* * *
Cupid !
Roaming with his arrows, haunting me.
Just as your sparkling eyes do.
She played against Cupid.
The ace of spades never fail.
She won.
And so, Cupid has never haunted me again.
Poems on the topic: game
Poems on the topic “game” on Poets.by.
The Basketball Players
Outside my window, below on the ground, the Basketball players.
In the mornings I awake to the drumming of the ball on the concrete floor
And to the yelps and shouts of children playing basketball.
Lifting the curtain, through the haze of the mosquitoe net,
I watch them, lithe, graceful
Jumping and running like antelopes in the savannah.
Dribbling the ball, they run to and fro
Across the court, turning, twisting, ducking
Swiftly passing the ball, faking a throw
Blocking, trying to snatch, moving like cats
On a hot tin roof and then leap and lift the ball to the basket
Some bounce off the board, some slip neatly through the net
Only to be grabbed and loped again and again.
“The Game”
I know the rules,
But refuse to abide,
Many others do,
And seem happier than I,
A game of chess,
Awaiting the next move,
Looking the opponent in the eyes,
And knowing what they’re about to do,
A game of poker,
A serious look across one’s face,
Maintaining a sense of mystery,
Not wanting to give anything away,
A game of football,
Taking advantage of the other’s weaknesses,
Plotting this for sixty minutes,
Until they finally give in,
A VIEW BEHIND A CAMERA
Focus. Flashlight. Snapshot.
Life treats us unkind,
we all suffer from no might,
there's no escape... no, there's not.
Hiding and seeking,
playing games when we were young,
showing each other tongues;
When our eyes should be shut, we were peeking.
When we should be peeking, our eyes are now shut,
our tongues have changed into fingers,
that magical feeling that lingers
is gone with lots of hiding, yet no seeking. Cut.
Song of the Penny Arcade
Here the imagination is really freed.
The two fighters swing their iron arms.
Right on the button and one goes down.
The hockey players swing their sticks,
The puck goes flying.
The fortune teller's verdict comes through the slot.
The ski balls bounce here, there, then land.
There is nothing like this place in the whole world.
Playing Scrabble With
Playing Scrabble with
their backs to the window,
a red-tailed hawk.
Two Women Sing
FIRST WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--
Shall I to woman be a friend?
I deal with man, and when I can
Reclaim with interest all I lend.
Who but a witless gambler plays
For farthing stakes these golden days?
No, woman--woman--woman--
Must only play the game that pays.
SECOND WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--
To-morrow woman shall awake.
She shall arise, and realise
The goodly value of her stake.
And she shall lend her loan, and claim
Her rightful interest on the same.
Quoits
In wintertime I have such fun
When I play quoits with father.
I beat him almost every game.
He never seems to bother.
He looks at mother and just smiles.
All this seems strange to me,
For when he plays with grown-up folks,
He beats them easily.
The Picnic
They had a picnic in the woods,
And Mother couldn't go that day,
But the twins and Brother and I could go;
We rode on the wagon full of hay.
There were more little girls than ten, I guess.
And the boy that is Joe B. Kirk was there.
He found a toad and a katydid,
And a little girl came whose name was Clare.
Miss Kate-Marie made us play a song
Called "Fare-you-well, says Johnny O'Brown."
You dance in a ring and sing it through,
And then some one kneels down.
She kissed us all and Joe B. Kirk;
But Joe B. didn't mind a bit.
He walked around and swung his arms
And seemed to be very glad of it.
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