Friday, May 22, 2015

May PPOW: Poems That Don't Make Any Sense

Writing poems is easy,
even though some are cheesy.
School is cool;
although there are plenty of rules,
it is still fun.
There are lots of friends
to hang and chill with.
Some of them are Bill’s,
but they’re still a thrill.
Sports are the best;
I am obsessed.
You have to train,
your brain to go insane.
You go hard,
around the yard.
Ball up,
pull up,
Fly around the field,
not willing to yield.
Under the sun,
you run.
The running back spun
like someone is coming after you with a spray gun.
The ball flies across the field,
the umpire holding a back shield.
The pitcher throws the curve;
the batter jumps out of the box without any nerve.
It’s a strike;
now the batters on a hike,
back to the dugout to play another day.
The Poem That Makes No Sense
The boy goes the store
next door from the ocean shore.
Waves come up the beach,
the palm trees just out of reach.
I’m riding on the whip,
driving by the ship.
I get stung by bees,
enjoying the oceans breeze.
The EEZE Poem
Eating cheese,
in the summer breeze.
Ice cream please,
so I can feel the freeze.
Getting hit in the knees,
by dangling keys.
Sea breeze blowing in my face,
giving me an unease.
Now I am done,
this has been fun.
Take it to the hoop,
waiting for the alley-oop.
Go hard in the paint.
Fly so high
in the sky.
Be like Mike,
soaring in the air.
Free throw line dunk,
for the win.
Six Rings will always be greater than five.
Kobe’s trailing on his heels,
but never will catch up.
Kobe’s old,
but still very bold.
Dallas Cowboys
The cowboys used to be great,
back in 98’.
With the big three,
that won three Super Bowls.
Now we have no chance without Murray,
our future now is blurry.
Romo is getting tired of going 8-8,
he just wants to be one of the greats.
Striving for the hall,
but without Murray the team is starting to fall.
They will always be my favorite team,
no matter what their dream.

1 comment:

  1. I like your PPOW. My favorite part is about the cowboys. I can relate with the first part of your PPOW.


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