boats while others wade
As they fish the sun or shade.
Ice-cold drinks help pass the day
While life’s troubles fade away.

Most men feel they've everything
With their rod, hook, cork and string.
Be it river, pond or lake
We all pray our line won't break.


GOLF


Many games were played with a stick and ball
As far back as the early days of man
Till the 14th century, golfers teed off
At St. Andrews, Scotland with clubs in hand.

Today men and women both play golf
As a group or just one or two.
Players, rich, poor, pro, or in between
Practice their swing with clubs, old and new.

They don't go thirsty cause they bring their own
Whatever it takes to enjoy the day.
Sometimes they play several games at once
As they win money or give it away.

There's nothing better than a green golf course
With the sweet scent of spring in the air.
To escape the drudgery of the workplace
Where you can laugh, joke, brag, gamble and swear.


RODEO RIDER


From dawn to dusk my horse breathes flames
I'm a rodeo rider with no time for games.
I ride and I fly as I hang on to hair
Ramming my spurs in the sides of a mare.

Every bone in my body feels some sort of pain
No wonder the normal call me insane.
I’ll drink cold beer and smoke a skinny
And in between paydays, I'll spend every penny.

So give me my horse and get out of the way
As I ride off to glory, till my dieing day.
Waving my Stetson, as the crowd cheers me on
How soon they’ll forget after I'm gone.


PUMPING IRON


Except for love, there's nothing beats a good workout
Pumping iron with dumbbells or a bench press bar.
You're muscles grow tight as you begin to swell
And those who like firmness want to know who you are.

From 16 to 60 you can still look good
Though they'll be some who will point, laugh, and make fun.
Pay no attention to whatever they say
For the jokes on them, when they're naked in the sun.

History's Sampson, the biblical strong man
Was blessed with the strength of no other.
A modern man who pumps iron and gives it his all
Before he knows it, could pass for his brother.

So put aside the pop, beer, hotdogs and chips
And pump earth's iron for the rest of your life
Soon you’ll discover the best of yourself
And always have someone for a girlfriend or wife.


WHEREVER THE BIG FISH BITE


When I was young and before girls
I loved to go fish the river.
Creeks and ponds where alright to
Anywhere that would deliver.

Fingerlings four to five inches long
Are what trophies love to feast on.
Trout line or pole made no difference
Bate up and the fight was on.

Sometimes I would strike a fire
To help keep warm in the night.
Spring, summer, fall, I was eager to go
Wherever the big ones bite.


RIVER FISHING


After school my friend and I would walk through town to the river
Soon to bait our trout lines with cotton cake, crawdads and liver.
Sometimes we used baby bullheads, perch or great big frogs
Tossing out into the current next to a snag of logs.

At times we would disrobe and wade out in the stream
Attaching lines to anything hoping to hook our dream.
One day I made some doe bait and stuffed it in my sock
Attached five hooks, hundred pound line and tied it to a rock.

When I bragged to my classmates they snickered and called me fool
Till the next day they followed me to the river after school.
I made my way to the water my path was a fallen tree
Something big was on my line it was easy for us to see.

I tried to pull it in but the current was too strong
Three boys ran to assist me as we began to sing a song.
Going fishing instead of wishing for the granddaddy of them all
If we land this monster will give the sport shows a call.

It seemed like forever before our beast was ashore
Eighty-five pounds of flathead cat as big as a closet door.
We shared his steaks at a fish fry food for heart and soul
Took his head and nailed it high for all to see on a pole.

For a time we ceased our casting instead we chased the girls
After marriage with our kids we again fished the swirls.
Too many of my friends have past and the years have raced by
Though here I sit with rod in hand a fisherman till I die.


Tom Zart Poems Are Free To Post To Teach Or Show Love And Support

By Conservative Poet &
Soldier For The Lord
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web

And Most of All God’s Poet Tom”

Google = God's Poet Tom
BY DIVINE INTERVENTION
I have been blessed far beyond my worth.

Tom's Book
'Shepherds of Life'
410 Poems
Can be down loaded At =

http: //www.bestlovepoems.net/node/5441

To Listen To Tom Zart’s Poems Go To =

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